the Public
Prosecutor, the _citoyen_ Fouquier, who received him in the Cabinet
where he used to work with his clerk of the court. He was a sturdily
built man, with a rough voice, catlike eyes, bearing in his pock-marked
face and leaden complexion marks of the mischief wrought by a sedentary
and indoor life on a vigorous constitution adapted to the open air and
violent exercise. Towering piles of papers shut him in like the walls of
a tomb, and it was plain to see he was in his element amid all these
dreadful documents that seemed like to bury him alive. His conversation
was that of a hard-working magistrate, a man devoted to his task and
whose mind never left the narrow groove of his official duties. His
fiery breath reeked of the brandy he took to keep up his strength; but
the liquor seemed never to fly to his brain, so clear-headed, albeit
entirely commonplace, was every word he uttered.

He lived in a small suite of rooms in the Palais de Justice with his
young wife, who had given him twin boys. His wife, an aunt Henriette and
the maid-servant Pelagie made up the whole household. He was good and
kind to these women. In a word, he was an excellent person in his family
and professional relations, with a scarcity of ideas and a total lack of
imagination.

Gamelin could not help being struck unpleasantly by the close
resemblance in temper and ways of thought between the new magistrates
and their predecessors under the old regime. In fact, they were of the
old regime; Herman had held the office of Advocate General to the
Council of Artois; Fouquier was a former Procureur at the Chatelet. They
had preserved their character, whereas Gamelin believed in a
Revolutionary palingenesis.

Quitting the precincts of the court, he passed along the great gallery
of the Palace and halted in front of the shops where articles of every
sort and kind were exposed for sale in the most attractive fashion.
Standing before the _citoyenne_ Tenot's stall, he turned over sundry
historical, political, and philosophical works:--"The Chains of
Slavery," "An Essay on Despotism," "The Crimes of Queens." "Very good!"
he thought, "here is Republican stuff!" and he asked the woman if she
sold a great many of these books. She shook her head:

"The only things that sell are songs and romances,"--and pulling a
duodecimo volume out of a drawer:

"Here," she told him, "here we have something good."

Evariste read the title: "La Religieuse en chemise,