repeated Pique-Vinaigre, with a sardonic laugh, "justice! No,
no, that meat is too dear for poor folks like you and I. Only, do you
see, if it refers to sending a parcel of poor wretches to prison or the
galleys, then it is quite a different affair; and they have justice
without its costing them anything,--nay, it becomes a matter of life and
death. An unhappy criminal gets his head shaved off by the guillotine
for nothing; not a single farthing are they or their friends, whether
rich or poor, tailed upon to pay for this act of impartial justice. The
object of it only gives his head! All other expenses are defrayed by a
liberal and justice-loving legislature. But the justice that would
protect a worthy and ill-treated mother of a family from being beaten
and pillaged to support the vices of a man who seeks even to sell the
honour of his innocent child,--such justice as that costs five hundred
francs! So, my dear Jeanne, you must do without it."

"Brother, brother," exclaimed the poor woman, bursting into tears, "you
break my heart by such words as these!"

"Well, and my own heart aches even to bursting as I think of your fate
and that of your children, while I recollect that I am powerless to help
you. I seem always gay and merry; but don't you be deceived by
appearances, Jeanne! I tell you what, I have two descriptions of gaiety,
my gay gaiety, and my sad gaiety. I have neither the strength or the
courage to indulge in envy, hatred, or malice, like the other prisoners;
I never go beyond words, more or less droll as occasion requires. My
cowardice and bodily weakness would never have allowed me to be worse
than I am. And nothing but the opportunity presenting itself of robbing
that poor little lone house, where there was neither a cat nor a dog to
frighten one, would have drawn me into the scheme that brought me here.
And then, again, by chance it was a brilliant moonlight night; for if
ever there was a poor devil afraid of being alone in the dark it is me."

"Ah, dear brother, I have always told you you are better than you
yourself think! Well, I trust the judges will be of my opinion and deal
mercifully with you."

"Mercy! What, for me, a liberated convict? Don't reckon too much on that
or you'll be disappointed. But, hang it, what care I? Here or elsewhere
is all the same to me! Let my judges do as they will with me, I shall
bear them no ill-will. For you are right; I am not a bad sort of fellow
at heart; and tho