To be a justice of the peace! For this man with his abundant capacity,
for this doctor of law without a pair of socks to his name, the dream
was a hippogriff so restive, that he thought of it as a deputy-advocate
thinks of the silk gown, as an Italian priest thinks of the tiara. It
was indeed a wild dream!

M. Vitel, the justice of the peace before whom Fraisier pleaded, was
a man of sixty-nine, in failing health; he talked of retiring on a
pension; and Fraisier used to talk with Poulain of succeeding him, much
as Poulain talked of saving the life of some rich heiress and marrying
her afterwards. No one knows how greedily every post in the gift of
authority is sought after in Paris. Every one wants to live in Paris. If
a stamp or tobacco license falls in, a hundred women rise up as one and
stir all their friends to obtain it. Any vacancy in the ranks of the
twenty-four collectors of taxes sends a flood of ambitious folk surging
in upon the Chamber of Deputies. Decisions are made in committee, all
appointments are made by the Government. Now the salary of a justice
of the peace, the lowest stipendiary magistrate in Paris, is about six
thousand francs. The post of registrar to the court is worth a hundred
thousand francs. Few places are more coveted in the administration.
Fraisier, as a justice of the peace, with the head physician of a
hospital for his friend, would make a rich marriage himself and a good
match for Dr. Poulain. Each would lend a hand to each.

Night set its leaden seal upon the plans made by the sometime attorney
of Mantes, and a formidable scheme sprouted up, a flourishing scheme,
fertile in harvests of gain and intrigue. La Cibot was the hinge upon
which the whole matter turned; and for this reason, any rebellion on the
part of the instrument must be at once put down; such action on her part
was quite unexpected; but Fraisier had put forth all the strength of
his rancorous nature, and the audacious portress lay trampled under his
feet.

"Come, reassure yourself, my dear madame," he remarked, holding out
his hand. The touch of the cold, serpent-like skin made a terrible
impression upon the portress. It brought about something like a physical
reaction, which checked her emotion; Mme. Fontaine's toad, Astaroth,
seemed to her to be less deadly than this poison-sac that wore a sandy
wig and spoke in tones like the creaking of a hinge.

"Do not imagine that I am frightening you to no purpose," Fraisier