f
the Court of Justice robe and unrobe? I mean the Justices of the Assize
Courts!"

This seemed to astonish Madame Marguerite considerably:

"But, Monsieur Fandor, if you wish to interview one of the puisne
judges, it would be ten times quicker for you to go and see him at his
own home: here, at the Palais, it's almost certain he will refuse to
answer you...."

"Don't bother about that, Madame Marguerite! Just tell me where these
worthy guardians of order, defenders of right and justice, divest
themselves of their red robes?"

Madame Marguerite was too much accustomed to our young journalist's
ridiculous questions and absurd requests and remarks to argue with him
any longer.

"The robing-room of these gentlemen," said she, "is in one of the outer
offices of the court, near the Council Chamber."

"There is an assistant in that room, isn't there?"

"Yes, Monsieur Fandor."

"Ah! That is just what I wanted to know! Many thanks, madame," and
Fandor, grinning with satisfaction, made off in the direction of the
Court of Assizes. He ran up the steps leading to the Council Chamber,
and spying the messenger asked:

"Can President Guechand see me, do you think?"

"Monsieur le President has gone."

Fandor seemed to be reflecting. He gazed searchingly round the room. As
a matter of fact, he was verifying the correctness of Madame
Marguerite's information. All round the room Fandor saw the little
presses where the men of law kept their red robes. Yes, it was the
robing and unrobing room of the puisne judges, the magistrates, right
enough!

"So the President has gone? Ah, well ..." Fandor hesitated: he must
think of some other name. He noticed the visiting cards nailed to each
press, indicating the owner. He read one of the names and repeated it:

"Well, then, could Justice Hubert see me--could he possibly? Will you
ask him to let me see him for five minutes?"

"What name shall I say?"

"My name will not tell him anything. Please say it is with reference to
the--er--Peyru case--and I come from Maitre Tissot."

"I will go and see," said the messenger, moving off.

Whilst he was in sight Fandor walked up and down in the regulation way,
murmuring:

"Maitre Tissot!... The Peyru case!... Go ahead, my good fellow! You will
have a nice kind of reception down below there--with those made-up
names."

Some minutes later, the messenger returned to his post, prepared to
inform the importunate young man that he could not