by of a lawyer," who had probably become
frightened, and whose name Javert had forgotten, Javert attached very
little importance to him. Moreover, a lawyer can be hunted up at any
time. But was he a lawyer after all?

The investigation had begun.

The magistrate had thought it advisable not to put one of these men of
the band of Patron Minette in close confinement, in the hope that he
would chatter. This man was Brujon, the long-haired man of the Rue du
Petit-Banquier. He had been let loose in the Charlemagne courtyard, and
the eyes of the watchers were fixed on him.

This name of Brujon is one of the souvenirs of La Force. In that hideous
courtyard, called the court of the Batiment-Neuf (New Building), which
the administration called the court Saint-Bernard, and which the robbers
called the Fosseaux-Lions (The Lion's Ditch), on that wall covered with
scales and leprosy, which rose on the left to a level with the roofs,
near an old door of rusty iron which led to the ancient chapel of the
ducal residence of La Force, then turned in a dormitory for ruffians,
there could still be seen, twelve years ago, a sort of fortress roughly
carved in the stone with a nail, and beneath it this signature:--

BRUJON, 1811.

The Brujon of 1811 was the father of the Brujon of 1832.

The latter, of whom the reader caught but a glimpse at the Gorbeau
house, was a very cunning and very adroit young spark, with a bewildered
and plaintive air. It was in consequence of this plaintive air that the
magistrate had released him, thinking him more useful in the Charlemagne
yard than in close confinement.

Robbers do not interrupt their profession because they are in the hands
of justice. They do not let themselves be put out by such a trifle as
that. To be in prison for one crime is no reason for not beginning on
another crime. They are artists, who have one picture in the salon, and
who toil, none the less, on a new work in their studios.

Brujon seemed to be stupefied by prison. He could sometimes be seen
standing by the hour together in front of the sutler's window in the
Charlemagne yard, staring like an idiot at the sordid list of prices
which began with: garlic, 62 centimes, and ended with: cigar, 5
centimes. Or he passed his time in trembling, chattering his teeth,
saying that he had a fever, and inquiring whether one of the eight and
twenty beds in the fever ward was vacant.

All at once, towards the end o