M. Denis gave some
orders in a sharp, imperative tone. Then he thought he heard that the
Count de Commarin had been struck down with apoplexy. After that, he
remembered nothing. They almost carried him to the cab which drove off
as fast as the two little horses could go. M. Tabaret had just hastened
away in a more rapid vehicle.

CHAPTER X.

The visitor who risks himself in the labyrinth of galleries and
stairways in the Palais de Justice, and mounts to the third story in
the left wing, will find himself in a long, low-studded gallery, badly
lighted by narrow windows, and pierced at short intervals by little
doors, like a hall at the ministry or at a lodging-house.

It is a place difficult to view calmly, the imagination makes it appear
so dark and dismal.

It needs a Dante to compose an inscription to place above the doors
which lead from it. From morning to night, the flagstones resound under
the heavy tread of the gendarmes, who accompany the prisoners. You can
scarcely recall anything but sad figures there. There are the parents or
friends of the accused, the witnesses, the detectives. In this gallery,
far from the sight of men, the judicial curriculum is gone through with.

Each one of the little doors, which has its number painted over it in
black, opens into the office of a judge of inquiry. All the rooms are
just alike: if you see one, you have seen them all. They have nothing
terrible nor sad in themselves; and yet it is difficult to enter one of
them without a shudder. They are cold. The walls all seem moist with
the tears which have been shed there. You shudder, at thinking of the
avowals wrested from the criminals, of the confessions broken with sobs
murmured there.

In the office of the judge of inquiry, Justice clothes herself in none
of that apparel which she afterwards dons in order to strike fear into
the masses. She is still simple, and almost disposed to kindness. She
says to the prisoner,--

"I have strong reasons for thinking you guilty; but prove to me your
innocence, and I will release you."

On entering one of these rooms, a stranger would imagine that he got
into a cheap shop by mistake. The furniture is of the most primitive
sort, as is the case in all places where important matters are
transacted. Of what consequence are surroundings to the judge hunting
down the author of a crime, or to the accused who is defending his life?

A desk full of documents for the judge, a table for