een magistrate Amadieu hurriedly enter like one who just wished to show
himself, purchase some trifle, and then return to the Palace of Justice.
However, he was also perceived by little Massot, the "Globe" reporter,
who was prowling round the stalls, and who at once bore down upon him,
eager for information. And he hemmed him in and forthwith interviewed him
respecting the affair of that mechanician Salvat, who was accused of
having deposited the bomb at the entrance of the house. Was this simply
an invention of the police, as some newspapers pretended? Or was it
really correct? And if so, would Salvat soon be arrested? In self-defence
Amadieu answered correctly enough that the affair did not as yet concern
him, and would only come within his attributions, if Salvat should be
arrested and the investigation placed in his hands. At the same time,
however, the magistrate's pompous and affectedly shrewd manner suggested
that he already knew everything to the smallest details, and that, had he
chosen, he could have promised some great events for the morrow. A circle
of ladies had gathered round him as he spoke, quite a number of pretty
women feverish with curiosity, who jostled one another in their eagerness
to hear that brigand tale which sent a little shiver coursing under their
skins. However, Amadieu managed to slip off after paying Rosemonde twenty
francs for a cigarette case, which was perhaps worth thirty sous.

Massot, on recognising Pierre, came up to shake hands with him. "Don't
you agree with me, Monsieur l'Abbe, that Salvat must be a long way off by
now if he's got good legs? Ah! the police will always make me laugh!"

However, Rosemonde brought Hyacinthe up to the journalist. "Monsieur
Massot," said she, "you who go everywhere, I want you to be judge. That
Chamber of Horrors at Montmartre, that tavern where Legras sings the
'Flowers of the Streets'--"

"Oh! a delightful spot, madame," interrupted Massot, "I wouldn't take
even a gendarme there."

"No, don't jest, Monsieur Massot, I'm talking seriously. Isn't it quite
allowable for a respectable woman to go there when she's accompanied by a
gentleman?" And, without allowing the journalist time to answer her, she
turned towards Hyacinthe: "There! you see that Monsieur Massot doesn't
say no! You've got to take me there this evening, it's sworn, it's
sworn."

Then she darted away to sell a packet of pins to an old lady, while the
young man contented himself with