ess eyes were lost behind large green spectacles.

Jacques Ferrand saw admirably well; but, sheltered by his glasses, he
had an immense advantage; he could observe without being observed; and
well he knew how often a glance is unwittingly full of meaning. In spite
of his imperturbable audacity, he had met twice or thrice in his life
certain potent and magnetic looks, before which his own had compulsorily
been lowered; and in some important circumstances it is fatal to lower
the eyes before the man who interrogates, accuses, or judges you. The
large spectacles of M. Ferrand were thus a kind of covert retrenchment,
whence he could reconnoitre and observe every movement of the enemy; and
all the world was the notary's enemy, because all the world was, more or
less, his dupe; and accusers are but enlightened or disgusted dupes. He
affected a negligence in his dress almost amounting to dirtiness, or
rather, he was naturally so; his chin shaven only every two or three
days, his grimy and wrinkled head, his broad nails encircled in black,
his unpleasant odour, his threadbare coat, his greasy hat, his coarse
neckcloth, his black-worsted stockings, his clumsy shoes, all curiously
betokened his worthiness with his clients, by giving him an air of
disregard of the world, and an air of practical philosophy, which
delighted them.

They said: "What tastes, what passions, what feelings, what weaknesses,
must the notary sacrifice to obtain the confidence he inspires! He
gains, perhaps, sixty thousand francs (2,400_l._) a year, and his
household consists of a servant and an old housekeeper. His only
pleasure is to go on Sundays to mass and vespers, and he knows no opera
comparable to the grave chanting of the organ, no worldly society which
is worth an evening quietly passed at his fireside corner with the cure
of the parish after a frugal dinner; in fine, he places his enjoyment
in probity, his pride in honour, his happiness in religion."

Such was the opinion of the contemporaries of M. Jacques Ferrand.

CHAPTER IV.

THE OFFICE.

The office of M. Ferrand resembled all other offices, and his clerks all
other clerks. It was approached through an antechamber, furnished with
four old chairs. In the office, properly so-called, surrounded by rows
of shelves, ornamented with pasteboard boxes, containing the papers of
the clients of M. Ferrand, five young men, stooping over black wooden
desks, were laughing, gossiping, or scribb