Page:All the Year Round - Series 2 - Volume 1.djvu/616

 "The concierge saw her going into my room just before." "Aha, m'amie!" breaks in the judge; "what do you say to that?"

"I went in there," says the prisoner, shortly, "because I thought somebody was there. I heard a noise."

Judge: "Yes—a rustle of fifty-franc notes!" (Great laughter.)

A witness deposes that, next day, Mademoiselle Adrienne bought a handsome new bonnet.

"And where, m'amie," said the judge, "did you get all the money for that?

"One has friends."

"Come, come, where did you get it?"

"Parbleu! it was Jacques." "And who, pray, is Jacques?"

"My Jacques—my friend, monsieur." "O, your lover, n'est-ce pas?"

"Ah, well, yes, Monsieur the Judge!"

"And so Jacques is rich, is he?"

"No, but he gave it to me."

"Has his rich aunt just died?" (General amusement.)

For all her bright eyes and pretty little shrugs, poor Adrienne is clearly guilty. The judge, after stating the fact, proceeds to sentence her, somewhat after this manner:

"Now, ma jolie petite fille, I must send you to lodgings where fine bonnets are wholly needless; you must go to the workhouse for a little month. You won't want any of Jacques's money for that. And I warn you not to mind whatever noises you may hear, or run after them; for you see what a position you are in from being too anxious about noises in your neighbour's room."

With this sally the trial ends, and the proceedings are concluded in the pleasantest of humours. Mademoiselle trips, with another shrug, out of the box; gives the disconsolate Jacques, who is by, a hearty kiss, bobs her head saucily at the judge, and surrenders herself gracefully to her fate.

But the scenes which take place in the French courts are as various as the traits and impulses of the French themselves only having this in common, that they are seldom without a dramatic tinge. Some months ago the following incident took place in one of the smaller Paris police-courts. A young man—one Mignoneau—was brought before the judge accused of having received some money from a veteran, by name Monsieur Leger, on false pretences. The trial began, and the injured gentleman was called upon to take the witness-stand. A robust, hale old man forthwith separated himself from the crowd of spectators, advanced promptly to the stand, made an exceedingly courtly bow to Monsieur the Judge, and awaited the interrogatory. His testimony, delivered in a clear voice and with great frankness, was worth noting.

"What is your age?" sharply demands the judge.

"Ninety-eight and a half years," replies the old man, slowly and emphatically.

"You express yourself so distinctly, you seem so healthy, your colour is so fresh, your eyes are so bright, and your step is so firm, that I must have misunderstood you."

"No. What I say is accurate. Count and see. I was born in May, 1770; a year and a half, Monsieur le Judge, will complete my century."

"What is your occupation?"

"I was formerly valet to Monsieur Saint Prix, comedian to the king, at the Théâtre de la Nation."

"You were then very young. You must have served others since?"

Leger, drawing himself up proudly: "Never, monsieur. M. Saint Prix left me enough to live on. When a man has had such a master, he does not need a second."

"Now, as to this case. Do you recognise the young man in the dock?"

"I recollect him, yes. He did an act which was not at all delicate. He pretended he had come from my marble cutter, and claimed thirty francs for a railing round my wife's tomb."

"Your wife?"

"I had the misfortune to lose her, monsieur, a few months since."

"She was doubtless much younger than yourself?"

"Very little, Monsieur the Judge; only fifteen months. I used to say to her, 'Wait a little for me, and we will go together.' But she wearied of the world before me."

"You paid this young man what he demanded?"

"Yes; but I did not bring him here. I hope you will not punish him too severely. Perhaps he will turn from his wicked ways, and give me back my money. Such a thing has happened within my own knowledge. M. Saint Prix had a cook who stole from him; he pardoned her, and she became honest."

A genial correspondent has depicted a scene which occurred not long ago in one of the Paris courts, so thoroughly characteristic that it affords an irresistible opportunity for quotation. A young workman of jovial disposition got tipsy at a little buvette; while there, he picked up a fascinating stranger, whom he generously invited to partake of his humble couch for the night. The fascinating stranger accepted with rapture; next day the stranger is invited to appear at court, to answer a charge of having stolen certain moneys from his host's boots. The confiding young man was examined.

"I went to bed in my clothes." "Ah, you were regularly drunk?"

"Truly, monsieur."

"So drunk, that you could not undress?"

"Well—yes; I have been drunker, however." "Where did you leave your money?"

"In my left boot, with my handkerchief on it, and then put it on."

"And he robbed you while you were asleep?"

"Yes: he took all but half a franc."

"He took off your boot without your knowing it?"