On the appointed Wednesday, Eusebe, Daniel Clamens, and Paul Buck arrived at Versailles. As the hour fixed for the hearing had not yet come, the three friends took a stroll through the city before repairing to the court-room.

“Is that what you call the Palais de Justice?” inquired Eusebe, pointing to a building of rather pitiful appearance.

“Yes,” responded Clamens.

“You said to me, on the way,” rejoined the lover of AdÉonne, “that justice was the first of established powers. One could have very little reason to question that, if he compared the palace of justice with that of a king.”

“We have in France,” said Paul, “but ten palaces for kings, while for justice there are more than five hundred, in which she condemns more in a day than a monarch could pardon in a year.”

“Fortunately for society, messieurs,” said the Commandant de Vic, who had just arrived, and who was followed by MM. de la Soulaye and de BuffiÈres.

The first step Justice takes in the punishment of duellists is to bring them together in her ante-chamber. But for the profound respect the French profess for her, conflicts might be renewed there. It is true, nevertheless, that the custom, which might be attended with grave consequences, has often a wholesome effect. Adversaries often shake hands at the moment they are about to appear before the judge.

M. de la Soulaye, perceiving the lover of AdÉonne, saluted him courteously, and offered his hand.

Eusebe bowed, but did not respond to the advance made by his late antagonist.

“Monsieur,” said the Commandant de Vic, frowning, “I have the honor to call your attention to the fact that M. de la Soulaye offers you his hand.”

“I do not wish to offer him mine,” replied Eusebe, “and am sorry that you compel me to say so.”

The officer, fired by this curt repulse, advanced, as if he meditated a quarrel; but M. de BuffiÈres restrained him.

“You are too condescending, commandant,” said the latter, “in paying any attention to this rustic.”

On their part, Paul Buck and Daniel Clamens reproached Eusebe with his want of courtesy.

At this moment, three gendarmes entered, escorting three men with villainous countenances, who were seated near the actors in the duel at Peck.

“What!” exclaimed Eusebe; “you wish to persuade me that I would act like a well-bred man in giving my hand to a rogue who has slandered a lady, who has tried to kill me, and, in addition, is the cause of our being brought to this disagreeable place, here to await condemnation, in company with three thieves? I cannot credit such a monstrosity of meanness; and I would rather pass for the worst blackguard in the world than touch a finger of the villain.”

MM. de la Soulaye, de Vic, and de BuffiÈres were first called into the presence of the magistrate, who kept them away for nearly three hours.

Eusebe bit his nails with fierce impatience during this vexatious delay. Clamens, pencil in hand, occupied himself in composing couplets upon the incidents in which he had recently figured. Paul Buck speculated with one of the gendarmes on the philosophy of history.

“Monsieur,” said one of the thieves to Eusebe, “won’t you please to give me a little tobacco? I have not smoked for more than four months.”

“I have no tobacco,” responded Martin, “but I have some cigars, which, if these gentlemen will permit me, I will give you willingly.”

“Give them to him, if you wish,” said one of the gendarmes. “It ought not to be allowed; but”——and the officer shrugged his shoulders.

The three young men then emptied their cigar-cases, and slipped some money into the hands of the malefactors. The ice was broken.

“Why were you arrested?” asked Paul Buck of a thief who had just been gladdened with three cigars and two francs.

“Oh, I have been jugged by mistake,” replied the bandit, with a voice of sinister tone.

“It was the seventh time that Justice was deceived in your case,” dryly observed a gendarme.

“As for the other times,” rejoined the rogue, “I have nothing to say; but for this, as true as you are an honest man, monsieur, I am innocent. I didn’t do it.”

“If it was not you, it was your brother,” said the gendarme, sententiously.

“By my faith,” said the man, “that’s worth thinking of: it might be so. I will just mention that to the judge.”

“And you,” said Eusebe to a second rogue, “are you also charged with robbery?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Who or what could have led you to rob?”

“You shall hear. My story is a very simple one. I was only nineteen years old when I fell in love with a young girl residing in my native province. One day she asked me to bring her some flowers; it was the day after the festival of Sainte-Marie, and she wished to cover the altar with flowers, so that the Blessed Virgin would be favorable to us. Her parents troubled themselves but little about our union. I had neither garden nor flowers. Night came, and I took a stroll. When all the village was sound asleep, I reached the wall of a garden adjoining that of the Maire——”

“Robbery, with escalade, at midnight, in an inhabited house: five years in irons,” interrupted a gendarme.

“That is the penalty,” resumed the bandit; “but as I was young, had good antecedents, and the booty was only a few roses, which, sooner or later, would have been offered to the Virgin, I was let off with imprisonment for three years. When the term of my sentence expired, I found my mistress a wife. While in prison I had learned the theory of crime; and, as I was now an outcast on account of having been a convict, I was forced to commence its practice.”

“And you, old fellow,” demanded Clamens of the third criminal, “why did you steal?”

“From taste,” was the laconic reply.

“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the gendarme, “there are all sorts of taste in human nature.”