Godeschal, now Derville’s successor, had formerly been, for more than two years, head-clerk with Desroches.  Theodose, to whom that circumstance was known, seemed to hear the name flung into his ear in the midst of his despair by an inward voice, and he foresaw a possibility of wrenching from the hands of Claparon the weapon with which Cerizet had threatened him.  He must, however, in the first instance, gain an entrance to Desroches, and get some light on the actual situation of his enemies.  Godeschal, by reason of the intimacy still existing between the former clerk and his old master, could be his go-between.  When the attorneys of Paris have ties like those which bound Godeschal and Desroches together, they live in true fraternity, and the result is a facility in arranging any matters which are, as one may say, arrangeable.  They obtain from one another, on the ground of reciprocity, all possible concessions by the application of the proverb, “Pass me the rhubarb, and I’ll pass you the senna,” which is put in practice in all professions, between ministers, soldiers, judges, business men; wherever, in short, enmity has not raised barriers too strong and high between the parties.

“I gain a pretty good fee out of this compromise,” is a reason that needs no expression in words:  it is visible in the gesture, the tone, the glance; and as attorneys and solicitors meet constantly on this ground, the matter, whatever it is, is arranged.  The counterpoise of this fraternal system is found in what we may call professional conscience.  The public must believe the physician who says, giving medical testimony, “This body contains arsenic”; nothing is supposed to exceed the integrity of the legislator, the independence of the cabinet minister.  In like manner, the attorney of Paris says to his brother lawyer, good-humoredly, “You can’t obtain that; my client is furious,” and the other answers, “Very good; I must do without it.”

Now, la Peyrade, a shrewd man, had worn his legal gown about the Palais long enough to know how these judicial morals might be made to serve his purpose.

“Sit in the carriage,” he said to Thuillier, when they reached the rue Vivienne, where Godeschal was now master of the practice he had formerly served as clerk.  “You needn’t show yourself until he undertakes the affair.”

It was eleven o’clock at night; la Peyrade was not mistaken in supposing that he should find a newly fledged master of a practice in his office at that hour.

“To what do I owe this visit, monsieur?” said Godeschal, coming forward to meet the barrister.