“I sha’n’t conceal from you,” said Cerizet, “that the justice-of-peace is very ill-disposed to your cause.  You must have seen that the other day, when he refused to receive you.  As for Monsieur Dutocq and myself, our assistance won’t help you much; and besides, my good woman, you are too close-mouthed.”

“Monsieur asked me if I had laid by a few little savings; and I couldn’t tell him that I had, be—­because they have gone to keep the h—­house of that poor Monsieur Pi—­i—­cot; and now they accuse me of r—­robbing him!”

Madame Lambert sobbed.

“My opinion is,” said Cerizet, “that you are making yourself out much poorer than you are; and if friend Peyrade here, who seems to be more in your confidence, hadn’t his tongue tied by the rules of his profession—­”

“I!” said la Peyrade, hastily, “I don’t know anything of madame’s affairs.  She asked me to draw up a petition on a matter in which there was nothing judicial or financial.”

“Ah! that’s it, is it?” said Cerizet.  “Madame had doubtless gone to see you about this petition the day Dutocq met her at your office, the morning after our dinner at the Rocher de Cancale—­when you were such a Roman, you know.”

Then, without seeming to attach any importance to the reminiscence, he added:—­

“Well, my good Madame Lambert, I’ll ask my patron to speak to the justice-of-peace, and, if I get a chance, I’ll speak to him myself; but, I repeat it, he is very much prejudiced against you.”

Madame Lambert retired with many curtseys and protestations of gratitude.  When she was fairly gone la Peyrade remarked:—­

“You don’t seem to believe that that woman came to me about a petition; and yet nothing was ever truer.  She is thought a saint in the street she lives in, and that old man they accuse her of robbing is actually kept alive by her devotion, so I’m told.  Consequently, the neighbors have put it into the good woman’s head to apply for the Montyon prize; and it was for the purpose of putting her claims in legal shape that she applied to me.”

“Dear! dear! the Montyon prize!” cried Cerizet; “well, that’s an idea!  My good fellow, we ought to have cultivated it before,—­I, especially, as banker of the poor, and you, their advocate.  As for this client of yours, it is lucky for her Monsieur Picot’s relatives are not members of the French academy; it is in the correctional police-court, sixth chamber, where they mean to give her the reward of virtue.  However, to come back to what we were talking about.  I tell you that after all your tergiversations you had better settle down peaceably; and I advise you, as your countess did, to go and see du Portail.”

“Who and what is he?” asked la Peyrade.

“He is a little old man,” replied Cerizet, “as shrewd as a weasel.  He gives me the idea of having dealings with the devil.  Go and see him!  Sight, as they say, costs nothing.”