La Peyrade was not surprised by the encounter.  On leaving home he had told Madame Coffinet he was going to the Palais, and should be there till three o’clock, and she might send to him any persons who called on business.  Not wishing to let Thuillier accost him too easily, he turned abruptly, as if some thought had changed his purpose, and went and seated himself on one of the benches which surround the walls of that great antechamber of Justice.  There he undid his bundle, took out a paper, and buried himself in it with the air of a man who had not had time to examine in his study a case he was about to plead.  It is not necessary to say that while doing this the Provencal was watching the manoeuvres of Thuillier out of the corner of his eye.  Thuillier, believing that la Peyrade was really occupied in some serious business, hesitated to approach him.

However, after sundry backings and fillings the municipal councillor made up his mind, and sailing straight before the wind he headed for the spot he had been reconnoitring for the last ten minutes.

“Bless me, Theodose!” he cried as soon as he had got within hailing distance.  “Do you come to the Palais now?”

“It seems to me,” replied Theodose, “that barristers at the Palais are like Turks at Constantinople, where a friend of mine affirmed you could see a good many.  It is YOU whom it is rather surprising to see here.”

“Not at all,” said Thuillier, carelessly.  “I’ve come about that cursed pamphlet.  Is there ever any end to your legal bothers?  I was summoned here this morning, but I don’t regret it, as it gives me the happy chance of meeting you.”

“I, too,” said la Peyrade, tying up his bundle.  “I am very glad to see you, but I must leave you now; I have an appointment, and I suppose you want to do your business at once.”

“I have done it,” said Thuillier.

“Did you speak to Olivier Vinet, that mortal enemy of yours? he sits in that court,” asked la Peyrade.

“No,” said Thuillier, naming another official.

“Well, that’s queer!” said the barrister; “that fellow must have the gift of ubiquity; he has been all the morning in the fifth court-room, and has just this minute given a judgment on a case I pleaded.”

Thuillier colored, and got out of his hobble as best he could.  “Oh, hang it!” he said; “those men in gowns are all alike, I don’t know one from another.”

La Peyrade shrugged his shoulders and said aloud, but as if to himself:  “Always the same; crafty, crooked, never straightforward.”

“Whom are you talking about?” asked Thuillier, rather nonplussed.

“Why, of you, my dear fellow, who take me for an imbecile, as if I and the whole world didn’t know that your pamphlet business came to an end two weeks ago.  Why, then, summon you to court?”

“Well, I was sent for,” said Thuillier, with embarrassment; “something about registry fees,—­it is all Greek to me, I can’t comprehend their scrawls.”