“Monsieur de Carrier,” said he, “you are a large landowner, an eligible citizen and a Carlist; you fast on Fridays, go to mass in your parish, and occasionally kill cows for bucks; I esteem and respect you; but allow me to say that you have just uttered an old, antediluvian platitude.”

“Gentlemen,” said the public prosecutor, punctuating each word with his first finger, “I have the greatest respect for the old parliaments, those worthy models of our modern magistracy, those incorruptible defenders of national freedom, but my veneration is none the less great for the institutions emanating from our wise constitution, and it prevents me from adopting an exclusive opinion.  However, without pretending to proclaim in too absolute a manner the superiority of the old system over the new, I am in a certain sense of Monsieur de Carrier’s opinion.  In my position, I am better able than any other person to study the advantages and disadvantages of a jury, and I am forced to admit that if the advantages are real, the disadvantages are none the less indisputable.  One of the great vices of juries consists in the habit that a great number of its members have of calling for material proofs in order to form their opinions.  They must almost see the wounds of the victim before agreeing on a verdict.  As to Lambernier, I hope that they will not contest the existence of the main evidence:  the victim’s still bleeding thigh.”

“Tra-de-ri-di-ra,” exclaimed the artist, striking alternately with his knife a glass and a bottle, as if he were playing a triangle.  “I must say that you choose madly gay subjects for conversation.  We are truly a joyous crowd; look at Bergenheim opposite us; he looks like Macbeth in the presence of Banquo’s ghost; here is my friend Gerfaut drinking water with a profoundly solemn air.  Good gracious, gentlemen! enough of this foolish talk!  Let them cut this Lambernier’s throat and put an end to the subject!  The theatre for dramatic music, the church for sacred!

          Le vin, le jeu; les belles,
          Voila mes seuls amours.”

A general protestation rose from the whole table at this verse, which was roared out in a lugubrious voice.  Noisy shouts, rapping of knives upon tumblers and bottles, and exclamations of all kinds called the orator to order.

“Monsieur Marillac,” exclaimed the public prosecutor, in a joking tone, “it seems to me that you have wandered from the subject.”

The artist looked at him with an astonished air.

“Had I anything in particular to say to you?” he asked; “if so, I will sustain my point.  Only do me the kindness to tell me what it was about.”

“It was on the subject of this man Lambernier,” whispered the notary to him, as he poured out a glass of wine.  “Courage! you improvise better than Berryer!  If you exert yourself, the public prosecutor will be beaten in no time.”

Marillac thanked his neighbor with a smile and a nod of the head, which signified:  “Trust me.”  He then emptied his glass with the recklessness that had characterized his drinking for some time, but, strangely enough, the libation, instead of putting the finishing stroke to his drunkenness, gave his mind, for the time being, a sort of lucidity.