welfare.”

The magistrate looked at Eusebe attentively. His dress, which was more than plain, his manner of expressing himself, his timidity, his gestures, and even the belt that contained his treasure, puzzled the functionary in a manner which he did not try to conceal. This honorable magistrate, who by years of experience in his profession had learned to form a tolerably correct opinion of men at a glance, was at a loss to know what to think of the singular being he had before him. The clerk, who imagined what was passing in the brain of the commissary, was as much perplexed as his superior. Nevertheless, as a murmur of applause and some words in favor of the young stranger ran through the circle, the worthy functionary thought the time propitious for ventilating his ideas in a short discourse. Addressing himself now to the crowd, and now to Eusebe, he was thus delivered:—

“If it is beautiful and rare to find presence of mind and reason united in youth, it is certainly not less honorable to add to these qualities philanthropy. Not only did you wish to save this man (and you have saved him), but you now desire to assure the existence he owes you. This I call sublime. Such acts, sir, do so great honor to their author that our thanks would be out of place: he finds his reward in his heart. What recompense is to be compared to the consciousness of having been a benefactor? Allow me, sir, to ask your name, in order that I may send it in to the Administration, which knows how to appreciate such disinterestedness.”

“My name is Eusebe Martin.”

“Are you a relation of M. Martin, of the Tribunal of Commerce?”

“I think not. I have just arrived from Limousin. I know no one in Paris.”

“You are quite young.”

“Twenty-one.”

“I am glad of it; for were you not of age I could not accept your gift.”

“I don’t know,” said Eusebe.

The commissary looked at the clerk with astonishment.

“You have a trade?”

“No. I came to Paris to admire civilization and study life.”

“Study life!” said the clerk, who was inclined to be humorous. “He is not a physician.”

The magistrate was lost in conjectures.

“What is your father’s business?” he inquired.

“My father, sir, lives at the Capelette. His chief employment is to seek where truth and falsehood are to be found.”

“Be so kind as to accompany me,” said the functionary, dryly, making a sign to the crowd to stand aside and let them pass.

Eusebe bowed without replying, and walked along beside the commissary, which allowed him to hear the clerk say to his superior,—

“The poor fellow is stark mad.”

To which the magistrate replied,—

“That is very evident.”

Eusebe felt the blood mount to his cheeks, not from fear, but from shame. He thought they took him for a fool because he was so ignorant.

This unexpected departure was interpreted in different ways by the curious, who had not heard the dialogue.

“They are going to give him the cross,” (of the Legion of Honor,) said a naïve policeman.

“The cross! Oh, very likely, since it is the police that gives the cross now-a-days!” replied a wag, in a white blouse.

“Why not?”

“Because it is not in their power.”

“They have power enough to put you where the dogs won’t bite you, you blackguard!”

“Hear! hear!”

“Did you hear?” said a woman with a handkerchief over her head; “did you hear? He began by saying the young man did right in cutting the rope, and still he has arrested him all the same.”

“Just as though he was obliged to go!”

A quarter of an hour later, a physician hurried through the crowd, crying,—

“Where is the patient?”

The unfortunate shopkeeper was in one corner, studying how he could possess himself of the thousand francs without letting his wife know it, while she had followed the commissary, hoping to get the money without the knowledge of her husband.

CHAPTER V.

At the door of the commissary’s office, the clerk politely begged Eusebe to enter first, introducing him into a room divided into two parts by a screen of green lustring. The dilapidated walls were covered with black designs executed by offenders, who had whiled away the tedium of waiting by cultivating the fine arts. The rays of the sun, struggling to enter at a window that looked into the court, shone feebly on an old black desk, upon which a quantity of stamped papers, that seemed to have the jaundice, were lying. Two clerks, whose appearance was in keeping with the place, were scribbling away mechanically. Eusebe, who thought the adjective shabby the proper word with which to qualify the ensemble, said to the clerk,—

“Is this, sir, what is called the formidable appareil of the courts of justice?”

The magistrate’s drudge smiled, and, regarding the young provincialist with a look of benevolence mingled with compassion, replied,—

“No, sir: the courts of justice are held at the Palace: this may be considered as being one of the laboratories that supply them with materials.”

“I don’t understand you,” said the youth.

“No matter,” replied the clerk. “It is to be hoped you will understand better by-and-by. Here comes the commissary. Be seated, and answer the questions he asks you.”

“You told me that your name was Eusebe Martin,” said the commissary.

“Yes, sir.”

“How did you leave your father’s house?”

“By taking the Pénicault coach as far as Vierzon.”

The commissary and his clerk exchanged significant glances. “Write the replies,” said M. Bézieux to the clerk.

“Have you a passport?”

“I don’t know what it is.”

“Write this reply also.”

“What did you say you came to Paris for?”

“I told you I came to Paris to study civilization.”

“To what purpose?”

“Why, to be——civilized.”

“Ah! very well. Have you, besides this thousand francs, the means of existence?”

“By limiting my expenses to ten francs per day, with what I have, I shall be able to live five thousand days,—about fourteen years. Here is my money——”

“Very well. Do you know any one in Paris?”

“Yes, four persons: a coachman who insulted me, a soldier who amused himself at my expense, an old man who abused me, and the shopkeeper whose life I saved.”

“That is sufficient,” said the magistrate. “Your age, the incoherence of your replies, and the large sum of money in your possession make it my duty to detain you until I have more ample information. You need not give yourself any uneasiness, for you will be well treated, and very soon, I trust, you will be set at liberty and restored to your family.”

“I am in no hurry. You can take your own time.”

For the last half-minute the commissary had been making a fruitless search in all his pockets.

“I have lost my handkerchief,” said he to his clerk. “When you go home, call at the house where we have been, and see if it is not there.”

“That will be useless,” said Eusebe: “I saw a child take it out of your pocket and run away.”

“And you did not tell me!” cried M. Bézieux.

“Unless it be an affair of more than ordinary importance,