"No, monsieur."

"How old is he?"

"Forty or thereabouts, monsieur."

The Judge cogitated for a moment, then said: "Ah, that's bad--unmarried
and forty, and no vices except this. It gives him few escape-valves. Is
he good-looking? What is his appearance?"

"Nor short, nor tall, and square shoulders. His face like the yellow
brown of a peach, hair that curls close to his head, blue eyes that see
everything, and a big hand that knows what it is doing."

The Judge nodded. "Ah, you have watched him, maitre. . . . When?
Since then?"

"No, no, monsieur, not since. If I had watched him since, I should
perhaps have thought of the right thing to do. But I did not. I used to
study him while the work was going on, when he first came, but I have
known him some time from a distance. If a man makes himself what he is,
you look at him, of course."

"Truly. His temper--his disposition, what is it?" M. Fille was very
much alive now. He replied briskly. "Like the snap of a whip. He flies
into anger and flies out. He has a laugh that makes men say, 'How he
enjoys himself !' and his mind is very quick and sure."

The Judge nodded with satisfaction. "Well done! Well done! I have got
him in my eye. He will not be so easy to handle; but, if he has brains,