"He'll win--he'll make a great speech--he is never really fine unless
it's a question of life or death--" Such were the criticisms that were
poured out from the quick-speaking lips about us.

Presently a simultaneous movement on the part of the jury brought the
proceedings to confusion. A witness in the act of giving evidence
stopped short in his sentence; he twisted his head; looking upward, he
asked a question of the foreman, and the latter nodded, as if
assenting. The judge then looked up. All the court looked up. All the
heads were twisted. Something obviously was wrong. Then, presently the
_concierge_ appeared with a huge bunch of keys.

And all the court waited in perfect stillness while the windows were
being closed!

"_Il y avait un courant d'air_--there was a draught,"--gravely
announced the crooked man, as he rose to let the _concierge_ pass. This
latter had her views of a court so susceptible to whiffs of night air.

"_Ces messieurs_ are delicate--pity they have to be out at
night!"--whereat the tribune snickered.

All went on bravely for a good half-hour. More witnesses were called;
each answered with wonderful aptness, ease, and clearness; none were
confused or timid; these were not men to be the playthings of others
who made tortuous cross-questionings their trade. They, also, were
Frenchmen; they knew how to speak. The judge and the Coutances lawyer
continued their jokes and their squabblings. And still only the poor
wife hung her head.