head-gear. The judge turned uneasily in his own chair; he gave a
furtive glance at the still open windows; as he did so he caught sight
of his jury thus patiently suffering. The spectacle went to his heart;
these gentlemen were again in a draught? Where was the _concierge_?
Then the _huissier_ whispered in the judge's ear; no one heard, but
everyone divined the whisper. It was to remind monsieur le president
that the _concierge_ was in a temper; would it not be better for him,
the _huissier_, to close the windows? Without a smile the judge bent
his head, assenting. And once more all proceedings were at a
standstill; the court was patiently waiting, once more, for the
windows to be closed.

Now, in all this, no one, not even the wizened old man who was
obviously the humorist of the tribune, had seen anything farcical. To
be too hot--to be too cold! this is a serious matter in France. A jury
surely has a right to protect itself against cold, against _la
migraine_, and the devils of rheumatism and pleurisy. There is nothing
ridiculous in twelve men sitting in judgment on a fellow-man, with
their handkerchiefs covering their bare heads. Nor of a judge
who gallantly remembers the temper of a _concierge_. Nor of a whole
court sitting in silence, while the windows are opened and closed.
There was nothing in all this to tickle the play of French humor. But
then, we remembered, France is not the land of humorists, but of wits.
Monsieur d'Alencon down yonder, as he rises from his chair to address
the judge and jury, will prove to you and me, in the next two hours,
how great an orator a Frenchman can be, without trenching an
inch on the humorist's ground.

The court-room was so still now that you could have heard the fall of a
pin.