the dim streets.

"If Filon is condemned, what would happen to them?"

"Oh, he would pass a few years in prison--not many. The jury is always
easy on the rich. But his future is ruined. They--the family--would
have to go away. But even then, rumor would follow them. It travels far
nowadays--it has a thousand legs, as they say here. Wherever they go
they will be known. But Monsieur d'Alencon, what did you think of him,
_hein_? There's a great man--what an orator! One must go as far as
Paris--to the theatre; one must hear a great play--and even there, when
does an actor make you weep as he did? Henri, he was superb. I tell
you, superb! _d'une eloquence!_" And to her husband, when we
reached the inn door, our vivacious landlady was still narrating the
chief points of the speech as we crawled wearily up to our beds.

It was early the next morning when we descended into the inn
dining-room. The lawyer's eloquence had interfered with our rest.
Coffee and a bite of fresh air were best taken together, we agreed.
Before the coffee came the news of the culprit's fate. Most of the inn
establishment had been sent to court to learn the jury's verdict.
Madame confessed to a sleepless night. The thought of that poor wife
had haunted her pillow. She had deemed it best--but just to us all, in
a word, to despatch Auguste--the one inn waiter, to hear the verdict.
_Tiens_, there he was now, turning the street corner.

"_Il est acquitte!_" rang through the streets.

"He is acquitted--he is acquitted! _Le bon Dieu soit loue!_
Henri--Ernest--Monsieur Terier, he is acquitted--he is acquitted!