The boy eyed Morin with a useless frown; he had turned away. Looking about, and thinking, with a singular sense of antipathy, for which he could scarce find sufficient grounds, Charles sat mute; he began to feel as if, much though he despised this Morin, he would never be got rid of till some serious issue came of it in the end. But they reached the barrier, not yet closed—passed through, recognised and unquestioned; for to enter Paris seemed always easier than to get out of it; and rattled along the chaussée through close streets of a dingy faubourg. Much as it was out of their way, yet, to be finally rid of Monsieur Morin and his case, no course seemed secure but to drive straight to the authority he indicated. At the Rue de St Roche, accordingly, in the aristocratic suburb they at length drew up before a high old house in the row of stately mansions, where lacqueys lounged about the balustraded door-steps and huge _portes-cochère_, and the upper casements began to glow with light. “It is the Hotel St Mirel,” said the village teacher, as he began with difficulty to get down. He waited quietly for the young gentleman to follow him, and they went up the steps together. The carriage had not stood waiting many minutes before Charles Willoughby reappeared alone. His face was bright with satisfaction. “What an absurd affair, after all,” said he, contemptuously: “it cost about ten minutes and as many shillings. An old clerk at a table in an antechamber took down the statements on each side. Of course I allowed the facts; and it seems there’s an exact understood price tacked to every sort of assault in France, from a push to a kick, according to the quality of the parties; and if the fellow had pushed me, it would have cost _him_ about double. There were two or three gentlemen talking in an inner room, who all came out together in riding-boots and coats—though which was which, one could hardly see against the large windows this time of night. I only fancy it was the Count that bowed to me, rather a young man, I should say—and looked at Morin rather sharply, giving a slight sort of nod; then he said something to the clerk, who told me I was fined half a louis-d’or, besides the five francs for his own fee, which he pocketed very graciously, getting up and putting off his spectacles. I only waited another minute to see if I could catch out that Morin somewhere, as soon as the Count called him aside in a hurry to the inner room; but I must say everything seemed to agree well enough with the fellow’s harangue at the village—his schoolmastership was evidently in danger—till all at once the Count came out again to tell the other gentlemen he could not go somewhere with them that evening. I believe the one was some celebrated actor at the theatre—which was he the footman couldn’t tell—and the other a _dook_, as John of course expressed it!” “Why, that footman was _English_, then!” said Rose, gravely.