M. Berthier requested to have his food served separately at the end of the long table. He did not remove his hat, but sat with his hand to his brow and his elbow on the table. Presently the flat-faced girl rolled and staggered in with a bowl of potage for each of the guests,--the usual very thin broth in which float scraps of untoasted bread, and the surface dotted with globules of oil, with which foot travellers in France must be familiar. Then the little dried-up woman ran to the door and called imperiously to the three men outside, 'Come on, come on, the potage is served;' whereupon they clattered in, in their sabots, and fell like sacks into their places. 'There you are, sir,' said the wizen hostess, thrusting a bowl of potage before the ex-intendant; 'you will find it superb.' 'The day has been hot and the sun scorching; I have walked far,' said Berthier, wearily. 'From what place does monsieur come?' 'Never mind,' answered Berthier angrily, 'I am too hungry to answer questions; if you answer one that a woman makes, you must answer a thousand.' The old woman retired muttering. The peasants, between their spoonfuls of soup, continued the conversation in which they had been engaged outside the door. 'He has not been captured yet?' asked one of the men. 'No, Pierre; but he was seen at Senlis. Do you know that baker, named Michaud, in the square before Notre Dame, at the corner? Well, he went in there to buy a brioche, and the good man knew him; he had seen him when he superintended the buying of the corn in Artois. He did not say much then; he just mentioned it to some of his acquaintances, and they spread the news through the city. But the magistrates do nothing.' 'Why should they, Jean?' asked the other; 'hawks do not prey on hawks, and you will not find magistrates over-zealous in bringing other magistrates to book.' 'And which direction do you think he has taken now?' 'I expect he is on his way to Clermont, and so by Amiens to Lille.' 'Who will arrest him, Pierre?' 'Who but the people?' 'And is he so very bad?' 'He is one of the famine-mongers,' answered Pierre; 'he has made a vast fortune out of speculations in corn. He is a man who has fattened on our misery. He was one who sought to drive the king to massacre his people. He supplied the troops with an incredible number of cartridges, with which he designed that the canaille of Paris should be swept away.' 'And if they catch him, Pierre, what will they do with him?' The other shrugged his shoulders. 'For my part,' said the innkeeper, 'I don't like popular judgments. Let us have criminals tried by the proper courts.' 'But how so, when the judges are the culprits?' 'I don't like it,' repeated the host. 'Suppose the innkeepers all sold bad wine, and the wine-drinkers rose in a body and produced a notorious adulterator of grape-juice, would they be satisfied with the judgment upon him pronounced by a committee of peculating taverners, eh?'