He conformed to the bourgeois’s directions, and a few minutes later he was in a hall containing many people, and where groups, intermingled with lawyers in their gowns, were whispering together here and there. It is always a heart-breaking thing to see these congregations of men robed in black, murmuring together in low voices, on the threshold of the halls of justice. It is rare that charity and pity are the outcome of these words. Condemnations pronounced in advance are more likely to be the result. All these groups seem to the passing and thoughtful observer so many sombre hives where buzzing spirits construct in concert all sorts of dark edifices. This spacious hall, illuminated by a single lamp, was the old hall of the episcopal palace, and served as the large hall of the palace of justice. A double-leaved door, which was closed at that moment, separated it from the large apartment where the court was sitting. The obscurity was such that he did not fear to accost the first lawyer whom he met. “What stage have they reached, sir?” he asked. “It is finished,” said the lawyer. “Finished!” This word was repeated in such accents that the lawyer turned round. “Excuse me sir; perhaps you are a relative?” “No; I know no one here. Has judgment been pronounced?” “Of course. Nothing else was possible.” “To penal servitude?” “For life.” He continued, in a voice so weak that it was barely audible:— “Then his identity was established?” “What identity?” replied the lawyer. “There was no identity to be established. The matter was very simple. The woman had murdered her child; the infanticide was proved; the jury threw out the question of premeditation, and she was condemned for life.” “So it was a woman?” said he. “Why, certainly. The Limosin woman. Of what are you speaking?” “Nothing. But since it is all over, how comes it that the hall is still lighted?” “For another case, which was begun about two hours ago.” “What other case?” “Oh! this one is a clear case also. It is about a sort of blackguard; a man arrested for a second offence; a convict who has been guilty of theft. I don’t know his name exactly. There’s a bandit’s phiz for you! I’d send him to the galleys on the strength of his face alone.” “Is there any way of getting into the court-room, sir?” said he. “I really think that there is not. There is a great crowd. However, the hearing has been suspended. Some people have gone out, and when the hearing is resumed, you might make an effort.” “Where is the entrance?” “Through yonder large door.” The lawyer left him. In the course of a few moments he had experienced, almost simultaneously, almost intermingled with each other, all possible emotions. The words of this indifferent spectator had, in turn, pierced his heart like needles of ice and like blades of fire. When he saw that nothing was settled, he breathed freely once more; but he could not have told whether what he felt was pain or pleasure.