There are four police magistrates for each arrondissement of Paris, which makes forty-eight for the whole city. That is none too large a number for such a huge, densely populated, turbulent city, where so many things happen every day. A lantern suspended over the door indicates the magistrate's residence; his office is rarely a particularly attractive apartment; but there is no occasion for him to go to much expense for the benefit of the society he ordinarily receives there, and cleansing would be a useless luxury. Those who come thither are not even accustomed to wipe their feet on the mat--when there is one. You enter the office, where the magistrate's clerk and secretary are usually to be found, although sometimes the latter official has his desk in another room. Then comes the magistrate's private office, to which everybody is not admitted. Just as Sans-Cravate and Jean Ficelle arrived, a corporal and two soldiers brought in two women and a boy, the latter holding in his arms a small black dog, evidently a very young puppy. One of the women was about fifty years of age; she was so enormous that she seemed not to be a human being at all, but a shapeless mass, on top of which was a red, purple, scarlet face surmounted by a dirty bonnet with flying strings; she was a wine shop keeper. The other woman was younger; she was thin and pale, and had not a pleasant face; but, at all events, she resembled a woman; she was dressed very modestly, and wore a cap and an apron. The boy, who was about fourteen, could boast already of an enormous head and two puffy cheeks which concealed his nose; he resembled the bulky wine shop keeper, if anything could have resembled her. He was dressed in a blouse, with a small cap on his head; he wore shoes, but no stockings. The party entered the magistrate's office, yelling, whining, and hurling insults at one another; and the corporal was compelled at times to exert his authority, to keep the two women from fighting. A considerable crowd, entertained by the quarrel between the two, followed them to the magistrate's door, but were not allowed to go farther. The magistrate left his private office, where he did not hear trivial matters, and, first of all, asked the corporal what the two women had done. A corporal of the line is not always a born orator; this one put his hand to his shako, and answered: "Faith!--the thing--well, you see, I don't know anything about it, but these two women made such a noise in the street--and then they hit each other--and there was this dog here--this little pup no bigger than my hand--then someone came after us to put a stop to it--and, _sapredié!_ how they gave it each other on the way! but as for telling you which is in the right, monsieur le commissaire, I'll never try." Having presented his report, the corporal stepped back. Thereupon the magistrate addressed the two women. "Well, which of you is the complainant?"