Then, like any old woman who spends her life gossiping in the chimney-corner, prompted by Massol, she poured out the story of her woes with her first husband, one of the three Directors of the land revenue. She consulted the young lawyer as to whether she would do well to enter on a lawsuit with her son-in-law, the Comte de Gross-Narp, who made her daughter very miserable, and whether the law allowed her to dispose of her fortune. In spite of all his efforts, Massol could not be sure whether the summons were addressed to the mistress or the maid. At the first moment he had only glanced at this legal document of the most familiar aspect; for, to save time, it is printed, and the magistrates’ clerks have only to fill in the blanks left for the names and addresses of the witnesses, the hour for which they are called, and so forth. Asie made him tell her all about the Palais, which she knew more intimately than the lawyer did. Finally, she inquired at what hour Monsieur Camusot would arrive. “Well, the examining judges generally are here by about ten o’clock.” “It is now a quarter to ten,” said she, looking at a pretty little watch, a perfect gem of goldsmith’s work, which made Massol say to himself: “Where the devil will Fortune make herself at home next!” At this moment Asie had come to the dark hall looking out on the yard of the Conciergerie, where the ushers wait. On seeing the gate through the window, she exclaimed: “What are those high walls?” “That is the Conciergerie.” “Oh! so that is the Conciergerie where our poor queen----Oh! I should so like to see her cell!” “Impossible, Madame la Baronne,” replied the young lawyer, on whose arm the dowager was now leaning. “A permit is indispensable, and very difficult to procure.” “I have been told,” she went on, “that Louis XVIII. himself composed the inscription that is to be seen in Marie-Antoinette’s cell.” “Yes, Madame la Baronne.” “How much I should like to know Latin that I might study the words of that inscription!” said she. “Do you think that Monsieur Camusot could give me a permit?” “That is not in his power; but he could take you there.” “But his business----” objected she. “Oh!” said Massol, “prisoners under suspicion can wait.” “To be sure,” said she artlessly, “they are under suspicion.--But I know Monsieur de Granville, your public prosecutor----” This hint had a magical effect on the ushers and the young lawyer. “Ah, you know Monsieur de Granville?” said Massol, who was inclined to ask the client thus sent to him by chance her name and address. “I often see him at my friend Monsieur de Serizy’s house. Madame de Serizy is a connection of mine through the Ronquerolles.” “Well, if Madame wishes to go down to the Conciergerie,” said an usher, “she----” “Yes,” said Massol.