The officers, who examined every article of furniture, now wished to enter the little closet where Muche slept. The child had been awakened by the noise, and for the last few moments he had been crying bitterly, as though he imagined that he was going to be murdered. “This is my boy’s room,” said La Normande, opening the door. Muche, quite naked, ran up and threw his arms round his mother’s neck. She pacified him, and laid him down in her own bed. The officers came out of the little room again almost immediately, and the commissary had just made up his mind to retire, when the child, still in tears, whispered in his mother’s ear: “They’ll take my copy-books. Don’t let them have my copy-books.” “Oh, yes; that’s true,” cried La Normande; “there are some copy-books. Wait a moment, gentlemen, and I’ll give them to you. I want you to see that I’m not hiding anything from you. Then, you’ll find some of his writing inside these. You’re quite at liberty to hang him as far as I’m concerned; you won’t find me trying to cut him down.” Thereupon she handed Muche’s books and the copies set by Florent to the commissary. But at this the boy sprang angrily out of bed, and began to scratch and bite his mother, who put him back again with a box on the ears. Then he began to bellow. In the midst of the uproar, Mademoiselle Saget appeared on the threshold, craning her neck forward. Finding all the doors open, she had come in to offer her services to old Madame Mehudin. She spied about and listened, and expressed extreme pity for these poor women, who had no one to defend them. The commissary, however, had begun to read the copies with a grave air. The frequent repetition of such words as “tyrannically,” “liberticide,” “unconstitutional,” and “revolutionary” made him frown; and on reading the sentence, “When the hour strikes, the guilty shall fall,” he tapped his fingers on the paper and said: “This is very serious, very serious indeed.” Thereupon he gave the books to one of his men, and went off. Claire, who had hitherto not shown herself, now opened her door, and watched the police officers go down the stairs. And afterwards she came into her sister’s bedroom, which she had not entered for a year. Mademoiselle Saget appeared to be on the best of terms with La Normande, and was hanging over her in a caressing way, bringing the shawl forward to cover her the better, and listening to her angry indignation with an expression of the deepest sympathy. “You wretched coward!” exclaimed Claire, planting herself in front of her sister. La Normande sprang up, quivering with anger, and let the shawl fall to the floor. “Ah, you’ve been playing the spy, have you?” she screamed. “Dare to repeat what you’ve just said!” “You wretched coward!” repeated Claire, in still more insulting tones than before.