"Ha! ha! He's a fine fellow with his elegant curve," said Bourdin, making an insulting allusion to the contorted figure of the poor lapidary. "I say, Malicorne, he has cheek enough to call this an apartment,--a hole in which I would not put my dog." "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" exclaimed Madeleine, who had been so frightened that she could not say a word before. "Call for assistance; perhaps they are rogues. Take care of your diamonds!" And, seeing these two ill-looking strangers come closer to his working-bench, on which his precious stones were still lying, Morel, fearful of some evil intentions, ran towards the table, and covered the jewels with his two hands. Tortillard, still on the watch, caught at Madeleine's words, observed the movement of the artisan, and said to himself: "Ha! ha! ha! So they said he was a lapidary of sham stones; if they were mock he would not be afraid of being robbed; this is a good thing to know. So Mother Mathieu, who comes here so often, is a matcher of _real_ stones, after all, and has real diamonds in her basket; this is a good thing to know, and I'll tell the Chouette," added Bras Rouge's brat. "If you do not leave this room, I will call in the guard," said Morel. The children, alarmed at this scene, began to cry, and the idiotic mother sat up in her bed. "If any one has a right to call for the guard, it is we, you Mister Twistabout," said Bourdin. "And the guard would lend us a hand to carry you off to gaol if you resist," added Malicorne. "We have not the magistrate with us, it is true; but if you have any wish for his company, we'll find you one, just out of bed, hot and heavy; Bourdin will go and fetch him." "To prison! me?" exclaimed Morel, struck with dismay. "Yes, to Clichy." "To Clichy?" repeated the artisan, with an air of despair. "It seems a hardish pill," said Malicorne. "Well, then, to the debtors' jail, if you like that better," said Bourdin. "You--what--indeed--why--the notary--ah, _mon Dieu_!" And the workman, pale as death, fell on his stool, unable to add another word. "We are bound bailiffs, come to lay hold of you; now are you fly?" "Morel, it is the note of Louise's master! We are undone!" exclaimed Madeleine, in a tone of agony. "Hear the judgment," said Malicorne, taking from his dirty and crammed pocketbook a stamped writ. After having skimmed over, according to custom, a part of this document in an unintelligible tone, he distinctly articulated the last words, which were, unfortunately, but too important to the artisan: "Judgment finally given. The Tribunal condemns Jérome Morel to pay to Pierre Petit-Jean, merchant,[6] by every available means, even to the arrest of body, the sum of 1,300 francs, with interest from the day of protest, and to pay all other and extra costs. Given and judged at Paris, 13 September, etc., etc."