"Of whom do you speak?" inquired the magistrate. "Of Cabrion, M. le Commissaire; but, perhaps, if you make all haste, it is not yet too late to catch him," added M. Pipelet. "I know nothing about any Cabrion," said the magistrate, impatiently. "Does one Jerome Morel, a working lapidary, live in this house?" "Yes, mon commissaire," said Madame Pipelet, putting herself into a military attitude. "Conduct me to his apartment." "Morel, the lapidary!" said the porteress, excessively surprised; "why, he is the mildest lambkin in the world. He is incapable of--" "Does Jerome Morel live here or not?" "He lives here, sir, with his family, in one of the attics." "Lead me to his attic." Then, addressing himself to a man who accompanied him, the magistrate said: "Let two of the municipal guard wait below, and not leave the entrance. Send Justing for a hackney-coach." The man left the lodge to put these orders in execution. "Now," continued the magistrate, addressing himself to M. Pipelet, "lead me to Morel." "If it is all the same to you, mon commissaire, I will do that for Alfred; he is indisposed from Cabrion's behaviour, which, just as the cabbage does, troubles his pylorus." "You or your husband, it is no matter which. Go forward." And, preceded by Madame Pipelet, he ascended the staircase, but soon stopped when he saw Rodolph and Rigolette following him. "Who are you, and what do you want?" he inquired. "They are two lodgers in the fourth story," said Madame Pipelet. "I beg your pardon, sir, I did not know that you belonged to the house," said he to Rodolph. The latter, auguring well from the polite behaviour of the magistrate, said to him: "You are going to see a family in a state of deep misery, sir. I do not know what fresh stroke of ill fortune threatens this unhappy artisan, but he has been cruelly tried last night,--one of his daughters, worn down by illness, is dead before his eyes,--dead from cold and misery." "Is it possible?" "It is, indeed, the fact, mon commissaire," said Madame Pipelet. "But for this gentleman who speaks to you, and who is a king of lodgers, for he has saved poor Morel from prison by his generosity, the whole family of the lapidary must have died of hunger." The commissary looked at Rodolph with equal surprise and interest. "Nothing is more easily explained, sir," said Rodolph. "A person who is very charitable, learning that Morel, whose honour and honesty I will guarantee to you, was in a most deplorable and unmerited state of distress, authorised me to pay a bill of exchange for which the bailiffs were about to drag off to prison this poor workman, the sole support of his numerous family." The magistrate, in his turn, struck by the noble physiognomy of Rodolph, as well as the dignity of his manners, replied: "I have no doubt of Morel's probity. I only regret I have to fulfil a painful duty in your presence, sir, who have so deeply interested yourself in this family." "What do you mean, sir?"