At the moment when Micou quitted the reception-room, Rigolette entered it. The turnkey, a man about forty years of age, an old soldier, with stern and marked features, was dressed in a round jacket, with a blue cap and trousers; two silver stars were embroidered on the collar and facings of his jacket. At the sight of the grisette the face of this man brightened up, and assumed an expression of benevolence. He had always been struck by the grace, gentleness, and touching kindness with which Rigolette consoled Germain when she came there to see him. Germain was, besides, not an ordinary prisoner; his reserve, his peaceable demeanour, and his melancholy inspired the persons about the prison with deep interest,--an interest which they did not manifest, for fear of exposing him to the ill-treatment of his brutal companions, who, as we have said, looked upon him with mistrusting hate. It was raining in torrents, but, thanks to her goloshes and umbrella, Rigolette had boldly faced the wind and rain. "What a shocking day, my poor girl!" said the turnkey, kindly. "It requires a good deal of courage to leave home such weather as this." "When we think as we come along of the pleasure we shall give a poor prisoner, we don't think much about the weather, sir." "I need not ask you whom you have come to see?" "Certainly not. And how is poor Germain?" "Why, my dear, I have seen many prisoners; they have been sad for a day,--two days, perhaps,--and then gradually got into the same way as the others; and those who were most out of sorts at first often ended by becoming the merriest of all. But M. Germain, is not one of these, he has still that melancholy air." "How sorry I am to hear it!" "When I'm on duty in the yards, I look at him from the corner of my eye, he is always alone. I have already told you that you should advise him not to do so, but to resolve on conversing with the others, or it will end with his becoming suspected and ill-used by them. We keep a close look-out, but a mischievous blow is soon given." "Oh, sir, is there any danger threatens him?" cried Rigolette. "Not precisely, but these ruffians see that he is not one of them, and hate him because he has an honest and proud look." "Yet I advised him to do what you told me, sir, and make up his mind to talk to some of the least wicked! But he cannot help it, he cannot get over his repugnance." "He is wrong--wrong! A struggle is so soon begun." "Can't he, then, be separated from the others?" "For the last two or three days, since I have seen their ill-will towards him, I advised him to place himself what we call _a la pistole_,--that is, in a room." "Well?" "I had not thought of one thing. A whole row of cells is undergoing repair, and the others are full." "But these wretches may kill him!" said Rigolette, her eyes filling with tears. "And if, by chance, he had any protectors, what could they do for him, sir?"