“Well, Enguerrand,” said Jeanne, composing herself with an effort, though her lips were set hard, “I will do you the justice to believe that personal advantage does not influence you, and I will try to reason calmly with you, and convince you that you are simply hide-bound by old-world prejudice. Now, take yourself, for instance, who come here to instruct me: what does _your_ profession amount to, when all’s said and done? A mass of lies, quibbles, dodges, and tricks, that would make any self-respecting executioner blush! And even with the dirty weapons at your command, you make but a poor show of it. There was that wretched fellow you defended only two days ago. (I was in court during the trial--professional interest, you know.) Well, he had his regular _alibi_ all ready, as clear as clear could be; only you must needs go and mess and bungle the thing up, so that, as I expected all along, he was passed on to me for treatment in due course. You may like to have his opinion--that of a shrewd, though unlettered person. ‘It’s a real pleasure, miss,’ he said, ‘to be handled by you. You _knows_ your work, and you _does_ your work--though p’raps I ses it as shouldn’t. If that blooming fool of a mouthpiece of mine’--he was referring to you, dear, in your capacity of advocate--‘had known his business half as well as you do yours, I shouldn’t a bin here now!’ And you know, Enguerrand, he was perfectly right.” “Well, perhaps he was,” admitted Enguerrand. “You see, I had been working at a sonnet the night before, and I couldn’t get the rhymes right, and they would keep coming into my head in court and mixing themselves up with the _alibi_. But look here, Jeanne, when you saw I was going off the track, you might have given me a friendly hint, you know--for old times’ sake, if not for the prisoner’s!” “I daresay,” replied Jeanne, calmly: “perhaps you’ll tell me why I should sacrifice my interests because you’re unable to look after yours. You forget that I receive a bonus, over and above my salary, upon each exercise of my functions!” “True,” said Enguerrand, gloomily: “I did forget that. I wish I had your business aptitudes, Jeanne.” “I daresay you do,” remarked Jeanne. “But you see, dear, how all your arguments fall to the ground. You mistake a prepossession for a logical base. Now if I had gone, like that Clairette you used to dangle after, and been waiting-woman to some grand lady in a château--a thin-blooded compound of drudge and sycophant--then, I suppose, you’d have been perfectly satisfied. So feminine! So genteel!”