Long before the hour fixed for the opening of the court, every thing is full to overflowing. A pin might be thrown into the room, and it could not fall to the ground. Not an inch of space is lost. All around, along the wall men are standing in close ranks. On both sides of the platform, chairs have been put, which are occupied by a large number of our first ladies in good society, not only of Sauveterre, however, but also of the neighborhood and even other cites. Some of them appear in magnificent toilettes. A thousand reports are current, a thousand conjectures are formed, which we shall take care not to report. Why should we? Let us say, however, that the accused has not availed himself of his right to reject a certain number of jurymen. He has accepted all the names which were drawn by lot, and which the prosecuting attorney did not object to. We obtained this information from an attorney, a friend of ours; and, just as he had told us all about it, a great noise rose at the door, which was followed by rapid moving of chairs, and half-smothered exclamations. It was the family of the accused, who had come in, and now occupied the seats assigned them close by the platform. The Marquis de Boiscoran had on his arm Miss Chandore, who wore with great grace and dignity a dark gray dress, trimmed with cherry-colored ribbons. M. de Chandore escorted the Marchioness de Boiscoran. The marquis and the baron looked cold and reserved. The mother of the accused appears utterly overcome. Miss Chandore, on the contrary, is lively, does not seem in the least concerned, and returns with a bright smile the few greetings she receives from various parts of the court-room. But soon they are no longer an object of curiosity. The attention of all is now directed towards a large table standing before the judges, and on which may be seen a number of articles covered by large red cloth. These are the articles to be used in evidence. In the meantime it strikes eleven o’clock. The sheriff’s officers move about the room, seeing that every thing is in order. Then a small door opens on the left, and the counsel for the defence enter. Our readers know who they are. One is M. Magloire, the ornament of our bar; the other, an advocate from the capital, M. Folgat, quite young, but already famous. M. Magloire looks as he does on his best days, and smilingly converses with the mayor of Sauveterre; while M. Folgat opens his blue bag, and consults his papers. Half-past eleven! An usher announces,-- The court. M. Domini takes the chair. M. Gransiere occupies the seat of the prosecuting attorney. Behind them the jurymen sit down, looking grave and solemn. Everybody rises, everybody strains his eyes to see, and stands on tiptoe. Some persons in the back rows even get upon their chairs. The president has ordered the prisoner to be brought in. He appears.