"How are we to write the investigation?" asked the registrar, much embarrassed.
"There is no charge against Simon; there is nothing to write," said Lorin; "that will suit him exactly."
Simon again shook his fist at his implacable enemy.
Lorin began to laugh.
"You will not laugh like that the day you will sneeze in the sack," said Simon, drunk with fury.
"I do not know whether I shall precede or follow you in the little ceremony you menace me with," said Lorin; "but this I do know, that many will laugh when your turn comes. Gods!—I have spoken in the plural,—gods! you will not be ugly then, Simon; you will be hideous."
And Lorin retired behind the Commission, with a fresh burst of laughter.
The Commission, having nothing more to attend to, withdrew.
As for the poor child, released from his tormentors, he began to sing a little melancholy ditty which had been a great favorite of his father.