“Be it so. Bernardet, give the lady her documents and register this fact, that the petitioner preferred his conscience to his fees.”
“I beg your ladyship’s pardon,” interposed Richelieu, “but it is useless to withdraw your papers, for this worthy practitioner’s legal brethren, I take it, will not accept the case. He is not so dull as to be the only one to protest and lose his business. As for me, I declare Master Flageot a very honest lawyer, in whose box my papers are as safe as in my own. So here I leave them, paying the fees just the same as though the case was up for trial.”
“How right they are who say that your lordship is generous and liberal!” burst forth the proctor; “I shall propagate your lordship’s fame.”
Richelieu bowed as though overwhelmed.
“Bernardet,” cried the enthusiastic lawyer, “in the peroration, insert the eulogium of the Duke of Richelieu.”
“No, never! I like to do good deeds by stealth, sir. Do not disoblige me, my master, or I should deny it—I would give you the lie, sir—my modesty is so touchy. Come, countess, what say you?”
“That my case ought to be tried and it shall have a hearing.”
“It will not be tried unless the King sends his army and all the great guns into the courtroom,” replied the proctor.
“Do you not think that the King will wriggle out of this bag,” asked Richelieu of the proctor in a whisper.
“Impossible. A country without courts going on is a land without daily bread.”