Such was the opinion of many concerning Jacques Ferrand, this good and excellent man.
CHAPTER VI.
THE OFFICE.
His office resembled all offices, his clerks all other clerks. It was reached by an ante-chamber, furnished with four old chairs. In the office, properly so called, surrounded by shelves furnished with paper boxes, containing documents belonging to the clients of the notary, five young men, bending over desks of black wood, laughed, talked, or scribbled incessantly. An adjoining room, in which usually remained the head clerk, then an empty room, which, for the sake of secrecy, separated the notary's sanctum from the other offices, such was this laboratory of all kinds and sorts. Two o'clock had just struck by an old cuckoo clock, placed between the two windows of the office; agitation seemed to reign among the clerks, which some fragments of their conversation will explain.
"Certainly, if any one had told me that Francois Germain was a thief," said one of the young men, "I should have answered, `You are a liar!'"
"And I!"
"And I also!"
"I! It produced such an effect on me to see him arrested and taken away by the guard that I could not eat my breakfast. I was recompensed, however, for it spared me from eating the daily mess of Mother Seraphin."
"Seventeen thousand francs—it is a sum!"
"A famous sum!"