“There’s something stirring in the coverts,” said the Judge to himself as he was introduced to the mother and child. By a hasty gesture Zoe gave a command to M. Fille to help her down. With a hand on his shoulder she dropped to the ground. Her object was at once apparent. She made a pretty old-fashioned curtsey to the Judge, then held out her hand, as though to reassert her democratic equality.
As the Judge looked at Madame Barbille, he was involuntarily, but none the less industriously, noting her characteristics; and the sum of his reflections, after a few moments’ talk, was that dangers he had seen ahead of Jean Jacques, would not be averted by his wife, indeed might easily have their origin in her.
“I wonder it has gone on as long as it has,” he said to himself; though it seemed unreasonable that his few moments with her, and the story told him by the Clerk of the Court, should enable him to come to any definite conclusion. But at eighty-odd Judge Carcasson was a Solon and a Solomon in one. He had seen life from all angles, and he was not prepared to give any virtue or the possession of any virtue too much rope; while nothing in life surprised him.
“How would you like to be a judge?” he asked of Zoe, suddenly taking her hand in his. A kinship had been at once established between them, so little has age, position, and intellect to do with the natural gravitations of human nature.
She did not answer direct, and that pleased him. “If I were a judge I should have no jails,” she said. “What would you do with the bad people?” he asked.
“I would put them alone on a desert island, or out at sea in a little boat, or out on the prairies without a horse, so that they’d have to work for their lives.”
“Oh, I see! If M. Fille here set fire to a house, you would drop him on the prairie far away from everything and everybody and let him ‘root hog or die’?”
“Don’t you think it would kill him or cure him?” she asked whimsically.
The Judge laughed, his eyes twinkling. “That’s what they did when the world was young, dear ma’m’selle. There was no time to build jails. Alone on the prairie—a separate prairie for every criminal—that would take a lot of space; but the idea is all right. It mightn’t provide the proper degree of punishment, however. But that is being too particular. Alone on the prairie for punishment—well, I should like to see it tried.”
He remembered that saying of his long after, while yet he was alive, and a tale came to him from the prairies which made his eyes turn more intently towards a land that is far off, where the miserable miscalculations and mistakes of this world are readjusted. Now he was only conscious of a primitive imagination looking out of a young girl’s face, and making a bridge between her understanding and his own.