"What, monsieur! if I put a wooden rail, a bar, across, you will allow me to keep flowers at my window?"
"Yes; if you do that, you may keep as many there as you choose."
The girl fairly jumped for joy.
"Oh! what fun! I will put a rosebush and carnations with my pansies!"
"Mon Dieu! mademoiselle! will each of the three be a signal to a lover?"
"I'll put up a bar right away; and I'll keep three flower pots there, monsieur le commissaire; three flower pots!"
The girl left the office in a very joyous frame of mind. After her, came a woman who charged her husband with striking her with a skimmer; then a husband who wanted a separation from his wife, because she gave him nothing but onion soup for dinner every day; then a tenant who complained of his concierge, because he made him pass the night in the street, on the ground that it was after midnight when he came home; then a peddler whose tray had been upset; a milkwoman whose donkey had been wounded by a cabriolet; a cab that refused to move; a shop which did not close at midnight; a man who had tried to drown himself; a girl who was found dying of suffocation. Sometimes this sort of thing goes on from morning till night; and it not infrequently happens that the magistrate is roused from his sleep. A man needs to be made of iron to fill that post in Paris.
At length, having dismissed the last of the crowd that besieged him, the magistrate motioned to the messengers to follow him into his private office. Having closed his door, to ensure them against interruption, he seated himself at his desk, and addressed Sans-Cravate first.
"Are you the man called Sans-Cravate?"