Segmuller.
"Yes, sir; she is in the gallery outside."
"Let her come in then."
An instant later the hostess of the Poivriere entered the room, bowing
to the right and to the left. This was not her first appearance before
a magistrate, and she was not ignorant of the respect that is due to
justice. Accordingly, she had arrayed herself for her examination with
the utmost care. She had arranged her rebellious gray locks in smooth
bandeaux, and her garments, although of common material, looked
positively neat. She had even persuaded one of the prison warders to buy
her--with the money she had about her at the time of her arrest--a black
crape cap, and a couple of white pocket-handkerchiefs, intending to
deluge the latter with her tears, should the situation call for a
pathetic display.
She was indeed far too knowing to rely solely on the mere artifices of
dress; hence, she had also drawn upon her repertoire of grimaces for an
innocent, sad, and yet resigned expression, well fitted, in her opinion,
to win the sympathy and indulgence of the magistrate upon whom her fate
would depend.
Thus disguised, with downcast eyes and honeyed voice, she looked so
unlike the terrible termagant of the Poivriere, that her customers would
scarcely have recognized her. Indeed, an honest old bachelor might have
offered her twenty francs a month to take charge of his chambers--solely
on the strength of her good looks. But M. Segmuller had unmasked so many
hypocrites that he was not deceived for a moment.
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