In point of fact, the Palais de Justice was scarcely awake when he
arrived there. The doors had barely opened. The attendants were busy
sweeping and dusting; or changing their ordinary garments for their
official costumes. Some of them standing in the windows of the long
dressing room were shaking and brushing the judges' and advocates'
gowns; while in the great hall several clerks stood in a group, chaffing
each other while waiting for the arrival of the head registrar and the
opening of the investigation offices.
M. Segmuller thought that he had better begin by consulting the public
prosecutor, but he discovered that this functionary had not yet arrived.
Angry and impatient, he proceeded to his own office; and with his eyes
fixed on the clock, growled at the slowness of the minute hand. Just
after nine o'clock, Goguet, the smiling clerk, put in an appearance and
speedily learned the kind of humor his master was in.
"Ah, you've come at last," gruffly ejaculated M. Segmuller, momentarily
oblivious of the fact that he himself scarcely ever arrived before ten,
and that a quarter-past nine was certainly early for his clerk.
Goguet's curiosity had indeed prompted him to hurry to the Palais;
still, although well aware that he did not deserve a reprimand, he
endeavored to mumble an excuse--an excuse cut short by M. Segmuller
in such unusually harsh tones that for once in a way Goguet's habitual
smile faded from his face. "It's evident," thought he, "that the wind's
blowing from a bad quarter this morning," with which reflection
he philosophically put on his black sleeves and going to his table
pretended to be absorbed in the task of mending his pens and preparing
his paper.
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