cold, the rain, the cost of hackney-coaches, all of which and much
else he bemoaned in so witty a manner that the two artists took a
mighty fancy to cousin Gazonal, and made him relate his lawsuit from
beginning to end.

"My lawsuit," he said in his Southern accent and rolling his r's, "is
a very simple thing; they want my manufactory. I've employed here in
Paris a dolt of a lawyer, to whom I give twenty francs every time he
opens an eye, and he is always asleep. He's a slug, who drives in his
coach, while I go afoot and he splashes me. I see now I ought to have
had a carriage! On the other hand, that Council of State are a pack of
do-nothings, who leave their duties to little scamps every one of whom
is bought up by our prefect. That's my lawsuit! They want my
manufactory! Well, they'll get it! and they must manage the best they
can with my workmen, a hundred of 'em, who'll make them sing another
tune before they've done with them."

"Two years. Ha! that meddling prefect! he shall pay dear for this;
I'll have his life if I have to give mine on the scaffold--"

"Which state councillor presides over your section?"

"A former newspaper man,--doesn't pay ten sous in taxes,--his name is
Massol."

The two Parisians exchanged glances.

"Who is the commissioner who is making the report?"

"Ha! that's still more queer; he's Master of Petitions, professor of