with his trousers, shoes, stockings, and linen. He always had the luck
of his carelessness; for, the first day he put on a new coat, he
unfailingly matched it with the rest of his costume by staining it
with incredible promptitude. The good man waited till his housekeeper
told him that his hat was too shabby before buying a new one. His
necktie was always crumpled and starchless, and he never set his
dog-eared shirt collar straight after his judge's bands had disordered
it. He took no care of his gray hair, and shaved but twice a week. He
never wore gloves, and generally kept his hands stuffed into his empty
trousers' pockets; the soiled pocket-holes, almost always torn, added
a final touch to the slovenliness of his person.

Any one who knows the Palais de Justice at Paris, where every variety
of black attire may be studied, can easily imagine the appearance of
M. Popinot. The habit of sitting for days at a time modifies the
structure of the body, just as the fatigue of hearing interminable
pleadings tells on the expression of a magistrate's face. Shut up as
he is in courts ridiculously small, devoid of architectural dignity,
and where the air is quickly vitiated, a Paris judge inevitably
acquires a countenance puckered and seamed by reflection, and
depressed by weariness; his complexion turns pallid, acquiring an
earthy or greenish hue according to his individual temperament. In
short, within a given time the most blooming young man is turned into
an "inasmuch" machine--an instrument which applies the Code to
individual cases with the indifference of clockwork.

Hence, nature, having bestowed on M. Popinot a not too pleasing
exterior, his life as a lawyer had not improved it. His frame was
graceless and angular. His thick knees, huge feet, and broad hands
formed a contrast with a priest-like face having a vague resemblance