"Come, my boys, let's lose no time," he said, pretending to be in a
hurry.

"Hey!" said Vermichel. "Here's a refractory, Monsieur Brunet; Pere
Fourchon wants to drop off."

"He has had too many drops already," said the sheriff; "but the law in
this case does not require that he shall be sober."

"Please excuse me, Monsieur Brunet," said Fourchon, "I am expected at
Les Aigues on business; they are in treaty for an otter."

Brunet, a withered little man dressed from head to foot in black
cloth, with a bilious skin, a furtive eye, curly hair, lips
tight-drawn, pinched nose, anxious expression, and gruff in speech,
exhibited the phenomenon of a character and bearing in perfect harmony
with his profession. He was so well-informed as to the law, or, to
speak more correctly, the quibbles of the law, that he had come to be
both the terror and the counsellor of the whole canton. He was not
without a certain popularity among the peasantry, from whom he usually
took his pay in kind. The compound of his active and negative
qualities and his knowledge of how to manage matters got him the
custom of the canton, to the exclusion of his coadjutor Plissoud,
about whom we shall have something to say later. This chance
combination of a sheriff's officer who does everything and a sheriff's
officer who does nothing is not at all uncommon in the country justice
courts.

"So matters are getting warm, are they?" said Tonsard to little