dingy den in the magistrate's office, where he either slept or occupied
himself in sorting documents and papers. But there he had grown to be
almost a necessity, for he had the special gift of knowing the contents
of every paper, and the name of every single person who for years had
sought information at the office. He could stand in the middle of the
room and point to the different shelves, and say, apparently without
effort, what each contained, and what was missing. He had thus gone down
as a kind of living inventory from magistrate to magistrate, and as his
special knowledge increased he endeavoured to get his salary raised, so
that he might give himself up recklessly to his two ruling passions,
which were drinking beer and reading novels at night.

As Marianne went through the room she moved her grandfather's chair
close to the kitchen door, and gave him a meaning look. He nodded to
show that he understood her wishes. She then said good night to the old
man, and went into the kitchen, from whence a little dark staircase led
upstairs to her room.

Marianne locked her door and went to bed. She was so tired every night
that she could scarcely keep her eyes open while she undressed, and she
fell asleep the moment she got into bed. Under her the noise of voices
continued, varied by quarrelling and cursing, which mingled with the
dreams of her heavy and broken slumber. In the morning her hair and
pillow were damp with perspiration; she was chilled with cold, and was
even more tired than when she went to rest.

The talking soon went on again as briskly as ever. Martin related how he
had been up to the office that morning, intending to speak to the young
Consul personally. He wished to complain of the captain who had told
tales about him.