one. He drew himself up with rigid dignity.

"You must feel sorry sometimes for those who suffered when your mind was
undeveloped, monsieur," he answered. "You were a judge at forty-nine,
and you defended poor prisoners for twenty years before that."

The Judge was conquered, and he was never the man to pretend he was not
beaten when he was. He admired skill too much for that. He squeezed M.
Fille's arm and said:

"I've been quick with my tongue myself, but I feel sure now, that it's
through long and close association with my Clerk of the Court."

"Ah, monsieur, you are so difficult to understand!" was the reply.
"I have known you all these years, and yet--"

"And yet you did not know how much of the woman there was in me! . . .
But yes, it is that. It is that which I fear with our Zoe. Women break
out--they break out, and then there is the devil to pay. Look at her
mother. She broke out. It was not inevitable. It was the curse of
opportunity, the wrong thing popping up to drive her mad at the wrong
moment. Had the wrong thing come at the right time for her, when she was
quite sane, she would be yonder now with our philosopher. Perhaps she
would not be contented if she were there, but she would be there; and as
time goes on, to be where we were in all things which concern the
affections, that is the great matter."

"Ah, yes, ah, yes," was the bright-eyed reply of that Clerk, "there is no
doubt of that! My sister and I there, we are fifty years together, never
with the wrong thing at the wrong time, always the thing as it was,