“Now, child,” said Asie, “I have got to be figged out.  I must be a Baroness of the Faubourg Saint-Germain at the very least.  And sharp’s the word, for my feet are in hot oil.  You know what gowns suit me.  Hand up the rouge-pot, find me some first-class bits of lace, and the swaggerest jewelry you can pick out.—­Send the girl to call a coach, and have it brought to the back door.”

“Yes, madame,” the woman replied very humbly, and with the eagerness of a maid waiting on her mistress.

If there had been any one to witness the scene, he would have understood that the woman known as Asie was at home here.

“I have had some diamonds offered me,” said la Romette as she dressed Asie’s head.

“Stolen?”

“I should think so.”

“Well, then, however cheap they may be, we must do without ’em.  We must fight shy of the beak for a long time to come.”

It will now be understood how Asie contrived to be in the Salle des Pas-Perdus of the Palais de Justice with a summons in her hand, asking her way along the passages and stairs leading to the examining judge’s chambers, and inquiring for Monsieur Camusot, about a quarter of an hour before that gentleman’s arrival.

Asie was not recognizable.  After washing off her “make-up” as an old woman, like an actress, she applied rouge and pearl powder, and covered her head with a well-made fair wig.  Dressed exactly as a lady of the Faubourg Saint-Germain might be if in search of a dog she had lost, she looked about forty, for she shrouded her features under a splendid black lace veil.  A pair of stays, severely laced, disguised her cook’s figure.  With very good gloves and a rather large bustle, she exhaled the perfume of powder a la Marechale.  Playing with a bag mounted in gold, she divided her attention between the walls of the building, where she found herself evidently for the first time, and the string by which she led a dainty little spaniel.  Such a dowager could not fail to attract the notice of the black-robed natives of the Salle des Pas-Perdus.

Besides the briefless lawyers who sweep this hall with their gowns, and speak of the leading advocates by their Christian names, as fine gentlemen address each other, to produce the impression that they are of the aristocracy of the law, patient youths are often to be seen, hangers-on of the attorneys, waiting, waiting, in hope of a case put down for the end of the day, which they may be so lucky as to be called to plead if the advocates retained for the earlier cases should not come out in time.

A very curious study would be that of the differences between these various black gowns, pacing the immense hall in threes, or sometimes in fours, their persistent talk filling the place with a loud, echoing hum—­a hall well named indeed, for this slow walk exhausts the lawyers as much as the waste of words.  But such a study has its place in the volumes destined to reveal the life of Paris pleaders.