The great clock of the Palais de Justice had just struck four, and its silvery tones were echoing harmoniously along the corridors when Jérôme Fandor entered the tradesman’s gallery. He turned to the right, and found the little lobby where the cloak-room was. He quietly entered it. Barristers were coming and going, full of business, throwing off their gowns, inspecting the letters put aside during the sittings of the Courts. Fandor made his way among the groups with the case of custom. He seemed to be looking for someone, and finished by questioning one of the women employed in the cloak-room:

“Is Madame Marguerite not here?”

“Oh, yes, monsieur, she is down below.”

Madame Marguerite was an old friend of Fandor’s.

She was head of the cloak-room staff, and by her kind offices she had often obtained an interview for the journalist with one or other of the big-wigs of the bar, who generally object strongly to being questioned by newsmen. When she appeared, Fandor told her he only wanted a little bit of information from her.

“Oh, yes, I know all about that! There is someone you wish to see, and you want me to manage it for you!”

“No! Not a bit of it! What I want to know is, where do these gentlemen of the Court of Justice robe and unrobe?

I mean the Justices of the Assize Courts!” This seemed to astonish Madame Marguerite considerably.

“But, Monsieur Fandor, if you wish to interview one of the puisne judges, it would be ten times quicker for you to go and see him at his own home; here, at the Palais, it’s almost certain he will refuse to answer you....”

“Don’t worry about that, Madame Marguerite! Just tell me where these worthy guardians of order, defenders of right and justice, divest themselves of their red robes.” Madame Marguerite was too much accustomed to our young journalist’s ridiculous questions and absurd requests and remarks to argue with him any longer.

“The robing-room of these gentlemen,” said she, “is in one of the outer offices of the court, near the Council Chamber.”

“There is an assistant in that room, isn’t there?”

“Yes, Monsieur Fandor.”

“Ah! That is just what I wanted to know! Many thanks, madame.” And Fandor, grinning with satisfaction, made off in the direction of the Court of Assizes. He ran up the steps leading to the Council Chamber and, spying the messenger, asked

“Can President Guéchand see me, do you think?”

“Monsieur le Président has gone.”

Fandor seemed to be reflecting. He gazed searchingly round the room. As a matter of fact, he was verifying the correctness of Madame Marguerite’s information. All round the room Fandor saw the little presses where the men of law kept their red robes. Yes, it was the robing and unrobing room of the puisne judges, the magistrates, right enough.