Chapter 63 Seven travelers who have arrived prepare to return

Earlier we talked about a car and its passengers on the road.It was almost eight o'clock in the evening when the car entered the Arras Post Hotel.When the rider got out of the carriage, he answered the hospitality of the innkeepers casually, dismissed the newly replenished horse, and led the white pony to the stable; door, and sat in the room with his elbows on the table.The journey, which he had planned to complete in six hours, took fourteen hours.It wasn't his fault, he asked himself; but in truth, it didn't bother him. The proprietress of the hotel came in. "Is sir spending the night here? Is sir having dinner?"

He shook his head. "The groom says sir's horse is tired!" Only then did he speak. "Can't the horse go tomorrow?" "Oh! Sir! It must have at least two days' rest before it can go." He asked again: "Isn't this the post office?" "Yes, sir." The landlady led him to the post office, he took out his ID card, and asked if there was a way to take the mailbox car back to Montreuil-sur-Mer that evening, and the seat next to the postman was vacant, so he booked it and paid for the journey . "Sir," said the bureau man, "please come here at one o'clock in the morning and take the train."

After the matter was settled, he left the hotel and walked towards the city. He had never been to Arras before, and the streets were dark, so he walked slowly.At the same time he seemed determined not to ask passers-by for directions.He crossed the Cranzon Creek and got lost in the narrow lanes of a side street.It happened that a gentleman passed by with a big lantern.After hesitating for a while, he decided to ask the gentleman, and before asking, he looked back and forth, as if afraid of being overheard about the question he was about to ask. "Sir," said he, "if you please, where is the courthouse?"

"Aren't you native, sir?" replied the rather old gentleman. "Come with me, then. I'm going to the courthouse, that is, to the Provincial Office. The courthouse is being repaired, so For the time being, the trial will be held in the Provincial Office." "Are the criminal cases going on there too?" he asked. "It must be, sir. You know that today's provincial government office is the pre-revolutionary bishop's college. In 1982, M. de Gondhier, the bishop, built a hall in it. The court will be held in that hall." The gentleman said to him as he walked:

"If you want to see the trial, sir, it is a little late. Usually they leave the court at six o'clock." But when they reached the Grand Place, Gentleman showed him a dark mansion with lights in the four long windows on the front. "Indeed, sir. You're just in time, you're lucky. Do you see these four windows? This is the courtroom. There's a light in it. That means the business isn't finished. The case must be delayed, so it's open." Evening court. Do you care about the case? Is it a criminal case? Are you going to testify?" He replied: "I'm not here for any case, but I have something to say to a lawyer."

"Of course it's different. You see, sir, this is the gate. Where the guards are. You just go up the grand staircase." He followed the gentleman's instructions, and a few minutes later he entered a hall where many people, some in small groups, were talking in low voices around the robed lawyers. It was always chilling to see these hordes of men in black standing at the door of the court and whispering.There is very little kindness and compassion in the words that come out of these people's mouths, and most of what they spit out are judgments that have already been drawn up.Crowds of people reminded the restless observer of beehives full of humming goblins building together dark mansions of every kind.

Only one lamp was burning in this vast hall, which had formerly been the outer drawing-room of the Bishop's Church, and now served as the vestibule of the court.A double door is closing, and the door is the hall where the criminal court is located. The antechamber was unusually dark, so he took the liberty of finding a lawyer at random, and asked: "Sir," said he, "how far has the case gone?" "The trial is over," said the lawyer. "The trial is over!" He said this sentence very emphatically, the lawyer heard it and turned around. "Excuse me, sir, but perhaps you are a member of the family?"

"No. I have no acquaintance here. Convicted?" "Of course. It must be so." "Sentenced to forced labor?" "Forced labor for life." He said again in a faint voice that could hardly be heard by anyone else: "So, has the sinner's identity been confirmed?" "What integrity? There is no issue of integrity to prove. This case is very simple. The woman killed her own child. The infanticide was proven. The jury did not investigate whether the murder was intentional, and sentenced her to life imprisonment." "Is it a woman, then?" he said.

"A woman, of course. Miss Limozan. So what case are you talking to me about?" "Nothing. But since it's over, why is the hall still lit?" "This is for another case, and the trial has been open for almost two hours." "What's the other case?" "Oh! This one is also simple and clear. A scoundrel, a convict, a convict, and a robber. I don't remember his name very well. His face is really like a bandit. Only that face has disappeared. Enough for me to send him to jail." "Sir," he asked, "is there a way to get into the hall?"

"I don't think there's anything else to be done. The audience is very crowded. It's the break, and some people have come out. You can try it when the trial resumes." "From where?" "From this door." The lawyer left him.He was extremely disturbed for a moment, and thousands of thoughts came to his mind almost all at once.The words of this irrelevant person pierced into his heart one after another like needles of ice and tongues of fire.When he saw that the matter was not over, he let out a sigh of relief, but he didn't know whether he felt satisfaction or sadness.

He approached several groups of people and listened to their conversation.Due to the large number of cases during this period, the chief judge arranged two short cases on this day.First it was the infanticide case, and now this convict, this recidivist, this "returning horse" is being tried.The man stole some apples, but there is no real proof, except that he had been imprisoned in Toulon.This made his case serious.Furthermore, his own interrogation and the statements of the witnesses have been completed, but the defense has not yet been entered by the lawyer and the prosecution has not yet been instituted.These things can't be finished until the middle of the night.This person is likely to be sentenced, the prosecutor is very good, and the people he accuses have never been "survived", and he is also a talented man looking for poems and sentences. A bailiff stood by the door into the criminal court.He asked the bailiff: "Sir, is the door open soon?" "It won't open," said the bailiff. "What! Don't you open the door when the trial continues? Isn't it a break now?" "The trial has been going on for some time now," replied the bailiff, "but the door will not open." "why?" "Because it's already full." "What! Is there no seat left?" "Not a single one. The door is shut. No one is allowed in." The bailiff paused for a moment and then said: "There are two or three seats behind Mr. Judge, but Mr. Judge only allows public officials to sit there." After the bailiff said this, he turned his back. He stepped back with his head down, crossed the vestibule, and walked slowly down the stairs, as if hesitating at every step.Perhaps he was thinking alone.The fierce struggle that had been waged in him the night before was not over yet, and new changes were always on the way.He walked to the corner of the stairs, leaned on the railing, and crossed his arms.Suddenly, he unbuttoned his coat, took out his wallet, pulled out a pencil, tore a piece of paper, and hastily wrote in the dim light of the backlight: "Mr. Madeleine, Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer."He strode up the stairs again, squeezed his way through the crowd, went straight to the bailiff, handed him the paper, and said to him solemnly: "Please give this to Mr. Judge." The bailiff took the paper, glanced at it, and obeyed.