M. Cavalcanti, his father, had been seen in Paris, and it was expected that he would re-appear to claim the illustrious outcast. Many, also, who were not aware of the circumstances attending his withdrawal from Paris, were struck with the worthy appearance, the gentlemanly bearing, and the knowledge of the world displayed by the old patrician, who certainly played the nobleman very well, so long as he said nothing, and made no arithmetical calculations. As for the accused himself, many remembered him as being so amiable, so handsome, and so liberal, that they chose to think him the victim of some conspiracy, since in this world large fortunes frequently excite the malevolence and jealousy of some unknown enemy. Every one, therefore, ran to the court; some to witness the sight, others to comment upon it. From seven o'clock in the morning a crowd was stationed at the iron gates, and an hour before the trial commenced the hall was full of the privileged. Before the entrance of the. There would be NO way she could get free alone! There was a sudden draught of cool air, as if a back door being opened. Did this mean that people were coming or going? Two seemed as enough, since this was her first time in such a place. Then she heard the muffled sound of steps at another end of the shop. The curtain moved slightly. “Come in here, bitch..” At the same time, the person behind Amelie pushed her forwards a little, while holding her arm firmly. Finally! She was going to see what was behind the black curtain. It was a corridor going both left and right. Walls and ceiling were painted a dark red and it was illuminated by sl**py small lamps, mounted in the wall at about hip-height. There was doors, both slightly ajar, at both ends. There also was brass-railing at both sides, just above the small lamps. Even without looking up. Amelie saw a glimpse of a short woman disappearing into one of the rooms. Then she was jerked to a halt in the corridor. She could almost (but not.
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