Presently a young man approached them. He was very nice looking and
astonishingly cheerful. The hopes of the twain went up with a bound.
His expression was so benign, so bland that they at once jumped to
the conclusion that he was coming to tell them that they were free to
go, that it had all been a stupid mistake. But they were wrong. He
smilingly introduced himself as an advocate connected with the court
by appointment and that he would be eternally grateful to them if
they would tell him what he could do for them.
"I'd like to have a word in private with the Magistrate," said the
Prince of Graustark eagerly.
"Impossible!" said the advocate, lifting his eyebrows and his smart
little mustachios in an expression of extreme amazement. "It is
imposs--" A sharp rapping on the Judge's desk reduced the remainder
of the sentence to a delicate whisper--"ible. M'sieur."
"Will you conduct me to a telephone booth?" whispered Miss Guile,
tearfully.
"Pray do not weep, Mademoiselle," implored the advocate, profoundly
moved, but at the same time casting a calculating eye over the
luckless pair.
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