"Have you the warrant?" Don Luis repeated, in a harsher tone.
"Well, you see, I couldn't help it…. M. Desmalions, the magistrate—"
If the Place du Palais Bourbon had been deserted at that moment, Don Luis would certainly have relieved himself by a swinging blow administered to Mazeroux's chin according to the most scientific rules of the noble art. And Mazeroux foresaw this contingency, for he prudently kept as far away as possible and, to appease the chief's anger, intended a whole litany of excuses:
"It was for your good, Chief…. I had to do it … Only think! You yourself told me: 'Rid me of the creature!' said you. I'm too weak. You'll arrest her, won't you? Her eyes burn into me—like poison! Well, Chief, could I help it? No, I couldn't, could I? Especially as the deputy chief—"
"Ah!
