Jean Jacques clutched at his beard nervously, then with an effort he controlled himself.

He took off his hat as though he was about to greet some important person, or to receive sentence in a court.

Instinctively he felt the little book of philosophy which he always carried now in his breast-pocket, as a pietist would finger his beads in moments of fear or anxiety.

The Clerk of the Court passed his thin hand over his hair, as he was wont to do in court when the Judge began his charge to the Jury, and then with an action more impulsive than was usual with him, he held out his hand, and Jean Jacques grasped it.

Something was bringing them together just when it seemed that, in the storm of Jean Jacques' indignation, they were about to fall apart.
M.Fille's eyes said as plainly as words could do, "Courage, my friend!" Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! The knocking was sharp and imperative now.