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"Wherefore may it please your Honours to grant an order upon Maître d'Aguilhe, Notary, of St. Elphège, to add to the minute of his contract of marriage the name and title of 'de Lincy, Esquire'; and you will do justice." "Sign, sir, please." François Xavier attached his signature. "It will do," Rottot sighed; "but I should have preferred the precedent."
The great Rottot was chiefly known for his imposing proportions, and no sight was thought so beautiful by the habitants as that of his black silk leg, as, with his robe fluttering out in the breezes, he seemed to be flying from his office across the street to the court-house, followed by a bevy of clients.
"Only a habitant from the country," he mused, good-humouredly, "who wants to add some mouldy flourishes to his name. Well, if it pleases him, let him have them. Does anybody oppose the petition?" he said aloud. "No? Well, it is granted. Hand it up for my signature." The astute Rottot had added the words "Granted as prayed for, as well as to all other deeds and writings."
They drew up in the court of a bustling inn, stabled their horse, went to bed, and the next morning sought the house of a celebrated advocate, the great Rottot.
They crossed the road and entered the court-room. A rubicund, easy-going old judge, Fraser by name, sat on the bench, the royal arms painted large in oils on a canvas behind him. In front were a lawyer or two and a few clients a slack court. Rottot, with a flourish, read the petition. The judge smiled.
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