However, there I sat and waited patiently whilst, no doubt, M. le Juge d’Instruction and the noble Israelite were comparing notes as to their impression of my marvellous speech.  I had not long to wait.  Less than ten minutes later I was once more summoned into the presence of M. le Juge; and this time the minions of the law were ordered to remain in the antechamber.  I thought this was of good augury; and I waited to hear M. le Juge give forth the order that would at once set me free.  But it was M. Mosenstein who first addressed me, and in very truth surprise rendered me momentarily dumb when he did it thus: 

“Now then, you consummate rascal, when you have given up the receipt of the Mont de Piete which you stole out of M. le Marquis’s pocket you may go and carry on your rogueries elsewhere and call yourself mightily lucky to have escaped so lightly.”

I assure you, Sir, that a feather would have knocked me down.  The coarse insult, the wanton injustice, had deprived me of the use of my limbs and of my speech.  Then the juge d’instruction proceeded dryly: 

“Now then, Ratichon, you have heard what M. Mauruss Mosenstein has been good enough to say to you.  He did it with my approval and consent.  I am prepared to give an ordonnance de non-lieu in your favour which will have the effect of at once setting you free if you will restore to this gentleman here the Mont de Piete receipt which you appear to have stolen.”

“Sir,” I said with consummate dignity in the face of this reiterated taunt, “I have stolen nothing—­”

M. le Juge’s hand was already on the bell-pull.

“Then,” he said coolly, “I can ring for the gendarmes to take you back to the cells, and you will stand your trial for blackmail, theft, assault and robbery.”

I put up my hand with an elegant and perfectly calm gesture.

“Your pardon, M. le Juge,” I said with the gentle resignation of undeserved martyrdom, “I was about to say that when I re-visited my rooms in the Rue Daunou after a three days’ absence, and found the police in possession, I picked up on the floor of my private room a white paper which on subsequent examination proved to be a receipt from the Mont de Piete for some valuable gems, and made out in the name of M. le Marquis de Firmin-Latour.”

“What have you done with it, you abominable knave?” the irascible old usurer rejoined roughly, and I regret to say that he grasped his malacca cane with ominous violence.

But I was not to be thus easily intimidated.

“Ah! voila, M. le Juge,” I said with a shrug of the shoulders.  “I have mislaid it.  I do not know where it is.”

“If you do not find it,” Mosenstein went on savagely, “you will find yourself on a convict ship before long.”