At last the day, which he had awaited with feverish impatience, dawned.  To pass the time, he dressed himself slowly, with much care, trying to occupy his mind with needless details, and to deceive himself as to the time by looking constantly at the clock, to see if it had not stopped.  In spite of all this delay, it was not eight o’clock when he presented himself at the magistrate’s house, begging him to excuse, on account of the importance of his business, a visit too early not to be indiscreet.

Excuses were superfluous.  M. Daburon was never disturbed by a call at eight o’clock in the morning.  He was already at work.  He received the old amateur detective with his usual kindness, and even joked with him a little about his excitement of the previous evening.  Who would have thought his nerves were so sensitive?  Doubtless the night had brought deliberation.  Had he recovered his reason? or had he put his hand on the true criminal?

This trifling tone in a magistrate, who was accused of being grave even to a fault, troubled the old man.  Did not this quizzing hide a determination not to be influenced by anything that he could say?  He believed it did; and it was without the least deception that he commenced his pleading.

He put the case more calmly this time, but with all the energy of a well-digested conviction.  He had appealed to the heart, he now appealed to reason; but, although doubt is essentially contagious, he neither succeeded in convincing the magistrate, nor in shaking his opinion.  His strongest arguments were of no more avail against M. Daburon’s absolute conviction than bullets made of bread crumbs would be against a breastplate.  And there was nothing very surprising in that.

Old Tabaret had on his side only a subtle theory, mere words; M. Daburon possessed palpable testimony, facts.  And such was the peculiarity of the case, that all the reasons brought forward by the old man to justify Albert simply reacted against him, and confirmed his guilt.

A repulse at the magistrate’s hands had entered too much into M. Tabaret’s anticipations for him to appear troubled or discouraged.  He declared that, for the present, he would insist no more; he had full confidence in the magistrate’s wisdom and impartiality.  All he wished was to put him on his guard against the presumptions which he himself unfortunately had taken such pains to inspire.

He was going, he added, to busy himself with obtaining more information.  They were only at the beginning of the investigation; and they were still ignorant of very many things, even of Widow Lerouge’s past life.  More facts might come to light.  Who knew what testimony the man with the earrings, who was being pursued by Gevrol, might give?  Though in a great rage internally, and longing to insult and chastise he whom he inwardly styled a “fool of a magistrate,” old Tabaret forced himself to be humble and polite.  He wished, he said, to keep well posted up in the different phases of the investigation, and to be informed of the result of future interrogations.  He ended by asking permission to communicate with Albert, He thought his services deserved this slight favour.  He desired an interview of only ten minutes without witnesses.