“You say Florentin Cormier?” the agent asked, who remembered this name was that of one who had seen Caffie on the day of the crime.  “Do you know him?”

“Not exactly; it is the first time that I have made clothes for him.  But I know his mother and sister, who have lived in the Rue des Moines five or six years at least; good, honest people, who work hard and have no debts.”

The next morning about ten o’clock, a short time after Phillis’s departure, Florentin, who was reading the newspaper in the dining-room, while his mother prepared the breakfast, heard stealthy steps that stopped on the landing before their door.  His ear was too familiar with the ordinary sounds in the house to be deceived; there was in these steps a hesitation or a precaution which evidently betrayed a stranger, and with the few connections they had, a stranger was surely an enemy—­the one whom he expected.

A ring of the doorbell, given by a firm hand, made him jump from his chair.  He did not hesitate; slowly, and with an air of indifference, he opened the door.

He saw before him a man of about forty years, with a polite and shrewd face, dressed in a short coat, and wearing a flat hat.

“Monsieur Florentin Cormier?”

“I am he.”

And he asked him to come in.

“The judge desires to see you at his office.”

Madame Cormier came from the kitchen in time to hear these few words, and if Florentin had not motioned to her to be silent, she would have betrayed herself.  The words on her lips were: 

“You came to arrest my son!” They would have escaped her, but she crushed them back.

“And can you tell me for what affair the judge summons me?” Florentin asked, steadying his voice.

“For the Caffie affair.”

“And at what hour should I present myself before the judge?”

“Immediately.”

“But my son has not breakfasted!” Madame Cormier exclaimed.  “At least, take something before going, my dear child.”

“It is not worth while.”

He made a sign to her that she should not insist.  His throat was too tight to swallow a piece of bread, and it was important that he should not betray his emotion before this agent.

“I am ready,” he said.

Going to his mother he embraced her, but lightly, without effusion, as if he were only to be absent a short time.

“By-and-by.”

She was distracted; but, understanding that she would compromise her son if she yielded to her feelings, she controlled herself.

CHAPTER XX

A TIGHTENING CHAIN

As it was a part that he played, Florentin said to himself that he would play it to the best of his ability in entering the skin of the person he wished to be, and this part was that of a witness.

He had been Caffie’s clerk; the justice would interrogate him about his old employer, and nothing would be more natural.  It was that only, and nothing but that, which he could admit; consequently, he should interest himself in the police investigations, and have the curiosity to learn how they stood.