The journey must have calmed her nerves, for she had become as gentle as a lamb.  It was in a wheedling voice, and with tearful eyes, that she called upon these “good gentlemen” to witness the shameful injustice with which she was treated—­she, an honest woman.  Was she not the mainstay of her family (since her son Polyte was in custody, charged with pocket-picking), hence what would become of her daughter-in-law, and of her grandson Toto, who had no one to look after them but her?

Still, when her name had been taken, and a keeper was ordered to remove her, nature reasserted itself, and scarcely had she entered the corridor than she was heard quarreling with the guard.

“You are wrong not to be polite,” she said; “you are losing a good fee, without counting many a good drink I would stand you when I get out of here.”

Lecoq was now free until M. d’Escorval’s arrival.  He wandered through the gloomy corridors, from office to office, but finding himself assailed with questions by every one he came across, he eventually left the Depot, and went and sat down on one of the benches beside the quay.  Here he tried to collect his thoughts.  His convictions were unchanged.  He was more than ever convinced that the prisoner was concealing his real social standing, but, on the other hand, it was evident that he was well acquainted with the prison and its usages.

He had also proved himself to be endowed with far more cleverness than Lecoq had supposed.  What self-control!  What powers of dissimulation he had displayed!  He had not so much as frowned while undergoing the severest ordeals, and he had managed to deceive the most experienced eyes in Paris.

The young detective had waited during nearly three hours, as motionless as the bench on which he was seated, and so absorbed in studying his case that he had thought neither of the cold nor of the flight of time, when a carriage drew up before the entrance of the prison, and M. d’Escorval alighted, followed by his clerk.

Lecoq rose and hastened, well-nigh breathless with anxiety, toward the magistrate.

“My researches on the spot,” said this functionary, “confirm me in the belief that you are right.  Is there anything fresh?”

“Yes, sir; a fact that is apparently very trivial, though, in truth, it is of importance that—­”

“Very well!” interrupted the magistrate.  “You will explain it to me by and by.  First of all, I must summarily examine the prisoners.  A mere matter of form for to-day.  Wait for me here.”

Although the magistrate promised to make haste, Lecoq expected that at least an hour would elapse before he reappeared.  In this he was mistaken.  Twenty minutes later, M. d’Escorval emerged from the prison without his clerk.

He was walking very fast, and instead of approaching the young detective, he called to him at some little distance.  “I must return home at once,” he said, “instantly; I can not listen to you.”