“And after all,” continued the prisoner, “what are the proofs against me?  The name of Lacheneur faltered by a dying man; a few footprints on some melting snow; a sleepy cab-driver’s declaration; and a vague doubt about a drunkard’s identity.  If that is all you have against me, it certainly doesn’t amount to much—­”

“Enough!” interrupted M. Segmuller.  “Your assurance is perfect now; though a moment ago your embarrassment was most remarkable.  What was the cause of it?”

“The cause!” indignantly exclaimed the prisoner, whom this query had seemingly enraged; “the cause!  Can’t you see, sir, that you are torturing me frightfully, pitilessly!  I am an innocent man, and you are trying to deprive me of my life.  You have been turning me this way and that way for so many hours that I begin to feel as if I were standing on the guillotine.  Each time I open my mouth to speak I ask myself, is it this answer that will send me to the scaffold?  My anxiety and dismay surprise you, do they?  Why, since this examination began, I’ve felt the cold knife graze my neck at least twenty times.  I wouldn’t like my worst enemy to be subjected to such torture as this.”

The prisoner’s description of his sufferings did not seem at all exaggerated.  His hair was saturated with perspiration, and big drops of sweat rested on his pallid brow, or coursed down his cheeks on to his beard.

“I am not your enemy,” said the magistrate more gently.  “A magistrate is neither a prisoner’s friend nor enemy, he is simply the friend of truth and the executor of the law.  I am not seeking either for an innocent man or for a culprit; I merely wish to arrive at the truth.  I must know who you are—­and I do know—­”

“Ah!—­if the assertion costs me my life—­I’m May and none other.”

“No, you are not.”

“Who am I then?  Some great man in disguise?  Ah!  I wish I were!  In that case, I should have satisfactory papers to show you; and then you would set me free, for you know very well, my good sir, that I am as innocent as you are.”

The magistrate had left his desk, and taken a seat by the fireplace within a yard of the prisoner.  “Do not insist,” said he.  Then, suddenly changing both manner and tone, he added with the urbanity that a man of the world displays when addressing an equal: 

“Do me the honor, sir, to believe me gifted with sufficient perspicuity to recognize, under the difficult part you play to such perfection, a very superior gentleman—­a man endowed with remarkable talents.”

Lecoq perceived that this sudden change of manner had unnerved the prisoner.  He tried to laugh, but his merriment partook somewhat of the nature of a sob, and big tears glistened in his eyes.

“I will not torture you any longer,” continued the magistrate.  “In subtle reasoning I confess that you have conquered me.  However, when I return to the charge I shall have proofs enough in my possession to crush you.”