“’What, what!  Policemen, just call them, please do!  They will take us before a magistrate.  If I am mistaken, they won’t hang me; but, if I am not mistaken, they will laugh prodigiously.  What have I to risk?  Nothing at all; for I have nothing.’

“I must tell you, that, while I said all this, I looked at him fixedly with the air of a man who has nothing in his stomach, and who is bent upon putting something into it.  He also looked at me fixedly; and, if his eyes had been pistols—­but they were not.  And, when he saw I was determined, the fine gentleman softened down.

“‘Make no noise,’ he whispered, looking with a frightened air at all the idlers who commenced to crowd around us.  And pretending to laugh very merrily,—­for the benefit of the spectators, you know,—­he said, speaking very low and very rapidly,—­

“’In the costume that you have on, I cannot ask you to get into my carriage; that would only compromise us both uselessly.  I shall send my coachman back, and walk home.  You can follow quietly; and, when we get into a quiet street, we will take a cab, and talk.’

“As I was sure I could catch him again, if he should try to escape, I approved the idea.  ‘All right.  I understand.’”

The magistrate suddenly interrupted the accused.  He thought it of great importance that Crochard’s evidence should be written down, word for word; and he saw, that, for some little while, the clerk had been unable to follow.

“Rest a moment, Crochard,” he said.

And when the clerk had filled up what was wanting, and the magistrate had looked it over, he said to the prisoner,—­

“Now you can go on, but speak more slowly.”

The wretch smiled, well pleased.  This permission gave him more time to select his words, and this flattered his vanity; for even the lowest of these criminals have their weak point, in which their vanity is engaged.

“Don’t let your soup get cold,” he continued.  “Chevassat said a few words to his coachman, who whipped the horse, and there he was, promenading down the boulevard, turning his cane this way, puffing out big clouds of smoke, as if he had not the colic at the thought that his friend Bagnolet was following on his heels.

“I ought to say that he had lots of friends, very genteel friends, who wished him good-evening as they passed him.  There were some even who stopped him, shook hands with him, and offered to treat him; but he left them all promptly, saying, ‘Excuse me, pray, I am in a hurry.’

“Why, yes, he was in a hurry; and I who was behind him, and saw and heard it all, I laughed in my sleeve most heartily.”

Whatever advantage there may be in not interrupting a great talker, who warms up as he talks, and consequently forgets himself, the magistrate became impatient.

“Spare us your impressions,” he said peremptorily.

This was not what Crochard expected.  He looked hurt, and went on angrily,—­