s gruff voice once more
called out:

"It is time for you to appear before the court."

He instantly obeyed the order.

But his step was no longer unsteady, as a few days previous: a complete
change had taken place within him. He walked with a firm step, head
erect, and the fire of resolution in his eye.

He knew the way now, and he walked a little ahead of the constable who
escorted him.

As he was passing through the room full of policemen, he met the man
with gold spectacles, who had watched him so intently the day he was
searched.

"Courage, M. Prosper Bertomy," he said: "if you are innocent, there are
those who will help you."

Prosper started with surprise, and was about to reply, when the man
disappeared.

"Who is that gentleman?" he asked of the policeman.

"Is it possible that you don't know him?" replied the policeman with
surprise. "Why, it is M. Lecoq, of the police service."

"You say his name is Lecoq?"

"You might as well say 'monsieur,'" said the offended policeman; "it
would not burn your mouth. M. Lecoq is a man who knows everything that
he wants to know, without its ever being told to him. If you had had
him, instead of that smooth-tongued imbecile Fanferlot, your case would
have been settled long ago. Nobody is allowed to waste time when he has
command. But he seems to be a friend of yours."

"I never saw him until the first day I came here."

"You can't swear to that, because no one can boast of knowing the
real face of M. Lecoq. It is one thing to-day, and another to-morrow;
sometimes he is a dark man, sometimes a fair one, sometimes quite young,
and then an octogenarian: why, not seldom he even deceives me. I begin
to talk to a stranger, paf! the first thing I know, it is M. Lecoq!
Anybody on the face of the earth might be he. If I were told that you
were he, I should say, 'It is very likely.' Ah! he can convert himself
into any shape and form he chooses. He is a wonderful man!"

The constable would have continued forever his praises of M. Lecoq, had
not the sight of the judge's door put an end to them.

This time, Prosper was not kept waiting on the wooden bench: the judge,
on the contrary, was waiting for him.

M. Patrigent, who was a profound observer of human nature, had contrived
the interview between M. Bertomy and his son.

He was sure that between the father, a man of such stubborn honor, and
the son, accused of theft, an affecting scene would take place, and this
sce