e him deathly sick, when a
little old man dressed in black, wearing the insignia of his office, a
steel chain, cried out:

"Prosper Bertomy!"

The unhappy man arose, and, without knowing how, found himself in the
office of the judge of instruction.

For a moment he was blinded. He had come out of a dark room; and the one
in which he now found himself had a window directly opposite the door,
so that a flood of light fell suddenly upon him.

This office, like all those on the gallery, was of a very ordinary
appearance, small and dingy.

The wall was covered with cheap dark green paper, and on the floor was a
hideous brown carpet, very much worn.

Opposite the door was a large desk, filled with bundles of law-papers,
behind which was seated the judge, facing those who entered, so that his
face remained in the shade, while that of the prisoner or witness whom
he questioned was in a glare of light.

At the right, before a little table, sat a clerk writing, the
indispensable auxiliary of the judge.

But Prosper observed none of these details: his whole attention was
concentrated upon the arbiter of his fate, and as he closely examined
his face he was convinced that the jailer was right in calling him an
honorable man.

M. Patrigent's homely face, with its irregular outline and short red
whiskers, lit up by a pair of bright, intelligent eyes, and a kindly
expression, was calculated to impress one favorably at first sight.

"Take a seat," he said to Prosper.

This little attention was gratefully welcomed by the prisoner, for he
had expected to be treated with harsh contempt. He looked upon it as a
good sign, and his mind felt a slight relief.

M. Patrigent turned toward the clerk, and said:

"We will begin now, Sigault; pay attention."

"What is your name?" he then asked, looking at Prosper.

"Auguste Prosper Bertomy."

"How old are you?"

"I shall be thirty the 5th of next May."

"What is your profession?"

"I am--that is, I was--cashier in M. Andre Fauvel's bank."

The judge stopped to consult a little memorandum lying on his desk.
Prosper, who followed attentively his every movement, began to be
hopeful, saying to himself that never would a man so unprejudiced have
the cruelty to send him to prison again.

After finding what he looked for, M. Patrigent resumed the examination.

"Where do you live?"

"At No. 39, Rue Chaptal, for the last four years. Before that time I
lived at No. 7, Boulevard d