"Not kind at all, you'll be of great service. Get those witnesses out of sight and then bring in the man."
A few moments later the prisoner entered, walking with hands manacled, at the side of an imposing garde de Paris. He still wore his smart clothes, and was as coldly self-possessed as at the moment of his arrest. He seemed to regard both handcuffs and guard as petty details unworthy of his attention, and he eyed the judge and Coquenil with almost patronizing scrutiny.
"Sit there," said Hauteville, pointing to a chair, and the newcomer obeyed indifferently.
The clerk settled himself at his desk and prepared to write.
"What is your name?" began the judge.
"I don't care to give my name," answered the other.
"Why not?"
"That's my affair."
"Is your name Adolf Groener?"
"No."