“You are very fortunate in having your case brought before an honest man.”
He was right.
Endowed with remarkable penetration, firm, unbiased, equally free from false pity and excessive severity, M. Patrigent possessed in an eminent degree all the qualities necessary for the delicate and difficult office of judge of instruction.
Perhaps he was wanting in the feverish activity which is sometimes necessary for coming to a quick and just decision; but he possessed unwearying patience, which nothing could discourage. He would cheerfully devote years to the examination of a case; he was even now engaged on a case of Belgian bank-notes, of which he did not collect all the threads, and solve the mystery, until after four years’ investigation.
Thus it was always to his office that they brought the endless lawsuits, half-finished inquests, and tangled cases.
This was the man before whom they were taking Prosper; and they were taking him by a difficult road.
He was escorted along a corridor, through a room full of policemen, down a narrow flight of steps, across a kind of cellar, and then up a steep staircase which seemed to have no terminus.
Finally he reached a long narrow galley, upon which opened many doors, bearing different numbers.
The custodian of the unhappy cashier stopped before one of these doors, and said:
“Here we are; here your fate will be decided.”