“Oh!”
“And I am to take his place.”
The prisoner was apparently deaf to the explanation. Excitement had seemingly given way to stupor. His features, hitherto contracted with anger, now relaxed. He grew pale and tottered, as if about to fall.
“Compose yourself,” said the magistrate in a benevolent tone; “if you are too weak to remain standing, take a seat.”
Already, with a powerful effort, the man had recovered his self-possession. A momentary gleam flashed from his eyes. “Many thanks for your kindness,” he replied, “but this is nothing. I felt a slight sensation of dizziness, but it is over now.”
“Is it long since you have eaten anything?”
“I have eaten nothing since that man”—and so saying he pointed to Lecoq—“brought me some bread and wine at the station house.”
“Wouldn’t you like to take something?”
“No—and yet—if you would be so kind—I should like a glass of water.”
“Will you not have some wine with it?”