M. Denizet abruptly rose, and opened the door of the small adjoining room. When he had summoned Jacques, he inquired:
"Do you recognise this man?"
"I know him," answered the driver, surprised. "I've seen him formerly at the Misards."
"No, no," said the magistrate. "Do you recognise him as the man in the coupé, the murderer?"
At once, Jacques became circumspect. As a matter of fact, he did not recognise the man. The other seemed to him shorter, darker. He was about to say so, when it struck him that even this might be going too far. And he continued evasively.
"I don't know, I can't say; I assure you, sir, that I cannot say."
M. Denizet, without waiting, called the Roubauds in their turn, and put the same question to them.
"Do you recognise this man?"
Cabuche continued smiling. He was not surprised. He nodded to Séverine, whom he had known as a young girl when she resided at La Croix-de-Maufras. But she and her husband had felt a pang, on perceiving him there. They understood. This was the man taken into custody, of whom Jacques had spoken, the prisoner who had caused this fresh examination. And Roubaud was astounded, terrified at the resemblance of this fellow to the imaginary murderer, whose description he had invented, the reverse of his own. It was pure chance, but it so troubled him that he hesitated to reply.