"Very good, judge. It was he who said to me: 'If you're in trouble, go to Judge Cloarek, he is always kind to us poor folks.'"
"What can I do for you?"
"I am the father of a young man who is soon to be tried before your court."
"To what case do you allude, monsieur?"
"To the case of Joseph Rateau," said the big man, with a meaning wink, "charged with forgery—only forgery."
Cloarek, surprised and displeased at the careless manner in which the father spoke of the weighty accusation that was hanging over his son, answered, sternly:
"Yes, monsieur, a prisoner, Joseph Rateau, who is accused of the crime of forgery, is soon to be tried."
"Yes, judge, and as there's no use beating about the bush, I may as well say that my son did it, and then, like a fool, allowed himself to be caught."
"Take care what you say, monsieur. This is a very grave admission on your part."
"Oh, well, there is no use denying it, judge. It's as plain as the nose on your face; but for that, do you suppose I would have come here—"