“Ah,” cried Ferminard, “what is that you say? Filed in two—and since when?”
“Since we had our first talk together.”
“You have cut it then—with what?”
“Heavens! can’t you guess?”
“Your table-knife.”
“Oaf!”
“You had, then, a knife, or file, or saw or something with you.”
“M. Ferminard, prison does not seem to improve your intelligence. I cut it with the little saw contained in the big sou.”
“But that is impossible, for you had not the sou two minutes in your possession.”
Rochefort laughed. “Open your sou, then, and see what is in it.”