On arriving at the Palais de justice he was introduced immediately into the judge’s office. But he did not attend to him at once; he was questioning a woman, and Florentin examined him by stealth. He saw a man of elegant and easy figure, still young, with nothing solemn or imposing about him, having more the air of a boulevardier or of a sportsman than of a magistrate.
While continuing his questioning, he also examined Florentin, but with a rapid glance, without persistence, carelessly, and simply because his eyes fell upon him. Before a table a clerk was writing, and near the door two policemen waited, with the weary, empty faces of men whose minds are elsewhere.
Soon the judge turned his head toward them.
“You may take away the accused.”
Then, immediately addressing Florentin, he asked him his name, his Christian names, and his residence.
“You have been the clerk of the agent of affairs, Caffie. Why did you leave him?”
“Because my work was too heavy.”
“You are afraid of work?”
“No, when it is not too hard; it was at his office, and left me no time to work for myself. I was obliged to reach his office at eight o’clock in the morning, breakfast there, and did not leave until seven to dine with my mother at the Batignolles. I had an hour and a half for that; at half-past eight I had to return, and stay until ten or half-past. In accepting this position I believed that I should be able to finish my education, interrupted by the death of my father, and to study law and become something better than a miserable clerk of a business man. It was impossible with Monsieur Caffie, so I left him, and this was the only reason why we separated.”
“Where have you been since?”