“I did not return to him.”
“Do you remember what you did on leaving Caffie’s house?”
If Florentin had indulged in the smallest illusion about his appearance before the judge, the manner of conducting the interview would have destroyed it. It was not a witness who was being questioned, it was a culprit. He had not to enlighten the justice, he had to defend himself.
“Perfectly,” he said. “It is not so long ago. On leaving the Rue Sainte-Anne, as I had nothing to do, I went down to the quays, and looked at the old books from the Pont Royale to the Institute; but at this moment a heavy shower came on, and I returned to the Batignolles, where I remained with my mother.”
“What time was it when you reached your mother’s house?”
“A few minutes after five.”
“Can you not say exactly?”
“About a quarter past five, a few minutes more or less.”
“And you did not go out again?”
“No.”