“Because he is—Oh, God! he is my son,” he gasped out with an effort.
And he fainted away.
“Do not write that down, Coquart,” said Camusot in an undertone.
Coquart rose to fetch a little phial of “Four thieves’ Vinegar.”
“If he is Jacques Collin, he is a splendid actor!” thought Camusot.
Coquart held the phial under the convict’s nose, while the judge examined him with the keen eye of a lynx—and a magistrate.
“Take his wig off,” said Camusot, after waiting till the man recovered consciousness.
Jacques Collin heard, and quaked with terror, for he knew how vile an expression his face would assume.
“If you have not strength enough to take your wig off yourself——Yes, Coquart, remove it,” said Camusot to his clerk.
Jacques Collin bent his head to the clerk with admirable resignation; but then his head, bereft of that adornment, was hideous to behold in its natural aspect.