“I promise it.”
“Very well; you are not the man to deceive an escaped convict. You are a chip of the block of which Turennes and Condes are made, and would keep your word to a thief.—In the Salle des Pas-Perdus there is at this moment a beggar woman in rags, an old woman, in the very middle of the hall. She is probably gossiping with one of the public writers, about some lawsuit over a party-wall perhaps; send your office messenger to fetch her, saying these words, ‘Dabor ti Mandana’ (the Boss wants you). She will come.
“But do not be unnecessarily cruel. Either you accept my terms or you do not choose to be mixed up in a business with a convict.—I am only a forger, you will remember!—Well, do not leave Calvi to go through the terrors of preparation for the scaffold.”
“I have already countermanded the execution,” said Monsieur de Granville to Jacques Collin. “I would not have Justice beneath you in dignity.”
Jacques Collin looked at the public prosecutor with a sort of amazement, and saw him ring his bell.
“Will you promise not to escape? Give me your word, and I shall be satisfied. Go and fetch the woman.”
The office-boy came in.
“Felix, send away the gendarmes,” said Monsieur de Granville.
Jacques Collin was conquered.
In this duel with the magistrate he had tried to be the superior, the stronger, the more magnanimous, and the magistrate had crushed him. At the same time, the convict felt himself the superior, inasmuch as he had tricked the Law; he had convinced it that the guilty man was innocent, and had fought for a man’s head and won it; but this advantage must be unconfessed, secret and hidden, while the magistrate towered above him majestically in the eye of day.