"Prognathous," thought M. Ginory, as he noticed this characteristic. With a gesture he motioned M. Dantin to a chair. The man was there before the Judge who, with crossed hands, his elbows leaning on his papers, seemed ready to talk of insignificant things, while the registrar's bald head was bent over his black table as he rapidly took notes. The interview took on a grave tone, but as between two men who, meeting in a salon, speak of the morning or of the première of the evening before, and M. Ginory asked M. Dantin for some information in regard to M. Rovère.
"Did you know him intimately?"
"Yes, M. le Juge."
"For how many years?"
"For more than forty. We were comrades at a school in Bordeaux."
"You are a Bordelais?"
"Like Rovère, yes," Dantin replied.
"Of late, have you seen M. Rovère frequently?"
"I beg your pardon, M. le Juge, but what do you mean by of late?"
M. Ginory believed that he had discovered in this question put by a man who was himself being interrogated—a tactic—a means of finding before replying, time for reflection. He was accustomed to these manœuvres of the accused.