"What the devil should we go to see monsieur le commissaire for? I've never been there, and I've no business to settle with him."
"Weren't you at the Petit Bacchus wine shop last night, when a certain Laboussole was arrested there? weren't you drinking with him?"
"Yes, but we didn't know him," Jean Ficelle made haste to reply.
"You can tell monsieur le commissaire what you know about him; he wants to question you. That's all I know; don't fail to come this morning."
"We will come, monsieur."
The little man went away. Jean Ficelle had become thoughtful, and Sans-Cravate knitted his brows, muttering:
"To have to go before the magistrate! Not three days ago, I was congratulating myself on never having had anything to do with him. I've had quarrels enough; I've often fought, but I've always fought fair. No man I ever whipped could complain of being tricked, and there was no need of going before a magistrate to settle our quarrels. And to-day—just because I drank with that Laboussole, a friend of yours,—and now you say that you don't know him, and again that he ain't a thief. Tell me the truth, do you know him, or not?"
"Good God! as if I was called on to compromise myself before the magistrate to help someone else!"
"But if that someone is your friend, if he's arrested unjustly, you'd be a coward if you didn't try to defend him."
"Parbleu! Laboussole's a fox; he will get out of it without any help. Come, Sans-Cravate, don't be ugly; after all, the most respectable people go before the magistrate; you see, we're only summoned as witnesses."