"Empty!... No luck!... My plan has been spoiled: I shall not be able to interview Jules!"
Philosophically, Jérôme Fandor was preparing to go to sleep on the plank bed which decorated one end of the cell, when the little costermonger, roused from his torpid condition, began to moan and groan.
"Oh, what a misfortune!... To think I am innocent! Innocent as an unborn babe!... What's to be done!... Oh, what's to be done!"
The last thing Fandor wished to do was to start a conversation with his lamenting companion. He tapped the costermonger on the shoulder.
"Good Heavens, man, the best thing you can do is to go to sleep! Take my word for it!"
Without puzzling his brains any further over the enigmas he wished to get to the bottom of, Fandor stretched himself on his plank bed, and was soon sleeping the sleep of the innocent.
Monsieur Fuselier looked perplexed.
"You, Fandor! You arrested!... But am I going mad?"
Our journalist had been taken from his cell at eight in the morning, and had been conducted to the office of the Public Prosecutor. Here, the acting magistrate, in conformity with the law, wished to put him through the examination which would establish his identity. All arrested persons have to submit to this interrogation within twenty-four hours of their arrival at the Dépôt.