“Well, the Grandlieus sent one of the most respectable attorneys in Paris to see your brother-in-law and inquire into the facts. At Angouleme this lawyer, from the statements of your sister and brother-in-law, learned that they not only had hardly lent you any money, but also that their inheritance consisted of land, of some extent no doubt, but that the whole amount of invested capital was not more than about two hundred thousand francs.--Now you cannot wonder that such people as the Grandlieus should reject a fortune of which the source is more than doubtful. This, monsieur, is what a lie has led to----” Lucien was petrified by this revelation, and the little presence of mind he had preserved deserted him. “Remember,” said Camusot, “that the police and the law know all they want to know.--And now,” he went on, recollecting Jacques Collin’s assumed paternity, “do you know who this pretended Carlos Herrera is?” “Yes, monsieur; but I knew it too late.” “Too late! How? Explain yourself.” “He is not a priest, not a Spaniard, he is----” “An escaped convict?” said the judge eagerly. “Yes,” replied Lucien, “when he told me the fatal secret, I was already under obligations to him; I had fancied I was befriended by a respectable priest.” “Jacques Collin----” said Monsieur Camusot, beginning a sentence. “Yes,” said Lucien, “his name is Jacques Collin.” “Very good. Jacques Collin has just now been identified by another person, and though he denies it, he does so, I believe, in your interest. But I asked whether you knew who the man is in order to prove another of Jacques Collin’s impostures.” Lucien felt as though he had hot iron in his inside as he heard this alarming statement. “Do you not know,” Camusot went on, “that in order to give color to the extraordinary affection he has for you, he declares that he is your father?” “He! My father?--Oh, monsieur, did he tell you that?” “Have you any suspicion of where the money came from that he used to give you? For, if I am to believe the evidence of the letter you have in your hand, that poor girl, Mademoiselle Esther, must have done you lately the same services as Coralie formerly rendered you. Still, for some years, as you have just admitted, you lived very handsomely without receiving anything from her.” “It is I who should ask you, monsieur, whence convicts get their money! Jacques Collin my father!--Oh, my poor mother!” and Lucien burst into tears. “Coquart, read out to the prisoner that part of Carlos Herrera’s examination in which he said that Lucien de Rubempre was his son.” The poet listened in silence, and with a look that was terrible to behold. “I am done for!” he cried. “A man is not done for who is faithful to the path of honor and truth,” said the judge. “But you will commit Jacques Collin for trial?” said Lucien. “Undoubtedly,” said Camusot, who aimed at making Lucien talk. “Speak out.”