Each word brought to Dantin's face an angry or a frightened expression, and the more slowly M. Ginory spoke, the more measured his words, emphasizing his verbs, with a sort of professional habit, as a surgeon touches a wound with a steel instrument, the questioned man, put through a sharp cross-examination, experienced a frightful anger, a strong internal struggle, which made the blood rush to his ears and ferocious lightnings dart through his eyes. "It is easy, moreover," continued M. Ginory, in a paternal tone, "for you to reduce to nothingness all these suppositions, and the smallest expression in regard to the rôle which you played in your last interview with Rovère would put everything right." "Ah! must we go back to that?" "Certainly, we must go back to that! The whole question lies there! You come to an Examining Magistrate and tell him that there is a secret; you speak of a third person, of recollections of youth, of moral debts--and you are astonished that the Judge strives to wrest the truth from you?" "I have told it." "The whole truth?" "It has nothing to do with Rovère's murder, and it would injure some one who knows nothing about it. I have told you so. I repeat it." "Yes," said M. Ginory, "you hold to your enigma! Oh, well, I, the Magistrate, demand that you reveal the truth to me. I command you to tell it." The registrar's pen ran over the paper and trembled as if it scented a storm. The psychological moment approached. The registrar knew it well--that moment--and the word which the Magistrate would soon pronounce would be decisive. A sort of struggle began in Dantin's mind--one saw his face grow haggard, his eyes change their expression. He looked at the papers upon which M. Ginory laid his fat and hairy hands; those police notes _which gossiped_, as peasants say, in speaking of papers or writing which they cannot read and which denounce them. He asked himself what more would be disclosed by those notes of the police agents of the scandals of the club, of the neighbors, of the porters. He passed his hands over his forehead as if to wipe off the perspiration or to ease away a headache. "Come, now, it is not very difficult, and I have the right to know," said M. Ginory. After a moment Jacques Dantin said in a strong voice: "I swear to you, Monsieur, that nothing Rovère said to me when I saw him the last time could assist justice in any whatsoever, and I beg of you not to question me further about it." "Will you answer?" "I cannot, Monsieur." "The more you hesitate the more reason you give me to think that the communication would be grave." "Very grave, but it has nothing to do with your investigation." "It's not for you to outline the duties of my limits or my rights. Once more, I order you to reply." "I cannot." "You will not." "I cannot," brusquely said the man run to earth, with accent of violence. The duel was finished.