The idea, the sensation that he was so near all this life--yet so far--that he was going through these streets, filled with carriages, with men and women who were free, gave him a desperate, a nervous sense of irritation. The air which they breathed, he breathed and felt fan his brow--but through a grating. They arrived at the Palais and Jacques Dantin recognized the staircases which he had previously mounted, that led to the Examining Magistrate's room. He entered the narrow room where M. Ginory awaited him. Dantin saluted the Magistrate with a gesture which, though courteous, seemed to have a little bravado in it; as a salutation with a sword before a duel. Then he glanced around, astonished to see, between two guards, a man whom he did not recognize. M. Ginory studied them. If he knew this Pradès, who also curiously returned his look, Jacques Dantin was a great comedian, because no indication, not the slightest involuntary shudder, not the faintest trace of an expression of having seen him before, crossed his face. Even M. Ginory's keen eyes could detect nothing. He had asked that Bernardet be present at the meeting, and the little man's face, become serious, almost severe, was turned, with eager interrogation in its expression, toward Dantin. Bernardet also was unable to detect the faintest emotion which could be construed into an acknowledgment of ever having seen this young man before. Generally prisoners would, unconsciously, permit a gesture, a glance, a something, to escape them when they were brusquely confronted, unexpectedly, with some accomplice. This time not a muscle of Dantin's face moved, not an eyelash quivered. M. Ginory motioned Jacques Dantin to a seat directly in front of him, where the light would fall full upon his face. Pointing out Pradès, he asked: "Do you recognize this man?" Dantin, after a second or two, replied: "No; I have never seen him." "Never?" "I believe not; he is unknown to me!" "And you, Pradès, have you ever seen Jacques Dantin?" "Never," said Pradès, in his turn. His voice seemed hoarse, compared with the brief, clear response made by Dantin. "He is, however, the original of the portrait which you sold to Mme. Colard." "The portrait?" "Look sharply at Dantin. Look at him well," repeated M. Ginory. "You must recognize that he is the original of the portrait in question." "Yes;" Pradès replied. His eyes were fixed upon the prisoner. "Ah!" the Magistrate joyously exclaimed, asking: "And how, tell me, did you so quickly recognize the original of the portrait which you saw only an instant in my room?" "I do not know," stammered Pradès, not comprehending the gravity of a question put in an insinuating, almost amiable tone.