Daubenton ordered the gendarmes to leave them together, and even the
huissier, though he made him understand by a sign the danger of being
alone with so desperate a villain, was begged to retire. A breakfast was
ordered for the two. It was brought--but, by order of the huissier, only
_one_ knife was placed on the table. Daubenton took it up, and began
carelessly to break an egg with it.

Durochat looked at him fixedly for a moment, and said,

"Monsieur le juge, you are afraid?"

"Afraid!" replied he calmly, "and of whom?"

"Of me," said Durochat.

"Folly!" continued the other, breaking his egg.

"You are. You arm yourself with a knife," said he sarcastically.

"Bah!" replied Daubenton, presenting him the knife, "cut me a piece of
bread, and tell me what you have to communicate to me respecting the
murder of the courier of Lyons."

There is something in the collected courage of a brave man more
impressive than any menace; and courage is a thing which acts upon all
natures, however vile. Strongly moved by the calm audacity of the
magistrate the ruffian, who had seized the knife with menacing vivacity,
now set it down upon the table, and with a faltering voice said, "_Vous
etes un brave, citoyen_!" then after a pause, "I am a lost man--it's all
up with me; but you shall know all."