“I wish to thank you,” he said in excellent English marked by the slightest possible suggestion of a foreign accent, “for your exceeding courtesy in responding so quickly to my request.  I am aware,” he added, “that it is unusual for prisoners to seek interviews with the—­what shall I say—­juge d’instruction, as we call him, but,” he added with a smile, “I think you will find that mine is an unusual affair.”

I had already begun to think so, and reaching to the upper drawer on the left-hand side of my desk, I produced from the box reserved for judges, prominent members of the bar, borough presidents, commissioners of departments and distinguished foreigners, a Havana of the variety known in our purlieus as a “good cigar,” and tendered the same to him.

“Ah,” he said, “many thanks, merci, non, I do not smoke the cigar.  M’sieu’ perhaps has a cigarette?  M’sieu’ will pardon me if I say that this is the first act of kindness which has been accorded to me since my incarceration three weeks ago.”

Somewhere I found a box of cigarettes, one of which he removed, gracefully holding it between fingers which I noticed were singularly white and delicate, and lighting it with the air of a diplomat at an international conference.

“You can hardly appreciate,” he ventured, “the humiliation to which I, an officer and a gentleman of France, have been subjected.”

I lighted the cigar which he had declined and with mingled feelings of embarrassment, distrust and curiosity inquired if his name was Charles Julius Francis de Nevers.  I wish it were possible to describe the precise look which flashed across his face as he answered my question.

“That is my name,” he said, “or at least rather, I am Charles Julius Francis, and I am of Nevers.  May I speak confidentially?  Were my family to be aware of my present situation they would never recover from the humiliation and disgrace connected with it.”

“Certainly,” said I, “anything which you may tell me which you wish to be kept confidential I will treat as such, provided, of course, that what you tell me is the truth.”

“You shall hear nothing else,” he replied.  Then leaning back in his chair he said simply and with great dignity, “I am by direct inheritance today the Duc de Nevers, my father, the last duke, having died in the month of February, 1905.”

Any such announcement would ordinarily have filled me with amusement, but that the gentleman sitting before me should declare himself to be a duke or even a prince seemed entirely natural.

“Indeed!” said I, unable to think of any more appropriate remark.