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Updated: April 30, 2025
She had dropped Fanferlot's hand; and her fury, like that of a spoiled child, found vent in violent actions. She tore her web-like handkerchief, and the magnificent lace on her gown, to shreds. "Prosper steal!" she cried; "what a stupid idea! Why should he steal? Is he not rich?" "M. Bertomy is not rich, madame; he has nothing but his salary." The answer seemed to confound Mme. Gypsy.
Despite his smiling face, he was very uneasy. To prosecute the Bertomy case alone, it required a double play that might be discovered at any moment; to manage at once the cause of justice and his own ambition, he ran great risks, the least of which was the losing of his place. "I have a great deal to do," he said, to excuse himself, "and have not wasted any time."
He connived, however, at the arrest of Bertomy, hoping that later on he might obtain great kudos for himself by unmasking the banker.
I hoped to have obtained the money from a banker, who has always accommodated me before M. Prosper Bertomy, you know him: he married M. Andre Fauvel's niece " "Yes, I know; proceed, if you please." "Ah, well! it was impossible for me to procure the money." The marquis had hitherto been pale, but now his face flushed crimson. "This is a jest, I suppose," said he. "Alas! unfortunately no."
"Whereas there do not exist sufficient charges against the accused, Prosper Bertomy, in pursuance of Article 128 of the Criminal Code, we hereby declare that we find no grounds for prosecution against the aforesaid prisoner at this present time; and we order that he shall be released from the prison where he is confined, and set at liberty by the jailer," etc.
Bertomy loved M. Fauvel's niece Madeline, and though a curious estrangement had sprung up between them during the previous nine or ten months, the banker always regarded their marriage as practically arranged. The interview between the two men was a curious one. To each it appeared that the other must be the thief.
"Let us proceed in order," said the judge, "and pray confine yourself to answering my questions. Did you ever suspect your cashier of being dishonest?" "Certainly not. Yet there were reasons which should have made me hesitate to trust him with my funds." "What reasons?" "M. Bertomy played cards. I have known of his spending whole nights at the gaming table, and losing immense sums of money.
The jailer came to say that the time allotted to M. Bertomy had expired, and that he must leave the cell. A thousand conflicting emotions seemed to rend the old man's heart. Suppose Prosper were telling the truth: how great would be his remorse, if he had added to his already great weight of sorrow and trouble! And who could prove that he was not sincere?
On the very morning of his release, Bertomy had received a mysterious letter composed of printed words cut out letter by letter from a book and pasted on paper. "My dear Prosper," so the epistle ran, "a friend who knows the horror of your situation sends you this help. There is one heart at least which feels for you. Leave France; you are yourself. The future is before you.
As he was passing through the room full of policemen, he met the man with gold spectacles, who had watched him so intently the day he was searched. "Courage, M. Prosper Bertomy," he said: "if you are innocent, there are those who will help you." Prosper started with surprise, and was about to reply, when the man disappeared. "Who is that gentleman?" he asked of the policeman.
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