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Updated: June 23, 2025
"It is unnecessary to recall," continued Louis, "the painful circumstances which blasted my brother's life. However happy your own lot has been, you must sometimes have thought of this friend of your youth, who unhesitatingly sacrificed himself in defence of your honor." Not a muscle of Mme. Fauvel's face moved; she appeared to be trying to recall the circumstances to which Louis alluded.
Fauvel's, with as much coolness and precision as if it were to be performed at a public theatre. Louis said that no piece could be well acted unless the actor was interested and imbued with the spirit of his role.
The sound of M. Fauvel's voice inspired the cashier with the factitious energy of a great crisis. The dreaded and decisive moment had come; he arose, and advanced toward his chief. "Monsieur," he began, "having, as you know, a payment to make this morning, I yesterday drew from the Bank of France three hundred and fifty thousand francs." "Why yesterday, monsieur?" interrupted the banker.
Yet Prosper's strange calmness never left him for an instant. He quietly released himself from M. Fauvel's grasp, and very slowly said: "In other words, monsieur, I am the only person who could have taken this money." "Unhappy wretch!" Prosper drew himself to his full height, and, looking M. Fauvel full in the face, added: "Or you!"
In the first place, you told me that your brother only possessed a modest competency. Now, I learn that Gaston has an income of at least sixty thousand francs. It is useless for you to deny it; and how much is this property worth? A hundred thousand crowns. He had four hundred thousand francs deposited in M. Fauvel's bank. Total, seven hundred thousand francs.
He bowed ceremoniously, and left the room, but slammed the front door after him so violently as to prove that his restrained anger burst forth before leaving the house. Clameran had cause for fear. Mme. Fauvel's determination was not feigned. She was firm in her resolve to confess. "Yes," she cried, with the enthusiasm of a noble resolution, "yes, I will tell Andre everything!"
"But my wife confesses she is guilty," he stammered. "So she is," replied M. Verduret, "but not of the crime you imagine. Do you know who that man is, that you attempted to kill?" "Her lover!" "No: her son!" The words of this stranger, showing his intimate knowledge of the private affairs of all present, seemed to confound and frighten Raoul more than M. Fauvel's threats had done.
Fauvel's room, he opened the drawer of the chiffonnier, where she kept her jewels. The last dozen or more leather and velvet boxes, containing superb sets of jewelry which he had presented to her, were gone! Twelve boxes remained. He nervously opened them. They were all empty! The anonymous letter had told the truth. "Oh, it cannot be!" he gasped in broken tones. "Oh, no, no!"
Haughtily pointing to a chair, she said to Louis with affected indifference: "Will you be kind enough, monsieur, to explain the object of this unexpected visit?" The marquis, seeming not to notice this sudden change of manner, took a seat without removing his eyes from Mme. Fauvel's face. "First of all, madame," he began, "I must ask if we can be overheard by anyone?" "Why this question?
"You hear this?" said the commissary to Prosper. "Yes, monsieur," replied the cashier, "M. Fauvel's statement is quite correct." After this explanation, the suspicions of the commissary, instead of being strengthened, were dissipated. "Well," he said, "a robbery has been perpetrated, but by whom? Did the robber enter from without?" The banker hesitated a moment. "I think not," he said at last.
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