evening?  Finally, why do not you say anything of the extra work which he always had to attend to, as he pretended, once or twice a month?  Sometimes it was a loan, sometimes a liquidation, or a settlement of dividends, which devolved upon him.  Did he come home then?  No.  He told you that he would dine out, and that it would be more convenient for him to have a cot put up in his office; and thus you were twenty-four or forty-eight hours without seeing him.  Surely this double existence must have weighed heavily upon him; but he was forbidden from breaking off with you, under penalty of being caught the very next day with his hand in the till.  It is the respectability of his official life here which made the other possible,—­that which has absorbed such enormous sums.  The harsher and the closer he were here, the more magnificent he could show himself elsewhere.  His household in the Rue St. Gilles was for him a certificate of impunity.  Seeing him so economical, every one thought him rich.  People who seem to spend nothing are always trusted.  Every privation which he imposed upon you increased his reputation of austere probity, and raised him farther above suspicion.”

Big tears were rolling down Mme. Favoral’s cheeks.

“Why not tell me the whole truth?” she stammered.

“Because I do not know it,” replied the commissary; “because these are all mere presumptions.  I have seen so many instances of similar calculations!”

Then regretting, perhaps, to have said so much,

“But I may be mistaken,” he added:  “I do not pretend to be infallible.”  He was just then completing a brief inventory of all the papers found in the old desk.  There was nothing left but to examine the drawer which was used for a cash drawer.  He found in it in gold, notes, and small change, seven hundred and eighteen francs.

Having counted this sum, the commissary offered it to Mme. Favoral, saying,

“This belongs to you madame.”

But instinctively she withdrew her hand.

“Never!” she said.

The commissary went on with a gesture of kindness,—­“I understand your scruples, madame, and yet I must insist.  You may believe me when I tell you that this little sum is fairly and legitimately yours.  You have no personal fortune.”

The efforts of the poor woman to keep from bursting into loud sobs were but too visible.

“I possess nothing in the world, sir,” she said in a broken voice.  “My husband alone attended to our business-affairs.  He never spoke to me about them; and I would not have dared to question him.  Alone he disposed of our money.  Every Sunday he handed me the amount which he thought necessary for the expenses of the week, and I rendered him an account of it.  When my children or myself were in need of any thing, I told him so, and he gave me what he thought proper.  This is Saturday:  of what I received last Sunday I have five francs left:  that, is our whole fortune.”