But he attributed to them sentiments which were no longer theirs.  They had forgotten their anger, and their bitter resentment for their lost money.

The imminence of the peril awoke suddenly in their souls the memories of the past, and that strong affection which comes from long habit, and a constant exchange of services rendered.  Whatever M. Favoral might have done, they only saw in him now the friend, the host whose bread they had broken together more than a hundred times, the man whose probity, up to this fatal night, had remained far above suspicion.

Pale, excited, they crowded around him.

“Have you lost your mind?” spoke M. Desormeaux.  “Are you going to wait to be arrested, thrown into prison, dragged into a criminal court?”

He shook his head, and in a tone of idiotic obstinacy,

“Have I not told you,” he repeated, “that every thing is against me?  Let them come; let them do what they please with me.”

“And your wife,” insisted M. Chapelain, the old lawyer, “and your children!”

“Will they be any the less dishonored if I am condemned by default?”

Wild with grief, Mme. Favoral was wringing her hands.

“Vincent,” she murmured, “in the name of Heaven spare us the harrowing agony to have you in prison.”

Obstinately he remained silent.  His daughter, Mlle. Gilberte, dropped upon her knees before him, and, joining her hands: 

“I beseech you, father,” she begged.

He shuddered all over.  An unspeakable expression of suffering and anguish contracted his features; and, speaking in a scarcely intelligible voice: 

“Ah! you are cruelly protracting my agony,” he stammered.  “What do you ask of me?”

“You must fly,” declared M. Desclavettes.

“Which way?  How?  Do you not think that every precaution has been taken, that every issue is closely watched?”

Maxence interrupted him with a gesture: 

“The windows in sister’s room, father,” said he, “open upon the courtyard of the adjoining house.”

“Yes; but here we are up two pairs of stairs.”

“No matter:  I have a way.”

And turning towards his sister: 

“Come, Gilberte,” went on the young man, “give me a light, and let me have some sheets.”

They went out hurriedly.  Mme. Favoral felt a gleam of hope.

“We are saved!” she said.

“Saved!” repeated the cashier mechanically.  “Yes; for I guess Maxence’s idea.  But we must have an understanding.  Where will you take refuge?”

“How can I tell?”

“There is a train at five minutes past eleven,” remarked M. Desormeaux.  “Don’t let us forget that.”

“But money will be required to leave by that train,” interrupted the old lawyer.  “Fortunately, I have some.”

And, forgetting his hundred and sixty thousand francs lost, he took out his pocket-book.  Mme. Favoral stopped him.  “We have more than we need,” said she.