For Maxence considered the bills found in the secretary as a flagrant, irrefutable and material proof.

Upon the brink of that abyss of shame into which his father had just tumbled, he thought he could see, not the inevitable woman, that incentive of all human actions, but the entire legion of those bewitching courtesans who possess unknown crucibles wherein to swell fortunes, and who have secret filtres to stupefy their dupes, and strip them of their honor, after robbing them of their last cent.

“And I,” said Maxence,—­“I, because at twenty I was fond of pleasure, I was called a bad son!  Because I had made some three hundred francs of debts, I was deemed a swindler!  Because I love a poor girl who has for me the most disinterested affection, I am one of those rascals whom their family disown, and from whom nothing can be expected but shame and disgrace!”

He filled the parlor with the sound of his voice, which rose like his wrath.

And at the thought of all the bitter reproaches which had been addressed to him by his father, and of all the humiliations that had been heaped upon him,

“Ah, the wretch!” he fairly shrieked, “—­the coward!”

As pale as her brother, her face bathed in tears, and her beautiful hair hanging undone, Mlle. Gilberte drew herself up.

“He is our father, Maxence,” she said gently.

But he interrupted her with a wild burst of laughter.  “True,” he answered; “and, by virtue of the law which is written in the code, we owe him affection and respect.”

“Maxence!” murmured the girl in a beseeching tone.  But he went on, nevertheless,

“Yes, he is our father, unfortunately.  But I should like to know his titles to our respect and our affection.  After making our mother the most miserable of creatures, he has embittered our existence, withered our youth, ruined my future, and done his best to spoil yours by compelling you to marry Costeclar.  And, to crown all these deeds of kindness, he runs away now, after stealing twelve millions, leaving us nothing but misery and a disgraced name.

“And yet,” he added, “is it possible that a cashier should take twelve millions, and his employer know nothing of it?  And is our father really the only man who benefitted by these millions?”

Then came back to the mind of Maxence and Mlle. Gilberte the last words of their father at the moment of his flight,

“I have been betrayed; and I must suffer for all!”

And his sincerity could hardly be called in question; for he was then in one of those moments of decisive crisis in which the truth forces itself out in spite of all calculation.

“He must have accomplices then,” murmured Maxence.

Although he had spoken very low, Mme. Favoral overheard him.  To defend her husband, she found a remnant of energy, and, straightening herself on her seat,