“M.  Favoral accepted a role in one of those terrible financial dramas which ruin a thousand poor dupes to the benefit of two or three clever rascals.  Your father wanted to be rich:  he needed money to carry on his intrigues.  He allowed himself to be tempted.  But whilst he believed himself one of the managers, called upon to divide the receipts, he was but a scene-shifter with a stated salary.  The moment of this denouement having come, his so-called partners disappeared through a trap-door with the cash, leaving him alone, as they say, to face the music.”

“If that’s the case,” replied the young girl, “why didn’t my father speak?”

“What was he to say?”

“Name his accomplices.”

“And suppose he had no proofs of their complicity to offer?  He was the cashier of the Mutual Credit; and it is from his cash that the millions are gone.”

Mlle. Gilberte’s conjectures had run far ahead of that sentence.  Looking straight at Marius,

“Then,” she said, “you believe, as M. Chapelain does, that M. de Thaller—­”

“Ah!  M. Chapelain thinks—­”

“That the manager of the Mutual Credit must have known the fact of the frauds.”

“And that he had his share of them?”

“A larger share than his cashier, yes.”

A singular smile curled M. de Tregars’ lips.  “Quite possible,” he replied:  “that’s quite possible.”

For the past few moments Mlle. Gilberte’s embarrassment was quite evident in her look.  At last, overcoming her hesitation,

“Pardon me,” said she, “I had imagined that M. de Thaller was one of those men whom you wished to strike; and I had indulged in the hope, that, whilst having justice done to your father, you were thinking, perhaps, of avenging mine.”

M. de Tregars stood up, as if moved by a spring.  “Well, yes!” he exclaimed.  “Yes, you have correctly guessed.  But how can we obtain this double result?  A single misstep at this moment might lose all.  Ah, if I only knew your father’s real situation; if I could only see him and speak to him!  In one word he might, perhaps, place in my hands a sure weapon,—­the weapon that I have as yet been unable to find.”

“Unfortunately,” replied Mlle. Gilberte with a gesture of despair, “we are without news of my father; and he even refused to tell us where he expected to take refuge.”

“But he will write, perhaps.  Besides, we might look for him, quietly, so as not to excite the suspicions of the police; and if your brother Maxence was only willing to help me—­”

“Alas!  I fear that Maxence may have other cares.  He insisted upon going out this morning, in spite of mother’s request to the contrary.”

But Marius stopped her, and, in the tone of a man who knows much more than he is willing to say,—­“Do not calumniate Maxence,” he said:  “it is through him, perhaps, that we will receive the help that we need.”