“Forgive me,” sighed Mme. Fauvel.  “He was about to kill himself; I was so frightened!  Then you know—­Prosper was to share the money:  he gave Raoul the secret word—­”

“Good Heavens!  Aunt, how could you believe such a falsehood as that?”

Clameran interrupted them.

“Unfortunately, what your aunt says of M. Bertomy is the truth,” he said in a sad tone.

“Your proofs, monsieur; where are your proofs?”

“Raoul’s confession.”

“Raoul is false.”

“That is only too true:  but how did he find out the word, if M. Bertomy did not reveal it?  And who left the money in the safe but M. Bertomy?”

These arguments had no effect upon Madeleine.

“And now tell me,” she said scornfully, “what became of the money?”

There was no mistaking the significance of these words:  they meant: 

“You are the instigator of the robbery, and of course you have taken possession of the money.”

This harsh accusation from a girl whom he so passionately loved, when, grasping bandit as he was, he gave up for her sake all the money gained by his crime, so cruelly hurt Clameran that he turned livid.  But his mortification and anger did not prevent him from pursuing the part he had prepared and studied.

“A day will come, mademoiselle,” he said, “when you will deeply regret having treated me so cruelly.  I understand your insinuation; you need not attempt to deny it.”

“I have no idea of denying anything, monsieur.”

“Madeleine!” remonstrated Mme. Fauvel, who trembled at the rising anger of the man who held her fate in his hands, “Madeleine, be careful!”

“Mademoiselle is pitiless,” said Clameran sadly; “she cruelly punishes an honorable man whose only fault is having obeyed his brother’s dying injunctions.  And I am here now, because I believe in the joint responsibility of all the members of a family.”

Here he slowly drew from his pocket several bundles of bank-notes, and laid them on the mantel-piece.

“Raoul stole three hundred and fifty thousand francs,” he said:  “I return the same amount.  It is more than half my fortune.  Willingly would I give the rest to insure this being the last crime committed by him.”

Too inexperienced to penetrate this bold, and yet simple plan of Clameran’s, Madeleine was dumb with astonishment; all her calculations were upset.

Mme. Fauvel, on the contrary, accepted this restitution as salvation sent from heaven.

“Oh, thanks, monsieur, thanks!” she cried, gratefully clasping Clameran’s hand in hers; “you are goodness itself!”

Louis’s eye lit up with pleasure.  But he rejoiced too soon.  A minute’s reflection brought back all of Madeleine’s distrust.  She thought this magnanimity and generosity unnatural in a man whom she considered incapable of a noble sentiment, and at once concluded that it must conceal some snare beneath.