This was what had happened. The day after he had written to Jack’s mother, the superintendent was in his office alone, when Madame Rondic entered, pale and agitated. Paying little attention to the coolness with which she was received, her conduct having for a long time habituated her to the silent contempt of all who respected themselves, she refused to sit down, and, standing erect, said slowly, attempting to conceal her emotion,— “I have come to tell you that the apprentice is not guilty; that it is not he who has stolen my stepdaughter’s dowry.” The Director started from his chair. “But, ma-dame, every proof is against him.” “What proofs? The most important is that, my husband being away, Jack was alone with us in the house. It is just this proof that I have come to destroy, for there was another man there that night.” “What man? Chariot?” She made a sign of assent. Ah, how pale she was! “Then he took the money?” There was a moment’s hesitation. The white lips parted, and an almost inaudible reply was whispered, “No, it was not he who took it; I gave it to him!” “Unhappy woman!” “Yes, most unhappy. He said that he needed it for two days only, and I bore for that time the sight of my husband’s despair and of Zénaïde’s tears, and the fear of seeing an innocent person condemned. Nothing came from Chariot. I wrote to him that if by the next day at eleven I heard nothing, I should denounce myself,—and here I am.” “But what am I to do?” “Arrest the real criminals, now that you know who they are.” “But your husband—it will kill him!” “And me, too,” she replied, with haughty bitterness. “To die is a very simple matter; to live is far more difficult.” She spoke of death with a tone of feverish longing in her voice. “If your death could repair your fault,” returned the Director, gravely; “if it could restore the money to the poor girl, I could understand why you should wish to die. But—” “What shall be done, then,” she asked, plaintively; and all at once she became the Clarisse of old. Her unwonted courage and determination failed her. “First, we must know what has become of this money; he must have some of it still.” Clarisse shook her head. She knew too well how madly that gambler played. She knew that he had thrust her aside, almost walked over her, to procure this money, and that he would play until he had lost his last sou. The superintendent touched his bell. A gendarme entered: “Go at once to Saint Nazarre,” said his chief; “say to Chariot that I require his presence here at once. You will wait for him.” “Chariot is here, sir; I just saw him come out from Madame Rondic’s; he cannot be far off.” “That is all right. Go after him quickly. Do not tell him, however, that Madame Rondic is here.”