“I was near you in the hall, father. When I heard my name I rose, and they led me into a room, where I found Uncle Stephen and Aunt Thérèse.” “The room where the witnesses wait,” said her father. “Then the depositions began, after the reading of the bill of accusations and the written report made by the police commissioner, stating the theft of one hundred thousand francs. Then came the examination of Maurice. He declared his innocence, but all the time refused to accuse any one else, in spite of the president’s insistence. Of the witnesses for the prosecution, the chief clerk at the Frasne office was the most obstinate against us. He’s the one named Philippeaux, who must hate us, I don’t know why. He testified with a perfect mania for denouncing and compromising Maurice. He tried to make incontrovertible proofs out of presumptions which he inverted and perverted wickedly.” “What presumptions, father?” “Knowledge of the deposit of money in the safe, the possible, though not proven, discovery of the combination in a note-book, Maurice’s staying late in the office with the keys the evening of the theft, his lack of personal resources, his departure for foreign territory, the impossibility of imagining any other criminal, et cetera. The other clerks repeated his testimony like well-learned lessons, though with less details and certainty. Finally Mrs. Frasne’s former maid, whom they must have cajoled in some way, pretended that, in her master’s absence, her mistress never went into the offices. What does that prove? Would Mrs. Frasne have called in her maids to help her embezzle? But I mustn’t accuse her myself, either.” “And yet Maurice is no longer opposed to your doing so, father.” “I won’t do it, though. We have paid her ransom. Let her keep it and never come back again. I had called as witnesses for the defence, besides yourself, your great-uncle Stephen and my sister-in-law Thérèse to establish the fact that Maurice had not gone away without funds; also the employee of the Society of Credit, the one who made out for you, some time last October, the draft for eight thousand francs on the International Bank of Milan to Maurice’s order; finally Mr. Doudain, the notary.” “Why was he called?” “To corroborate the payment of one hundred thousand francs that I turned over to him for Mr. Frasne. He told also the name of the real purchaser of La Vigie. The president, after having conferred with Mr. Latache, president of the chamber of notaries, released him from his professional secret, and he had to tell the truth to the jurors about Mr. Frasne’s fruitful speculations.” “Was it Mr. Frasne, then, who bought La Vigie?” asked the girl; “for himself, to go and live there instead of us?” “Didn’t you know it?” “I couldn’t believe it. There are so many things that I don’t understand. Even last year at the vintage he appeared to be going round making an inspection. He ferreted round everywhere.”