Thus the safe was visited legally in the presence of several witnesses. Mr. Frasne patiently made his inventory. Not a thing was missing and the sum of the money deposited proved to be exact. “The only thing left to examine,” said the solicitor quietly, conducting the inquest methodically, “is this long envelope, which has been unsealed. It contained the purchase price of Belvade, twenty acres, one hundred and twenty thousand francs in banknotes. I counted them before going away, with my head clerk, here, who can corroborate me.” “Perfectly, sir.” “The sum was put away along there.” Now the envelope contained no more than twenty bills. “I have been robbed of one hundred thousand francs,” concluded Mr. Frasne. “How do you account for the fact that the thief did not take everything?” objected the commissioner. “As a rule, they don’t voluntarily limit their profits.” “I’ll explain that to the public prosecutor, to whom I shall carry my complaint at once.” “That’s for you to say. You suspect some one, then?” “Yes.” “Your servants?” “No. They would not have been in here. And, besides, they would not have known how to make out the combination.” “Good. I’ll go and draw up my report.” “Come with me to the court-house. It’s only a step.” “As you wish.” They presented themselves to the prosecutor directly, and the notary had a long conference with him, a conference that prolonged itself some time after the commissioner of police had left them. As Mr. Frasne came down the staircase he met Mr. Roquevillard at the foot, coming in on his way to court. It was a quarter past twelve, the hour for the opening of the hearings. The two men looked at each other and bowed. V A FAMILY IN DANGER BEFORE the court sits, the barristers and attorneys customarily meet and chat a few moments amongst themselves in the lobby. It is the place where all the town news is subjected to the test. To-day Mr. Roquevillard, famous for his good humour and redoubtable sallies, took his robe from its hook in the cloak-room and went directly to his place at the bar. His colleagues eyed him from a distance, with ill-natured curiosity, while they made merry over the escapade of young Maurice, which for the matter of that they treated lightly, and as a revenge upon the constraints of country manners. As Mr. Roquevillard was apparently absorbed in the preparation of his plea, a court attendant came to his bench and touched him on the shoulder. “Sir, you are wanted in the prosecutor’s office.” He rose at once, respectfully. “I’ll come,” he said. It happened every day that the prosecutor took advantage of the presence of some lawyer at the sessions to consult with him on some point of penal business. Mr. Roquevillard, nevertheless, was not without some anxiety. His encounter with Mr. Frasne at the entrance to the court-house made him speculate: “Will he be so foolish as to enter a complaint of adultery?”