“What do you mean?” asked Fortinbras. “You know that in five years Cécile scattered her own dowry to the winds and left me at the edge of a whirlpool of debt. All of my own I could scrape together and borrow I threw in to save myself from prison. She had no heritage from her father. On what else can we have lived save on my precarious earnings?” Bigourdin, both elbows on the table, plucked at his upstanding bristles and gazed intently at Fortinbras. “Ever since the great misfortune, when you returned to France, Cécile has had her own income.” “You are dreaming, Gaspard. From what source could she obtain an income?” “From me, _parbleu_!” cried Bigourdin. “I always thought my father’s will was unjust. Cécile should have had her share. When I thought she needed assistance, I arranged with my lawyer, Maître Dupuy, 33 Rue des Augustins, Paris, to allow her five thousand francs a year in monthly instalments, and I know—_sacre bleu!_—that it has been paid.” Fortinbras also put his elbows on the table, and the two men looked close into each other’s faces. “I know absolutely nothing about it. Cécile has not had one penny that I have not given to her.” “It is horrible to speak like this,” said Bigourdin. “But one cannot drink to excess without spending much money. Where did she get it?” “There are alcohols unknown to the Hôtel des Grottes, which it takes little money to buy. To get that little she has pawned the sheets off the bed.” “_Nom de Dieu!_” said Bigourdin. It was a miserable meal, ending almost in silence. When it was over they called at the cabinet of Maître Dupuy. They found everything in order. Every month for years past Madame Fortinbras had received the sum of four hundred and sixteen francs, sixty-five centimes. She had come personally for the money. Maître Dupuy remembered his first interview with Madame. She had expressly forbidden him to send the money to the house lest it should fall into the hands of her husband. He infinitely regretted to make such a statement in the presence of Monsieur, but those were the facts. “All this is evidence in favour of what I told you,” said Fortinbras. “I never doubted you!” cried Bigourdin, “and this is proof. But what can she have done with all that money?” It was a mystery. They went back to the Rue Maugrabine. On the way Fortinbras asked: “Why have you never told me what you were doing?” “I took it for granted that you knew, and that, _par délicatesse_, the subject was not to be mentioned between us.” “And Clothilde?” But Bigourdin was one of those who kept the left hand in ignorance of the generous actions of the right. He threw out his great arms, to the disturbance of pedestrian traffic. “Tell Clothilde? What do you take me for?”