“Be easy,” said the commissary:  “she shall be found.  A woman cannot swallow millions at that rate, without attracting attention.  Believe me, we shall find her, unless—­”

He paused for a moment, and, speaking slowly and emphatically,

“Unless,” he added, “she should have behind her a very skillful and very prudent man.  Or else that she should be in a situation where her extravagance could not have created any scandal.”

Mlle. Lucienne started.  She fancied she understood the commissary’s idea, and could catch a glimpse of the truth.

“Good heavens!” she murmured.

But Maxence didn’t notice any thing, his mind being wholly bent upon following the commissary’s deductions.

“Or unless,” he said, “my father should have received almost nothing for his share of the enormous sums subtracted from the Mutual Credit, in which case he could have given relatively but little to that woman.  M. Saint Pavin himself acknowledges that my father has been egregiously taken in.”

“By whom?”

Maxence hesitated for a moment.

“I think,” he said at last, “and several friends of my family (among whom M. Chapelain, an old lawyer) think as I do, that it is very strange that my father should have drawn millions from the Mutual Credit without any knowledge of the fact on the part of the manager.”

“Then, according to you, M. de Thaller must be an accomplice.”

Maxence made no answer.

“Be it so,” insisted the commissary.  “I admit M. de Thaller’s complicity; but then we must suppose that he had over your father some powerful means of action.”

“An employer always has a great deal of influence over his subordinates.”

“An influence sufficiently powerful to make them run the risk of the galleys for his benefit!  That is not likely.  We must try and imagine something else.”

“I am trying; but I don’t find any thing.”

“And yet it is not all.  How do you explain your father’s silence when M. de Thaller was heaping upon him the most outrageous insults?”

“My father was stunned, as it were.”

“And at the moment of escaping, if he did have any accomplices, how is it that he did not mention their names to you, to your mother, or to your sister?”

“Because, doubtless, he had no proofs of their complicity to offer.”

“Would you have asked him for any?”

“O sir!”

“Therefore such is not evidently the motive of his silence; and it might better be attributed to some secret hope that he still had left.”

The commissary now had all the information, which, voluntarily or otherwise, Maxence was able to give him.  He rose, and in the kindest tone,

“You have come,” he said to him, “to ask me for advice.  Here it is:  say nothing, and wait.  Allow justice and the police to pursue their work.  Whatever may be your suspicions, hide them.  I shall do for you as I would for Lucienne, whom I love as if she were my own child; for it so happens, that, in helping you, I shall help her.”