“Who knows?” murmured M. de Tregars.

But M. Saint Pavin heard him not.  Prey to a violent agitation, he was pacing up and down the room.

“Ah, those men of cold appearance,” he growled, “those men with discreet countenance, those close-shaving calculators, those moralists!  What fools they do make of themselves when once started!  Who can imagine to what insane extremities this one may have been driven under the spur of some mad passion!”

And stamping violently his foot upon the carpet, from which arose clouds of dust,

“And yet,” he swore, “I must find him.  And, by thunder! wherever he may be hid, I shall find him.”

M. de Tregars was watching M. Saint Pavin with a scrutinizing eye.

“You have a great interest in finding him, then?” he said.

The other stopped short.

“I have the interest,” he replied, “of a man who thought himself shrewd, and who has been taken in like a child,—­of a man to whom they had promised wonders, and who finds his situation imperilled, —­of a man who is tired of working for a band of brigands who heap millions upon millions, and to whom, for all reward, they offer the police-court and a retreat in the State Prison for his old age, —­in a word, the interests of a man who will and shall have revenge, by all that is holy!”

“On whom?”

“On the Baron de Thaller, sir!  How, in the world, has he been able to compel Favoral to assume the responsibility of all, and to disappear?  What enormous sum has he given to him?”

“Sir,” interrupted Maxence, “my father went off without a sou.”

M. Saint Pavin burst out in a loud laugh.

“And the twelve millions?” he asked.  “What has become of them?  Do you suppose they have been distributed in deeds of charity?”

And without waiting for any further objections,

“And yet,” he went on, “it is not with money alone that a man can be induced to disgrace himself, to confess himself a thief and a forger, to brave the galleys, to give up everything,—­country, family, friends.  Evidently the Baron de Thaller must have had other means of action, some hold on Favoral—­”

M. de Tregars interrupted him.

“You speak,” he said, “as if you were absolutely certain of M. de Thaller’s complicity.”

“Of course.”

“Why don’t you inform on him, then?”

The editor of “The Pilot” started back.  “What!” he exclaimed, “draw the fingers of the law into my own business!  You don’t think of it!  Besides, what good would that do me?  I have no proofs of my allegations.  Do you suppose that Thaller has not taken his precautions, and tied my hands?  No, no! without Favoral there is nothing to be done.”

“Do you suppose, then, that you could induce him to surrender himself?”

“No, but to furnish me the proofs I need, to send Thaller where they have already sent that poor Jottras.”