“Oh, yes!—­of the Royal Court of Paris.  Take him the book; he is one of the noblest characters of the present day.  He and the late Popinot, a judge of the Lower Court, were both worthy of the days of the old Parliaments.  All my fears, if I had any, are dissipated.  Where does he live?  I should like to go and thank him for the trouble he is taking.”

“You will find him in the rue Chanoinesse, under the name of Monsieur Joseph.  I am going there now.  Where is that agreement you made with your swindlers?”

“Auguste will give it to you,” said the old man, re-entering the courtyard of the hospital.

A cab was now brought up by the porter, and Godefroid jumped into it, —­promising the coachman a good pourboire if he would get him to the rue Chanoinesse in good time, for he wanted to dine there.

Half an hour after Vanda’s departure, three men dressed in black, whom Madame Vauthier let into the house by the door on the rue Notre-Dame des Champs, filed up the staircase, accompanied by their female Judas, and knocked gently at the door of Monsieur Bernard’s lodging.  As it happened to be a Thursday, Auguste was at home.  He opened the door, and the three men glided in like shadows.

“What do you want, messieurs?” asked the lad.

“These are the rooms of Monsieur Bernard,—­that is, Monsieur le baron, —­are they not?”

“Yes; but what do you want?”

“You know very well, young man, what we want!  We are informed that your grandfather has left this house with a covered litter.  That’s not surprising; he had the right to do so.  But I am the sheriff, and I have come to seize everything he has left.  On Monday he received a summons to pay three thousand francs, with interest and costs, to Monsieur Metivier, under pain of arrest for debt duly notified to him, and like an old stager who is up to the tricks of his own trade, he has walked off just in time.  However, if we can’t catch him, his furniture hasn’t taken wings.  You see we know all about it, young man.”

“Here are the stamped papers your grandpapa didn’t choose to take,” said Madame Vauthier, thrusting three writs into Auguste’s hand.

“Remain here, madame,” said the sheriff; “we shall make you legal guardian of the property.  The law gives you forty sous a day, and that’s not to be sneezed at.”

“Ha! now I shall see the inside of that fine bedroom!” cried the Vauthier.

“You shall not go into my mother’s room!” said the young lad, in a threatening voice, springing between the door and the three men in black.

At a sign from the sheriff, two of the men seized Auguste.

“No resistance, young man; you are not master here,” said the sheriff.  “We shall draw up the proces-verbal, and you will sleep in jail.”

Hearing that dreadful word, Auguste burst into tears.

“Ah, how fortunate,” he cried, “that mamma has gone!  It would have killed her.”