This private office communicates directly with the bank by means of a narrow staircase, which opens into the room occupied by the head cashier.

This room, which in the bank goes by the name of the “cash-office,” is proof against all attacks, no matter how skilfully planned; indeed, it could almost withstand a regular siege, sheeted as it is like a monitor.

The doors, and the partition where the wicket door is cut, are covered with thick sheets of iron; and a heavy grating protects the fireplace.

Fastened in the wall by enormous iron clamps is a safe, a formidable and fantastic piece of furniture, calculated to fill with envy the poor devil who easily carries his fortune in a pocket-book.

This safe, which is considered the masterpiece of the firm of Becquet, is six feet in height and four and a half in width, made entirely of wrought iron, with triple sides, and divided into isolated compartments in case of fire.

The safe is opened by an odd little key, which is, however, the least important part of the mechanism.  Five movable steel buttons, upon which are engraved all the letters of the alphabet, constitute the real power of this ingenious safe.

Before inserting the key into the lock, the letters on the buttons must be in the exact position in which they were placed when the safe was locked.

In M. Fauvel’s bank, as everywhere, the safe was always closed with a word that was changed from time to time.

This word was known only to the head of the bank and the cashier, each of whom had also a key to the safe.

In a fortress like this, a person could deposit more diamonds than the Duke of Brunswick’s, and sleep well assured of their safety.

But one danger seemed to threaten, that of forgetting the secret word which was the “Open sesame” of the safe.

On the morning of the 28th of February, the bank-clerks were all busy at their various desks, about half-past nine o’clock, when a middle-aged man of dark complexion and military air, clad in deep mourning, appeared in the office adjoining the “safe,” and announced to the five or six employees present his desire to see the cashier.

He was told that the cashier had not yet come, and his attention was called to a placard in the entry, which stated that the “cash-room” was opened at ten o’clock.

This reply seemed to disconcert and annoy the newcomer.

“I expected,” he said, in a tone of cool impertinence, “to find someone here ready to attend to my business.  I explained the matter to M. Fauvel yesterday.  I am Count Louis de Clameran, an iron-manufacturer at Oloron, and have come to draw three hundred thousand francs deposited in this bank by my late brother, whose heir I am.  It is surprising that no direction was given about it.”

Neither the title of the noble manufacturer, nor his explanations, appeared to have the slightest effect upon the clerks.