It was with apparent calmness that he replied: 

“I am not mad; neither, unfortunately, am I dreaming:  I am simply telling the truth.”

This tranquillity at such a moment appeared to exasperate M. Fauvel.  He seized Prosper by the arm, and shook him roughly.

“Speak!” he cried out.  “Speak! who do you pretend to say opened the safe?  Answer me!”

“I cannot say.”

“No one but you and I knew the secret word.  No one but you and myself had keys.”

This was a formal accusation; at least, all the auditors present so understood it.

Yet Prosper’s strange calmness never left him for an instant.  He quietly released himself from M. Fauvel’s grasp, and very slowly said: 

“In other words, monsieur, I am the only person who could have taken this money.”

“Unhappy wretch!”

Prosper drew himself to his full height, and, looking M. Fauvel full in the face, added: 

“Or you!”

The banker made a threatening gesture; and there is no knowing what would have happened if they had not been interrupted by loud and angry voices at the entry-door.

A man insisted upon entering in spite of the protestations of the errand-boys, and succeeded in forcing his way in.  It was M. de Clameran.

The clerks stood looking on, bewildered and motionless.  The silence was profound, solemn.

It was easy to see that some terrible question, a question of life or death, was being weighed by all these men.

The iron-founder did not appear to observe anything unusual.  He advanced, and without lifting his hat said, in the same impertinent tone: 

“It is after ten o’clock, gentlemen.”

No one answered; and M. de Clameran was about to continue, when, turning around, he for the first time saw the banker, and walking up to him said: 

“Well, monsieur, I congratulate myself upon finding you in at last.  I have been here once before this morning, and found the cash-room not opened, the cashier not arrived, and you absent.”

“You are mistaken, monsieur, I was in my office.”

“At any rate, I was told you were out; that gentleman over there assured me of the fact.”

And the iron-founder pointed out Cavaillon.

“However, that is of little importance,” he went on to say.  “I return, and this time not only the cash-room is closed, but I am refused admittance to the banking-house, and find myself compelled to force my way in.  Be so good as to tell me whether I can have my money.”

M. Fauvel’s flushed face turned pale with anger as he listened to this insolence; yet he controlled himself.

“I would be obliged to you monsieur, for a short delay.”

“I thought you told me—­”

“Yes, yesterday.  But this morning, this very instant, I find I have been robbed of three hundred and fifty thousand francs.”

M. de Clameran bowed ironically, and said: