The memories of the past thus evoked by the banker seemed too much for the unhappy cashier; he buried his face in his hands, and wept bitterly.

“A man can confide everything to his father without fear of being harshly judged,” resumed M. Fauvel.  “A father not only pardons, he forgets.  Do I not know the terrible temptations that beset a young man in a city like Paris?  There are some inordinate desires before which the firmest principles must give way, and which so pervert our moral sense as to render us incapable of judging between right and wrong.  Speak, Prosper, Speak!”

“What do you wish me to say?”

“The truth.  When an honorable man yields, in an hour of weakness, to temptation, his first step toward atonement is confession.  Say to me, Yes, I have been tempted, dazzled:  the sight of these piles of gold turned my brain.  I am young:  I have passions.”

“I?” murmured Prosper.  “I?”

“Poor boy,” said the banker, sadly; “do you think I am ignorant of the life you have been leading since you left my roof a year ago?  Can you not understand that all your fellow-clerks are jealous of you? that they do not forgive you for earning twelve thousand francs a year?  Never have you committed a piece of folly without my being immediately informed of it by an anonymous letter.  I could tell the exact number of nights you have spent at the gaming-table, and the amount of money you have squandered.  Oh, envy has good eyes and a quick ear!  I have great contempt for these cowardly denunciations, but was forced not only to heed them, but to make inquiries myself.  It is only right that I should know what sort of a life is led by the man to whom I intrust my fortune and my honor.”

Prosper seemed about to protest against this last speech.

“Yes, my honor,” insisted M. Fauvel, in a voice that a sense of humiliation rendered still more vibrating:  “yes, my credit might have been compromised to-day by this M. de Clameran.  Do you know how much I shall lose by paying him this money?  And suppose I had not had the securities which I have sacrificed? you did not know I possessed them.”

The banker paused, as if hoping for a confession, which, however, did not come.

“Come, Prosper, have courage, be frank.  I will go upstairs.  You will look again in the safe:  I am sure that in your agitation you did not search thoroughly.  This evening I will return; and I am confident that, during the day, you will have found, if not the three hundred and fifty thousand francs, at least the greater portion of it; and to-morrow neither you nor I will remember anything about this false alarm.”

M. Fauvel had risen, and was about to leave the room, when Prosper arose, and seized him by the arm.

“Your generosity is useless, monsieur,” he said, bitterly; “having taken nothing, I can restore nothing.  I have searched carefully; the bank-notes have been stolen.”