Gavard was very pale.  The police had searched him upstairs, and had discovered the revolver and cartridge case in his possession.  Judging by the commissary’s stern expression on hearing his name, the poultry dealer deemed himself lost.  This was a terrible ending to his plotting that had never entered into his calculations.  The Tuileries would never forgive him!  His legs gave way beneath him as though the firing party was already awaiting him outside.  When he got into the street, however, his vanity lent him sufficient strength to walk erect; and he even managed to force a smile, as he knew the market people were looking at him.  They should see him die bravely, he resolved.

However, La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur rushed up to him and anxiously inquired what was the matter; and the butter dealer began to cry, while La Sarriette embraced her uncle, manifesting the deepest emotion.  As Gavard held her clasped in his arms, he slipped a key into her hand, and whispered in her ear:  “Take everything, and burn the papers.”

Then he got into the cab with the same mien as he would have ascended the scaffold.  As the vehicle disappeared round the corner of the Rue Pierre Lescot, Madame Lecoeur observed La Sarriette trying to hide the key in her pocket.

“It’s of no use you trying that little game on me, my dear,” she exclaimed, clenching her teeth; “I saw him slip it into your hand.  As true as there’s a God in Heaven, I’ll go to the gaol and tell him everything, if you don’t treat me properly.”

“Of course I shall treat you properly, aunt, dear,” replied La Sarriette, with an embarrassed smile.

“Very well, then, let us go to his rooms at once.  It’s of no use to give the police time to poke their dirty hands in the cupboards.”

Mademoiselle Saget, who had been listening with gleaming eyes, followed them, running along in the rear as quickly as her short legs could carry her.  She had no thought, now, of waiting for Florent.  From the Rue Rambuteau to the Rue de la Cossonnerie she manifested the most humble obsequiousness, and volunteered to explain matters to Madame Leonce, the doorkeeper.

“We’ll see, we’ll see,” the butter dealer curtly replied.

However, on reaching the house a preliminary parley—­as Mademoiselle Saget had opined—­proved to be necessary.  Madame Leonce refused to allow the women to go up to her tenant’s room.  She put on an expression of severe austerity, and seemed greatly shocked by the sight of La Sarriette’s loosely fastened fichu.  However, after the old maid had whispered a few words to her and she was shown the key, she gave way.  When they got upstairs she surrendered the rooms and furniture to the others article by article, apparently as heartbroken as if she had been compelled to show a party of burglars the place where her own money was secreted.

“There, take everything and have done with it!” she cried at last, throwing herself into an arm-chair.