"Ah, sir, God grant it, but I had not courage enough to look."

They went together towards the old barn, when they found that the
spoliation had been complete. Reflecting on the extent of his loss,
the Curè nearly fell to the ground. Moiselet was in a most pitiable
state; the dear man afflicted himself more than if the loss had been
his own. It was terrific to hear his sighs and groans. This was the
result of love to one's neighbour. M. Senard little thought how great
was the desolation at Livry. What was his despair on receiving the
news of the event! In Paris the police is the providence of people who
have lost any thing. The first idea, and the most natural one, that
occurred to M. Senard was, that the robbery had been committed by the
Cossacks, and, in such a case, the police could not avail him
materially; but M. Senard took care not to suspect the Cossacks.

One Monday when I was in the office of M. Henry, I saw one of those
little abrupt, brisk men enter, who, at the first glance, we are
convinced are interested and distrustful: it was M. Senard, who
briefly related his mishap, and concluded by saying, that he had
strong suspicions of Moiselet. M. Henry thought also that he was the
author of the robbery, and I agreed with both. "It is very well," he
said, "but still our opinion is only founded on conjecture, and if
Moiselet keeps his own counsel we shall have no chance of convicting
him. It will be impossible."

"Impossible!" cried M. Senard, "what will become of me? No, no, I
shall not vainly implore your succour. Do not you know all? can you
not do all when you choose? My diamonds! my poor diamonds! I will give
one hundred thousand francs to get them back again."