"Sir," the cashier was replying,--"sir!"

"You are a forger, M. Vincent Favoral; you are a thief!"

Maxence leaped from his seat.

"I shall not permit my father to be thus insulted in his own house,"
he exclaimed.

"Maxence," begged Mme. Favoral, "my son!"

The old lawyer, M. Chapelain, held him by the arm; but he struggled
hard, and was about to burst into the parlor, when the door opened,
and the director of the Mutual Credit stepped out.

With a coolness quite remarkable after such a scene, he advanced
towards Mlle. Gilberte, and, in a tone of offensive protection,

"Your father is a wretch, mademoiselle," he said; "and my duty should
be to surrender him at once into the hands of justice. On account of
your worthy mother, however, of your father himself, above all, on
your own account, mademoiselle, I shall forbear doing so. But let
him fly, let him disappear, and never more be heard from."

He drew from his pocket a roll of bank-notes, and, throwing them upon
the table,

"Hand him this," he added. "Let him leave this very night. The
police may have been notified. There is a train for Brussels at
five minutes past eleven."