They went out hurriedly. Mme. Favoral felt a gleam of hope.

"We are saved!" she said.

"Saved!" repeated the cashier mechanically. "Yes; for I guess
Maxence's idea. But we must have an understanding. Where will you
take refuge?"

"How can I tell?"

"There is a train at five minutes past eleven," remarked M.
Desormeaux. "Don't let us forget that."

"But money will be required to leave by that train," interrupted the
old lawyer. "Fortunately, I have some."

And, forgetting his hundred and sixty thousand francs lost, he took
out his pocket-book. Mme. Favoral stopped him. "We have more than
we need," said she.

She took from the table, and held out to her husband, the roll of
bank notes which the director of the Mutual Credit Society had thrown
down before going.

He refused them with a gesture of rage.

"Rather starve to death!" he exclaimed. "'Tis he, 'tis that wretch--"
But he interrupted himself, and more gently:

"Put away those bank-bills," said he to his wife, "and let Maxence