"No," replied Serge, in a low voice.

"You are wrong. Fortune is capricious, and in six months we may be richer
than we ever have been. But as you have decided, let me give you a piece
of advice which will be worth the money you have lost. Confess all to
your wife; she can get you out of this difficulty."

The financier held out a hand to Serge which he did not take.

"Ah! pride!" murmured Herzog. "After all it is your right--It is you who
pay!"

Without answering a word the Prince went out.

At that same hour, Madame Desvarennes, tired by long waiting, was pacing
up and down her little drawing-room. A door opened and Marechal, the
long-looked for messenger, appeared. He had been to Cayrol's, but could
not see him. The banker, who had shut himself up in his private office
where he had worked all night, had given orders that no one should
interrupt him. And as Madame Desvarennes seemed to have a question on her
lips which she dared not utter, Marechal added that nothing unusual
seemed to have happened at the house.

But as the mistress was thanking her secretary, the great gate swung on
its hinges, and a carriage rolled into the courtyard. Marechal flew to
the window, and uttered one word,

"Cayrol!"