Fear, a fear vague still, and unexplained, was slowly taking possession of the guests; and they remained motionless, their forks in suspense, holding their breath.     

       “Never,” M. Favoral was repeating, stamping his foot so violently that the partition shook,—“never, never!”     

       “And yet it must be,” declared M. de Thaller. “It is the only, the last resource.”     

       “And suppose I will not!”     

       “Your will has nothing to do with it now. It is twenty years ago that you might have willed, or not willed. But listen to me, and let us reason a little.”     

       Here M. de Thaller dropped his voice; and for some minutes nothing was heard in the dining-room, except confused words, and incomprehensible exclamations, until suddenly,     

       “That is ruin,” he resumed in a furious tone: “it is bankruptcy on the last of the month.”     

       “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       

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