confidence. He sadly shook his head, and replied: "Thanks, mademoiselle, for this proof of interest, the last, doubtless, that I shall ever receive from you; but allow me, by being silent, to spare you distress, and myself the mortification of blushing before you." Madeleine interrupted him imperiously: "I insist upon knowing." "Alas, mademoiselle!" answered Prosper, "you will only too soon learn my misfortune and disgrace; then, yes, then you will applaud yourself for what you have done." She became more urgent; instead of commanding, she entreated; but Prosper was inflexible. "Your uncle is in the adjoining room, mademoiselle, with the commissary of police and a detective. They will soon return. I entreat you to retire that they may not find you here." As he spoke he gently pushed her through the door, and closed it upon her. It was time, for the next moment the commissary and Monsieur Fauvel entered. They had visited the main entrance and waiting-room, and had heard nothing of what had passed in the study. But Fanferlot had heard for them. This excellent bloodhound had not lost sight of the cashier. He said to himself, "Now that my young gentleman believes himself to be alone, his face will betray him. I shall detect a smile or a wink that will enlighten me." Leaving M. Fauvel and the commissary to pursue their investigations, he posted himself to watch. He saw the door open, and Madeleine appear upon the threshold; he lost not a single word or gesture of the rapid scene which had passed. It mattered little that every word of this scene was an enigma. M. Fanferlot was skilful enough to complete the sentences he did not understand. As yet he only had a suspicion; but a mere suspicion is better than nothing; it is a point to start from. So prompt was he in building a plan upon the slightest incident that he thought he saw in the past of these people, who were utter strangers to him, glimpses of a domestic drama. If the commissary of police is a sceptic, the detective has faith; he believes in evil. "I understand the case now," said he to himself. "This man loves the young lady, who is really very pretty; and, as he is quite handsome, I suppose his love is reciprocated. This love-affair vexes the banker, who, not knowing how to get rid of the importunate lover by fair means, has to resort to foul, and plans this imaginary robbery, which is very ingenious." Thus to M. Fanferlot's mind, the banker had simply robbed himself, and the innocent cashier was the victim of an odious machination. But this conviction was, at present, of little service to Prosper. Fanferlot, the ambitious, who had determined to obtain renown in his profession, decided to keep his conjectures to himself. "I will let the others go their way, and I'll go mine," he said. "When, 

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