Other Peoples Money | Page 6

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 take them back to M. de Thaller to-morrow."
The bell rang violently.
"The police!" groaned Mme. Desclavettes, who seemed on the point of fainting away.
"I am going to negotiate," said M. Desormeaux. "Fly, Vincent: do not lose a minute."
And he ran to the front-door, whilst Mme. Favoral was hurrying her husband towards Mlle. Gilberte's room.
Rapidly and stoutly Maxence had fastened four sheets together by the ends, which gave a more than sufficient length. Then, opening the window, he examined carefully the courtyard of the adjoining house.
"No one," said he: "everybody is at dinner. We'll succeed."
M. Favoral was tottering like a drunken man. A terrible emotion convulsed his features. Casting a long look upon his wife and children:
"O Lord!" he murmured, "what will become of you?"
"Fear nothing, father," uttered Maxence. "I am here. Neither my mother nor my sister will want for any thing."
"My son!" resumed the cashier, "my children!"
Then, with a choking voice:
"I am worthy neither of your love nor your devotion, wretch that I am! I made you lead a miserable existence, spend a joyless youth. I imposed upon you every trial of poverty, whilst I-- And now I leave you nothing but ruin and a dishonored name."
"Make haste, father," interrupted Mlle. Gilberte. It seemed as if he could not make up his mind.
"It is horrible to abandon you thus. What a parting! Ah! death would indeed be far preferable. What will you think of me? I am very guilty, certainly, but not as you think. I have been betrayed, and I must suffer for all. If at least you knew the whole truth. But will you ever know it? We will never see each other again."
Desperately his wife clung to him.
"Do not speak thus," she said. "Wherever you may find an asylum, I will join you. Death alone can separate us. What do I care what you may have done, or what the world will say? I am your wife. Our children will come with me. If necessary, we will emigrate to America; we'll change our name; we will work."
The knocks on the outer door were becoming louder and louder; and M. Desormeaux' voice could be heard, endeavoring to gain a few moments more.
"Come," said Maxence, "you cannot hesitate any longer."
And, overcoming his father's reluctance, he fastened one end of the sheets around his waist.
"I am going to let you down, father," said he; "and, as soon as you touch the ground, you must undo the knot. Take care of the first-story windows; beware of the concierge; and, once in the street, don't walk too fast. Make for the Boulevard, where you will be sooner lost in the crowd."
The knocks had now become violent blows; and it was evident that the door would soon be broken in, if M. Desormeaux did not make up his mind to open it.
The light was put out. With the assistance of his daughter, M. Favoral lifted himself upon the window-sill, whilst Maxence held the sheets with both hands.
"I beseech you, Vincent," repeated Mme. Favoral, "write to us. We shall be in mortal anxiety until we hear of your safety."
Maxence let the sheets slip slowly: in two seconds M. Favoral stood on the pavement below.
"All right," he said.
The young man drew the sheets back rapidly, and threw them under the bed. But Mlle. Gilberte remained long enough at the window to recognize her father's voice asking the concierge to open the door, and to hear the heavy gate of the adjoining house closing behind him.
"Saved!" she said.
It was none too soon. M. Desormeaux had just been compelled to yield; and the commissary of police was walking in.

IV
The commissaries of police of Paris, as a general thing, are no simpletons; and, if they are ever taken in, it is because it has suited them to be taken in.
Their modest title covers the most important, perhaps, of magistracies, almost the only one known to the lower classes; an enormous power, and an influence so decisive, that the most sensible statesman of the reign of Louis Philippe ventured once to say, "Give me twenty good commissaries of police in Paris, and I'll undertake to suppress any government: net profit, one hundred millions."
Parisian above all, the commissary has had ample time to study his ground when he was yet only a peace-officer. The dark side of the most brilliant lives has no mysteries for him. He has received the strangest confidences: he has listened to the most astounding confessions. He knows how low humanity can stoop, and what aberrations there are in brains apparently the soundest. The work woman whom her husband beats, and the great lady whom her husband cheats,