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"What can be going forward at the d'Esgrignons'?"

At the sight of mademoiselle, Chesnel opened the door circumspectly



and set down the light which he was carrying; but when he looked out

and saw Victurnien, Mlle. Armande's first whispered word made the



whole thing plain to him. He looked up and down the street; it seemed

quite deserted; he beckoned, and the young Count sprang out of the



carriage and entered the courtyard. All was lost. Chesnel's successor

had discovered Victurnien's hiding place.



Victurnien was hurried into the house and installed in a room beyond

Chesnel's private office. No one could enter it except across the old



man's dead body.

"Ah! M. le Comte!" exclaimed Chesnel, notary no longer.



"Yes, monsieur," the Count answered, understanding his old friend's

exclamation. "I did not listen to you; and now I have fallen into the



depths, and I must perish."

"No, no," the good man answered, looking triumphantly from Mlle.



Armande to the Count. "I have sold my connection. I have been working

for a very long time now, and am thinking of retiring. By noon to-



morrow I shall have a hundred thousand francs; many things can be

settled with that. Mademoiselle, you are tired," he added; "go back to



the carriage and go home and sleep. Business to-morrow."

"Is he safe?" returned she, looking at Victurnien.



"Yes."

She kissed her nephew; a few tears fell on his forehead. Then she



went.

"My good Chesnel," said the Count, when they began to talk of



business, "what are your hundred thousand francs in such a position as

mine? You do not know the full extent of my troubles, I think."



Victurnien explained the situation. Chesnel was thunderstruck. But for

the strength of his devotion, he would have succumbed to this blow.



Tears streamed from the eyes that might well have had no tears left to

shed. For a few moments he was a child again, for a few moments he was



bereft of his senses; he stood like a man who should find his own

house on fire, and through a window see the cradle ablaze and hear the



hiss of the flames on his children's curls. He rose to his full height

--il se dressa en pied, as Amyot would have said; he seemed to grow



taller; he raised his withered hands and wrung them despairingly and

wildly.



"If only your father may die and never know this, young man! To be a

forger is enough; a parricide you must not be. Fly, you say? No. They



would condemn you for contempt of court! Oh, wretched boy! Why did you

not forge MY signature? _I_ would have paid; I should not have taken



the bill to the public prosecutor.--Now I can do nothing. You have

brought me to a stand in the lowest pit in hell!--Du Croisier! What



will come of it? What is to be done?--If you had killed a man, there

might be some help for it. But forgery--FORGERY! And time--the time is



flying," he went on, shaking his fist towards the old clock. "You will

want a sham passport now. One crime leads to another. First," he



added, after a pause, "first of all we must save the house of

d'Esgrignon."



"But the money is still in Mme. de Maufrigneuse's keeping," exclaimed

Victurnien.



"Ah!" exclaimed Chesnel. "Well, there is some hope left--a faint hope.

Could we soften du Croisier, I wonder, or buy him over? He shall have



all the lands if he likes. I will go to him; I will wake him and offer

him all we have.--Besides, it was not you who forged that bill; it was



I. I will go to jail; I am too old for the hulks, they can only put me

in prison."



"But the body of the bill is in my handwriting," objected Victurnien,

without a sign of surprise at this recklessdevotion.



"Idiot! . . . that is, pardon, M. le Comte. Josephin should have been

made to write it," the old notary cried wrathfully. "He is a good



creature; he would have taken it all on his shoulders. But there is an

end of it; the world is falling to pieces," the old man continued,



sinking exhausted into a chair. "Du Croisier is a tiger; we must be

careful not to rouse him. What time is it? Where is the draft? If it



is at Paris, it might be bought back from the Kellers; they might

accommodate us. Ah! but there are dangers on all sides; a single false



step means ruin. Money is wanted in any case. But there! nobody knows

you are here, you must live buried away in the cellar if needs must. I



will go at once to Paris as fast as I can; I can hear the mail coach

from Brest."



In a moment the old man recovered the faculties of his youth--his

agility and vigor. He packed up clothes for the journey, took money,



brought a six-pound loaf to the little room beyond the office, and

turned the key on his child by adoption.






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