nt, but the uncertainty of the past
tortured his soul.

He was like a man who is told that the exquisite wine he has drank
contains poison.

Confidence is never half-way: it is, or it is not. His confidence was
gone. His faith was dead.

The wretched banker had rested his every hope and happiness on the
love of his wife. Believing that she had proved faithless, that she had
played him false, and was unworthy of trust, he admitted no
possibility of peaceful joy, and felt tempted to seek consolation from
self-destruction. What had he to live for now, save to mourn over the
ashes of the past?

But this dejection did not last long. Indignant anger, and thirst for
vengeance, made him start up and swear that he would lose no time in
vain regrets.

M. Fauvel well knew that the fact of the diamonds being stolen was not
sufficient ground upon which to bring an accusation against any of the
accomplices.

He must possess overwhelming proofs before taking any active steps.
Success depended upon present secrecy.

He began by calling his valet, and ordering him to bring to him every
letter that should come to the house.

He then wrote to a notary at St. Remy, for minute and authentic
information about the Lagors family, and especially about Raoul.

Finally, following the advice of the anonymous letter, he went to the
Prefecture of Police, hoping to obtain a biography of Clameran.

But the police, fortunately for many people, are as discreetly silent as
the grave. They guard their secrets as a miser his treasure.

Nothing but an order from the chief judge could open those formidable
green boxes, and reveal their secrets.

M. Fauvel was politely asked what motives urged him to inquire into the
past life of a French citizen; and, as he declined to state his reasons,
the chief of police told him he had better apply to the Procureur for
the desired information.

This advice he could not follow. He had sworn that the secret of his
wrongs should be confined to the three persons interested. He chose to
avenge his own injuries, to be alone the judge and executioner.

He returned home more angry than ever; there he found the despatch
answering the one which he had sent to St. Remy. It was as follows:

"The Lagors are very poor, and there has never been any member of the
family named Raoul. Mme. Lagors had no son, only two daughters."

This information dashed his last hope.

The banker thought, when he discovered his w