e he could rise again, he was held
fast by Maxime de Brevan, and by M. Elgin, who had heard the noise, and
rushed in from the adjoining room.

"The poor man did not attempt to resist. Why should he? Within him,
moreover, a faint hope began to rise. It seemed to him impossible that
such a monstrous wrong could be carried out, and that he would have only
to proclaim the wickedness of these wretches to have them in his power.

"'Let me go!' he said. 'I must go!'

"But they did not allow him to go as yet. They guessed what was going on
in his mind. Sir Thorn asked him coolly,--

"'Where do you think of going? Do you mean to denounce us? Have a care!
You would only sacrifice yourself, without doing us any harm. If you
think you can use Sarah's letter, in which she appoints a meeting, as a
weapon against us, you are mistaken. She did not write that letter; and,
moreover, she can prove an alibi. You see we have prepared everything
for this business during the last three months; and nothing has been
left to chance. Do not forget that I have commissioned you twenty times
to buy or sell for me on 'Change, and that it was always done in your
name, at my request. How can you say you did not speculate on 'Change?'

"The poor cashier's heart sank within him. Had he not himself, for
fear lest a suspicion should fall upon Sarah Brandon, told the board
of directors in his letter that he had been tempted by unlucky
speculations? Had he not altered the entries in the books in order to
prove this assertion? Would they believe him if he were to tell the
truth? Whom could he ever hope to persuade that what was probable was
false, and that the improbable was true? Sir Thorn continued with his
horrid sneers,--

"'Have you forgotten the letters which you wrote me for the purpose of
borrowing money from me, and in which you confess your defalcations?
Here they are. You can read them.'

"These letters, M. Champcey, are those which Sarah showed you; and
Malgat was frightened out of his senses. He had never written such
letters; and yet there was his handwriting, imitated with such amazing
perfection, that he began to doubt his own senses and his own reason. He
only saw clearly that no one would look upon them as forgeries.

"Ah! Maxime de Brevan is an artist. His letter to the navy department
has, no doubt, proved it to you.

"Seeing Malgat thus stupefied, Sarah took the word, and said,--

"'Look here, my dear; I'll give you some advice