f it became known, M. le Comte's case."

Two minutes afterward the banker went out, preceding Bernardet, who
followed him with bared head. The banker said to his employes, in an
easy tone: "Good-by for the moment, Messieurs, I will return soon."

It was also Bernardet who, visiting the Bank Hauts-Plateaux, said to his
chief: "Monsieur Morel, something very serious is taking place there."

"What is it, Bernardet?"

"I do not know, but there is a meeting of the bank directors, and
to-day, I saw two servants carry a man in there in an invalid's chair.
It was the Baron de Cheylard."

"Well?"

"Baron Cheylard, in his quality of ex-Senator of the Second Empire, of
ex-President of the Council, an ex-Commissioner of Industrial
Expositions, is Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor. Grand Cross--that is
to say, that he cannot be pursued only after a decision of the Council
of the Order. And then, you understand--if the Bank of Hauts-Plateaux
demands the presence of its Vice-president, the Baron of Cheylard,
paralyzed, half dead"----

"It means that it has need of a thunderbolt?"

"The Grand Cross, Monsieur. They would hesitate to deliver up to us the
Grand Cross."

"You are right, Bernardet. The bank must be in a bad fix. And you are a
very keen observer. The mind of a literary man, Bernardet."

"Oh, rather a photographic eye, Monsieur Morel. The habit of using a
kodak."

Thus Bernardet passed his life in Paris. Capable of amassing a fortune
in some Tricoche Agency if he had wished to exploit, for his own
benefit, his keen observing powers, he thought only of doing his duty,
bringing up his little girls and loving his wife. Mme. Bernardet was
amazed at the astonishing stories which her husband often related to
her, and very proud that he was such an able man.

M. Bernardet hurried toward M. Rovere's lodgings and Moniche trotted
along beside him. As they neared the house they saw that a crowd had
begun to collect.

"It is known already," Moniche said. "Since I left they have begun"----

"If I enter there," interrupted the officer, "it is all right. You have
a right to call any one you choose to your aid. But I am not a
Magistrate. You must go for a Commissary of Police."

"Oh, M. Bernardet," Moniche exclaimed. "You are worth more than all the
Commissaries put together."

"That does not make it so. A Commissary is a Commissary. Go and hunt for
one."

"But since you are here"----

"But I am nothing. We must have