“Come, Zénaïde, it is your turn,” called some one.
“Zenaïde”—why, that was Rondic’s daughter! These people certainly did not take this affair much to heart. All at once a crowd of white-capped women passed the window, singing loudly.
“Come, Brigadier! come, Jack!” said some one.
Somewhat mystified, the poet pushed open the door, and amid the dust and crowd he saw Jack, radiant with happiness, dancing with a stout girl, who smiled with her whole heart at a good-looking fellow in uniform. In a corner sat a gray-haired man, much amused by all that was going on; with him was a tall, pale, young woman, who looked very sad.
CHAPTER XVI.
CLARISSE.
This was what had happened. The day after he had written to Jack’s mother, the superintendent was in his office alone, when Madame Rondic entered, pale and agitated. Paying little attention to the coolness with which she was received, her conduct having for a long time habituated her to the silent contempt of all who respected themselves, she refused to sit down, and, standing erect, said slowly, attempting to conceal her emotion,—
“I have come to tell you that the apprentice is not guilty; that it is not he who has stolen my stepdaughter’s dowry.”
The Director started from his chair. “But, ma-dame, every proof is against him.”
“What proofs? The most important is that, my husband being away, Jack was alone with us in the house. It is just this proof that I have come to destroy, for there was another man there that night.”
“What man? Chariot?”