The presence of Clarisse, her pallor, and the stern look of his chief, told the story. She had kept her word. For a moment his bold face lost its color, and he looked like an animal driven into a corner.
“Not a word,” said the Director; “we know all that you wish to say. This woman has robbed her husband and her daughter for you. You promised to return her the money in two days. Where is it?”
Chariot turned beseechingly toward Clarisse. She did not look at him; she had seen him too well that terrible night.
“Where is the money?” repeated the superintendent.
“Here—I have brought it.”
What he said was true. He had kept his promise to Clarisse, but not finding her at home, had only too gladly carried it away again.
His chief took up the bills. “Is it all here?”
“All but eight hundred francs,” the other answered, with some hesitation; “but I will return them.”
“Now sit down and write at my dictation,” said the superintendent, sternly.
Clarisse looked up quickly. This letter was a matter of life and death to her.