"Yes, father."
The count drew from the pocket of his waistcoat twenty-five notes of one thousand francs each, handed them to his son, and said, "Pay!"
Florestan paid, and took the draft with a profound sigh of satisfaction.
M. Petit Jean placed the bills carefully in an old pocket-book, and retired. Saint Remy went with him out of the room, while Florestan prudently tore up the note.
"At least the twenty-five thousand francs from Clotilde remain. If nothing is discovered, it is a consolation. But how she has treated me! Now, what can my father have to say to Petit Jean?"
The noise of a key turned in a lock made the viscount shudder.
His father re-entered; his pallor had increased.
"I thought I heard some one lock the door of my cabinet, father?"
"Yes, I locked it."
"You, father!" cried Florestan, surprised.