The rouleau of gold that she had offered to the bailiffs came to the mind of Rudolph.
"Of what is she accused?"
"She is accused of infanticide."
"She, she! Oh, her poor father!"
"From what you have told me, sir, I conceive that, under the circumstances in which the artisan is placed, this new blow will be terrible for him. Unfortunately I must obey my orders."
"But it is only a simple accusation!" cried Rudolph. "The proofs are wanting, without doubt?"
"I cannot explain myself further on this subject. The authorities have been informed of this crime, or rather, the presumption, by the declarations of a man in every way respectable—the master of Louise Morel."
"Jacques Ferrand, the notary," said Rudolph indignantly.
"Yes, sir. But why this vivacity?"
"M. Jacques Ferrand, the notary, is a scoundrel, sir!"