The affray of the Boulevard Maillot was prudently passed over as a drama founded on jealousy. Two men quarrelling over a woman, and the rivals killing one another over the corpse of the fair one—such was the account furnished to the reporters. Imagination did the rest. Paris dwelt with passionate interest for twelve hours on this magnificent butchery, the horrors of which were described all the better from the fact that no one had been admitted to see them. M. Mayeur alone made a complete search all over the house, but discovered nothing calculated to throw any light on the identity of Hans. Neither the anthropometric service nor the most experienced detectives could find out the slightest indication as to the mysterious personality of the dreaded bandit. Certainly he was the same man whose arm had been carried off at Vanves, when he had appeared there with Sophia, on the evening the General’s house had been destroyed. But what was he besides? The international police, on being questioned, said nothing. Either they knew nothing, or were unwilling to give information.
Sophia and Agostini were identified. The Princes of Briviesca undertook to inform the magistrate concerning the one member of their family they were well pleased to see themselves rid of. Count Grodsko could relate nothing more than he had already told to the agent who had questioned him at Monte Carlo. The examining magistrate enraged at finding nothing, thought for a moment of bringing a charge against Lichtenbach. He summoned him to his study, questioned him, and tried to obtain from Baradier and Graff revelations concerning him. But the former would not impeach, as was expected, their old enemy. Rivalry in business affairs, quibbles in banking relations, but nothing legally guilty. If a charge could be brought on these heads, then they would be obliged to surround the Place de la Bourse, from twelve to three every day, and arrest all who were raising those frightful cries beneath its columns. Besides, the highest circles had immediately interceded in favour of Lichtenbach, and the examining magistrate saw at once that he was on a wrong track. Accordingly, this time the Vanves affair was definitely shelved, and classed amongst the legal mysteries of the year.
But though these tragic events were not destined to have any material consequences for Lichtenbach, serious moral results rapidly followed. Within a week following the death of Agostini and Sophia, Mademoiselle Lichtenbach entered the Convent des Augustines of the Rue Saint Jacques. She had had a two-hours’ conversation with her father. Pale, but determined, she was seen to leave her father’s study. Elias followed her, trembling, and with bowed head, tears streaming down his cheeks. On the landing he tried to stop his daughter, and stretched out his hands beseechingly as he stammered—
“My child, do not be inexorable; have pity on me!”
Marianne bowed her head as she replied—
“I wish I could, father; but how will you redeem the past?”
Without turning round, she descended the stone staircase, at the foot of which the carriage was waiting to conduct her to the Rue Saint Jacques. A moan of pain escaped the old man’s lips as he leaned over the iron balustrade. For a moment he seemed as though he would fling himself over. Then he cried out in heart-piercing accents—
“Marianne! Marianne!”
She raised her head. Stretching out his hands, he groaned—
“You are the only one I have left in the world! Will you forget your father?”