In spite of his self-possession, the old lawyer, red to his forehead, grew indignant.
“Abuse of confidence? I know my son. It’s impossible.”
The prosecutor let him read the accusation which the notary had signed, together with the examinations made by the commissioner of police. Mr. Roquevillard read them through attentively and without interruption. It might be, it was, the foundering of his family, the disgrace of his name. Master of him self, but stricken to his heart, he said at last:
“Mr. Frasne is taking a base revenge.”
“I believe as you do,” replied Mr. Vallerois, letting his sympathy appear without circumlocution. “But the money has disappeared. How can a public trial be prevented?”
“My son is not the only one in this case. When a boy of twenty elopes with a woman of thirty, which of the two prepares and directs the expedition?”
“I made him listen to all that just now, in this very place, with some insistence. I recommended prudence, and insisted upon twenty-four hours of reflection. I am forced back on taking some formal action. Justice must take its course. I am obliged to lay the matter before the examining magistrate.”
Mr. Roquevillard, summoning his courage to meet this blow of fate, said nothing, while the prosecutor turned the insoluble problem over and over again.
“There are presumptions against him, serious, precise and corroborating. In the first place the facilities of his position in the office, then his presence there last night with the keys, after the other clerks had gone, his lack of resources with which to carry through this bold elopement, and even his pains to limit the sum he took, as if he were fixing the rating of a loan he expected to repay.”
“There are other presumptions in his favour,” replied the father proudly. “In the first place, his family. The last of a long line of honest people does not lie. And who told you that he left without any money? When his own money is used up, he’ll come back. I’ll answer for it.”