At this point the letter fell from Marshal Hulot's hands; he looked at his brother; he saw that there was no need to examine the evidence. But he looked for Johann Fischer's letter, and after reading it at a glance, held it out to Hector:—
"FROM THE PRISON AT ORAN.
"DEAR NEPHEW,—When you read this letter, I shall have ceased to
live.
"Be quite easy, no proof can be found to incriminate you. When I
am dead and your Jesuit of a Chardin fled, the trial must
collapse. The face of our Adeline, made so happy by you, makes
death easy to me. Now you need not send the two hundred thousand
francs. Good-bye.
"This letter will be delivered by a prisoner for a short term whom
I can trust, I believe.
"JOHANN FISCHER."
"I beg your pardon," said Marshal Hulot to the Prince de Wissembourg with pathetic pride.
"Come, come, say tu, not the formal vous," replied the Minister, clasping his old friend's hand. "The poor lancer killed no one but himself," he added, with a thunderous look at Hulot d'Ervy.
"How much have you had?" said the Comte de Forzheim to his brother.
"Two hundred thousand francs."
"My dear friend," said the Count, addressing the Minister, "you shall have the two hundred thousand francs within forty-eight hours. It shall never be said that a man bearing the name of Hulot has wronged the public treasury of a single sou."
"What nonsense!" said the Prince. "I know where the money is, and I can get it back.—Send in your resignation and ask for your pension!" he went on, sending a double sheet of foolscap flying across to where the Councillor of State had sat down by the table, for his legs gave way under him. "To bring you to trial would disgrace us all. I have already obtained from the superior Board their sanction to this line of action. Since you can accept life with dishonor—in my opinion the last degradation—you will get the pension you have earned. Only take care to be forgotten."
The Minister rang.
"Is Marneffe, the head-clerk, out there?"