“Where?” said Paccard.
“In the cellar?” asked Prudence.
“Silence!” cried Jacqueline.
“Yes, but to get the business transferred, we must have the consent of the police authorities,” Paccard objected.
“We shall have it,” said Trompe-la-Mort. “Don’t meddle in what does not concern you.”
Jacqueline looked at her nephew, and was struck by the alteration in his face, visible through the stern mask under which the strong man generally hid his feelings.
“You, child,” said he to Prudence Servien, “will receive from my aunt the seven hundred and fifty thousand francs——”
“Seven hundred and thirty,” said Paccard.
“Very good, seven hundred and thirty then,” said Jacques Collin. “You must return this evening under some pretext to Madame Lucien’s house. Get out on the roof through the skylight; get down the chimney into your miss’ess’ room, and hide the packet she had made of the money in the mattress——”
“And why not by the door?” asked Prudence Servien.