M. Perissard fidgeted slightly. When he spoke again it was in his most "inspiring" manner.
"Every man has, at one time or another in his life, reason to regret the past, and these regrets—however secretly we may hide them—remain open wounds," he began, heavily.
"Alas!" exclaimed M. Merivel in gloomy thunder. M. Floriot stirred impatiently.
"Probably true. But kindly explain yourself!" he commanded, shortly.
M. Perissard at once decided that nothing was to be gained by moralizing, so he went directly to business.
"M. the President, you were Deputy Attorney in Paris twenty years ago, were you not?"
"Yes."
"And if I am correctly informed you married a lady named Jacqueline Lefevre, at the Town Hall in the Rue Drouot. She brought you a dot of 125,000 francs."
Floriot's glance was troubled and uneasy.
"Your information is perfectly correct," he said. "But why all these questions?"