“In the writing-desk that was stolen?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, mon Dieu!... In the stolen desk!”
He uttered the last sentence in a low voice, in a sort of stupor. Then he seized her hand, and in a still lower voice, he said:
“It contained a million, my child.”
“Ah! father, why didn’t you tell me?” she murmured, naively.
“A million!” he repeated. “It contained the ticket that drew the grand prize in the Press Lottery.”
The colossal proportions of the disaster overwhelmed them, and for a long time they maintained a silence that they feared to break. At last, Suzanne said:
“But, father, they will pay you just the same.”
“How? On what proof?”