“Say rather that it is robbery, infernal rascality!” cried Auguste, angered by Madame Destival’s indifference. “And you don’t know, madame, where he has gone?”
“I know nothing at all about it, monsieur; I am overwhelmed, stunned, like yourself!”
“Your husband has ruined me, madame.”
“I am terribly distressed, monsieur; but what do you expect me to do?”
“It seems to me, madame, that this occurrence is likely to involve you in some unpleasantness.”
“I have no responsibility whatever to Monsieur Destival’s creditors, monsieur; we had each our own property; this house is hired in my name, and everything in it is mine. Is it my fault that Monsieur Destival has been unfortunate in his speculations? Is it the first time that such a thing ever happened? Am I not more to be pitied than anybody else? He has carried off my marriage portion, monsieur, and the furniture that is left here is certainly not worth the amount of that.—However, monsieur, do whatever you choose; proceed against me; turn me into the street if such is your desire!”
Auguste made no reply, but left Madame Destival’s presence abruptly, cursing the business agent’s rascality.
Bertrand returned, having failed to discover any traces of the fugitive. He continued his efforts in that direction for three days, while Auguste on his side did all that he could; but it seemed certain that Destival was already outside of France; that was the utmost that he could learn about him.
Auguste tried to recover his cheerfulness and to endure the blow philosophically. Bertrand was very careful not to offer his master any counsel at that moment, for he realized that the time would be ill-chosen. But when all hope was abandoned of discovering the tracks of the swindler who had carried off Dalville’s fortune, Bertrand bethought himself of the Marquis de Cligneval’s little debt; and Auguste consented that the corporal should call upon him.
Bertrand hastened to the address given him and asked for monsieur le marquis.