“You are dreaming, Gaspard. From what source could she obtain an income?”
“From me, parbleu!” cried Bigourdin. “I always thought my father’s will was unjust. Cécile should have had her share. When I thought she needed assistance, I arranged with my lawyer, Maître Dupuy, 33 Rue des Augustins, Paris, to allow her five thousand francs a year in monthly instalments, and I know—sacre bleu!—that it has been paid.”
Fortinbras also put his elbows on the table, and the two men looked close into each other’s faces.
“I know absolutely nothing about it. Cécile has not had one penny that I have not given to her.”
“It is horrible to speak like this,” said Bigourdin. “But one cannot drink to excess without spending much money. Where did she get it?”
“There are alcohols unknown to the Hôtel des Grottes, which it takes little money to buy. To get that little she has pawned the sheets off the bed.”
“Nom de Dieu!” said Bigourdin.
It was a miserable meal, ending almost in silence. When it was over they called at the cabinet of Maître Dupuy. They found everything in order. Every month for years past Madame Fortinbras had received the sum of four hundred and sixteen francs, sixty-five centimes. She had come personally for the money. Maître Dupuy remembered his first interview with Madame. She had expressly forbidden him to send the money to the house lest it should fall into the hands of her husband. He infinitely regretted to make such a statement in the presence of Monsieur, but those were the facts.
“All this is evidence in favour of what I told you,” said Fortinbras.
“I never doubted you!” cried Bigourdin, “and this is proof. But what can she have done with all that money?”