“Well, make haste then,” said Bongrand. “Give me that copy within an hour, and Goupil, the notary, will have done something towards repairing the misdeeds of the clerk.”
After borrowing from the town doctor his cab and horse, the Justice went to fetch the two accusing folios, Ursule’s certificate, and the extract from the inventory; armed with these, he drove to Fontainebleau to the public prosecutor there. Bongrand easily proved the abstraction of the three certificates to be the act of one or another of the heirs-at-law, and then demonstrated Minoret’s guilt.
“It accounts for his conduct,” said the lawyer.
Then, as a measure of precaution, he stopped the transfer of the three certificates by a minute to the treasury, he desired Bongrand to ask what was the amount of interest due on the three certificates, and ascertain if they had been sold.
While the Justice went to do all this at Paris, the public prosecutor wrote a polite note to Madame Minoret to beg her to come to the assize town. Zélie, anxious about her son’s duel, dressed, had her own carriage out, and drove posthaste to Fontainebleau. The public prosecutor’s scheme was simple but formidable. By separating the husband and wife, he felt sure of learning the truth as a result of the terrors of the law. Zélie found the magistrate in his private room, and was absolutely thunderstruck by this unceremonious speech:
“Madame, I do not imagine that you are an accomplice in a robbery made at the time of Doctor Minoret’s death; justice is now on the traces, and you will save your husband from appearing at the bar by making a full confession of all you know about it. The punishment that threatens your husband is not, indeed, all you have to fear; you must try to save your son from degradation, and not cut his throat. In a few minutes it will be too late; the gendarmes are already on horseback, and the warrant for Minoret’s apprehension will be sent to Nemours.”
Zélie fainted. When she came to herself, she confessed everything. After proving easily to this woman that she was an accomplice, the magistrate told her that, to avoid ruining her husband and son, he would proceed cautiously.
“You have had to deal with a man and not with a judge,” said he. “There is no charge on the part of the victim, nor has the theft been made public; but your husband has committed dreadful crimes, madame, which, are usually tried before a tribunal less accommodating than I am. In the present circumstances of the case you will be obliged to remain prisoner.—Oh, in my house, and on parole,” he added, seeing Zélie ready to faint again. “Remember that my strict duty would be to demand a warrant for your imprisonment, and institute an inquiry; however, I am acting at present as the legal guardian of Mademoiselle Ursule Mirouët, and in her interests, wisely understood, a compromise will be advisable.”
“Ah!” said Zélie.
“Write as follows to your husband.” And he dictated this letter to Zélie, who wrote it at his desk, with preposterously bad spelling.
My Dear—I am arrested, and I have told all. Give up the certificates left by our uncle to Monsieur de Portenduère by virtue of the will you burned, for monsieur the public prosecutor has stopped them at the Treasury.
“By this means you will prevent his making denials, which would be his ruin,” said the lawyer, smiling at the spelling. “We will see about having the restitution carried out in a proper manner. My wife will make your stay at my house as little unpleasant as possible; I advise you to say nothing to anyone, and not to show your distress.”
As soon as his deputy’s mother had confessed, and been placed in safety, the magistrate sent for Désiré, told him point by point the story of the robbery committed by his father, secretly to Ursule’s detriment, evidently to that of the co-heirs, and showed him the letter his mother had written. Désiré immediately begged to be sent to Nemours, to see that his father made restitution.
“The whole case is very serious,” said his chief. “The will having been destroyed, if the thing becomes known, the co-heirs, Massin and Crémière, your relations, may intervene. I have now sufficient evidence against your father. I give your mother back to you; this little ceremony has sufficiently enlightened her as to her duty. In her eyes I shall seem to have yielded to your entreaties in releasing her. Go to Nemours with her, and guide all these difficulties to a happy issue. Fear nobody. Monsieur Bongrand loves Mademoiselle Mirouët too well to commit any indiscretion.”
Zélie and Désiré set out at once for Nemours. Three hours after his deputy’s departure, the public prosecutor received by express messenger the following letter, of which the spelling is corrected, not to make an unhappy man ridiculous:
To the Public Prosecutor of the Court of Assize at Fontainebleau.
Monsieur—
God has not been so merciful to us as you have been, and an irreparable misfortune has fallen on us. On arriving at the bridge of Nemours, a strap came unfastened. My wife was at the back of the chaise without a servant; the horses smelt the stable. My son, afraid of their restiveness, would not let the coachman get down, and got out himself to buckle it up. At the moment when he turned to get up again by his mother, the horses started off; Désiré did not make way quickly enough by squeezing back against the parapet, the iron steps cut his legs; he fell, and
