of a demonstrative temperament and easily pleased. She threw her arms round her father's neck and kissed him as rapturously as though he had made her a present fit for a queen.
That evening, assisted by Hortense the maid, she carried up the desk to her room, cleaned out the drawers and neatly put away her papers, her stationery, her correspondence, her picture postcards and a few secret souvenirs of her cousin Philippe.
M. Gerbois went to the college at half-past seven the next morning. At ten o'clock Suzanne, according to her daily custom, went to meet him at the exit; and it was a great pleasure to him to see her graceful, smiling figure waiting on the pavement opposite the gate.
They walked home together.
"And how do you like the desk?"
"Oh, it's lovely! Hortense and I have polished up the brass handles till they shine like gold."
"So you're pleased with it?"
"I should think so! I don't know how I did without it all this time."
They walked up the front garden. The professor said:
"Let's go and look at it before lunch."
"Yes, that's a good idea."
She went up the stairs first, but, on reaching the door of her room, she gave a cry of dismay.
"What's the matter?" exclaimed M. Gerbois.
He followed her into the room. The writing-desk was gone.
What astonished the police was the wonderful simplicity of the means employed. While Suzanne was out and the maid making her purchases for the day, a ticket-porter, wearing his badge, had stopped his cart before the garden, in sight of the neighbours, and rung the bell twice. The neighbours, not knowing that the servant had left the house, suspected nothing, so that the man was able to effect his object absolutely undisturbed.
This fact must be noted: not a cupboard had been broken open, not so much as a clock displaced. Even Suzanne's purse, which she had left on the marble slab of the desk, was found on the adjacent table, with the gold which it contained. The object of the theft was clearly determined, therefore, and this made it the more difficult to understand; for, after all, why should a man run so great a risk to secure so trivial a spoil?
The only clue which the professor could supply was the incident of the day before:
"From the first, that young man displayed a keen annoyance at my refusal; and I have a positive impression that he left me under a threat."
It was all very vague. The dealer was questioned. He knew neither of the two gentlemen. As for the desk, he had bought it for forty francs at Chevreuse, at the sale of a person deceased, and he considered that he had re-sold it at a fair price. A persistent inquiry revealed nothing further.
But M. Gerbois remained convinced that he had suffered an enormous loss. A fortune must have been concealed in some secret drawer and that was why the young man, knowing of the hiding-place, had acted with such decision.
"Poor father! What should we have done with the fortune?" Suzanne kept saying.
"What! Why, with that for your dowry, you could have made the finest match going!"
Suzanne aimed at no one higher than her cousin Philippe, who had not a penny to bless himself with, and she gave a bitter sigh. And life in the little house at Versailles went on gaily, less carelessly than before, shadowed over as it now was with regret and disappointment.
Two months elapsed. And suddenly, one after the other, came a sequence of the most serious events, forming a surprising run of alternate luck and misfortune.
On the 1st of February, at half-past five, M. Gerbois, who had just come home, with an evening paper in his hand, sat down, put on his spectacles and began to read. The political news was uninteresting. He turned the page and a paragraph at once caught his eye, headed:
"THIRD DRAWING OF THE PRESS-ASSOCIATION LOTTERY"
"First prize, 1,000,000 francs: No. 514, Series 23."
The paper dropped from his hands. The walls swam before his eyes and his heart stopped beating. Number 514, series 23, was the number of his ticket! He had bought it by accident, to oblige one of his friends, for he did not believe in luck; and now he had won!
He took out his memorandum-book, quick! He was quite right: number 514, series 23, was jotted down on the fly-leaf. But where was the ticket?
He flew to his study to fetch the box of stationery in which he had put the precious ticket away; and he stopped short as he entered and staggered back, with a pain at his heart: the box was not there and—what an awful thing!—he suddenly realized that the box had not been there for weeks.
"Suzanne! Suzanne!"
She had just come in and ran up the stairs hurriedly. He stammered, in a choking voice:
"Suzanne … the box … the box of stationery. … "
"Which one?"
"The one I bought at Louvre … on a Thursday … it used to stand at the end of the table."
"But don't you remember, father? … We put it away together. … "
"When?"
"That evening … you know, the day before. … "
"But where? … Quick, tell me … it's more than I can bear. … "
"Where? … In the writing-desk."
"In the desk that was stolen?"
"Yes."
"In the desk that was stolen!"
He repeated the words in a whisper, with a sort of terror. Then he took her hand, and lower still:
"It contained a million, Suzanne. … "
"Oh, father, why didn't you tell me?" she murmured innocently.
"A million!" he repeated. "It was the winning number in the press lottery."
The hugeness of the disaster crushed them and, for a long time, they maintained a silence which they had not the courage to break. At last Suzanne said:
"But, father, they will pay you all the same."
"Why? On what evidence?"
"Does it require evidence?"
"Of course!"
"And have you none?"
"Yes, I have."
"Well?"
"It was in the box."
"In the box that has disappeared?"
"Yes. And the other man will get the money."
"Why,
