We
have hit on this rather shabby way of ridding ourselves of the
difficulty for the moment.
"Only, my dear Marshal, decide quickly. This miserable business is
too much talked about already, and it will do as much harm to us
as to you all if the name of the principal culprit--known at
present only to the Public Prosecutor, the examining judge, and
myself--should happen to leak out."
At this point the letter fell from Marshal Hulot's hands; he looked at
his brother; he saw that there was no need to examine the evidence.
But he looked for Johann Fischer's letter, and after reading it at a
glance, held it out to Hector:--
"FROM THE PRISON AT ORAN.
"DEAR NEPHEW,--When you read this letter, I shall have ceased to
live.
"Be quite easy, no proof can be found to incriminate you. When I
am dead and your Jesuit of a Chardin fled, the trial must
collapse. The face of our Adeline, made so happy by you, makes
death easy to me. Now you need not send the two hundred thousand
francs. Good-bye.
"This letter will be delivered by a prisoner for a short term whom
I can trust, I believe.
"JOHANN FISCHER."
"I beg your pardon," said Marshal Hulot to the Prince de Wissembourg
with pathetic pride.
"Come, come, say _tu_, not the formal _vous_," replied the Minister,
clasping his old friend's hand. "The poor lancer killed no one but
himself," he added, with a thunderous look at Hulot d'Ervy.
"How much have you had?" said the Comte de Forzheim to his brother.
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