Next morning, he arose about nine o'clock, intending to go to the
Credit Lyonnais before breakfast. He dressed, drank a cup of
coffee, and went to the stables to give his orders. The condition
of one of the horses worried him. He caused it to be exercised in
his presence. Then he returned to his wife, who had not yet left
the chamber. Her maid was dressing her hair. When her husband
entered, she asked:
"Are you going out?"
"Yes, as far as the bank."
"Of course. That is wise."
He entered the cabinet; but, after a few seconds, and without any
sign of astonishment, he asked:
"Did you take it, my dear?"
"What?....No, I have not taken anything."
"You must have moved it."
"Not at all. I have not even opened that door."
He appeared at the door, disconcerted, and stammered, in a scarcely
intelligible voice:
"You haven't....It wasn't you?....Then...."
She hastened to his assistance, and, together, they made a thorough
search, throwing the boxes to the floor and overturning the piles
of linen. Then the count said, quite discouraged:
"It is useless to look any more. I put it here, on this shelf."
"You must be mistaken.
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