He saw the strong-room at the bank; he saw the Baron de Nucingen in
conference with a police-officer from the Prefecture, who was
informing him of Castanier's conduct, explaining that the cashier had
absconded with money taken from the safe, giving the history of the
forged signature. The information was put in writing; the document
signed and duly despatched to the Public Prosecutor.
"Are we in time, do you think?" asked Nucingen.
"Yes," said the agent of police; "he is at the Gymnase, and has no
suspicion of anything."
Castanier fidgeted on his chair, and made as if he would leave the
theatre, but Melmoth's hand lay on his shoulder, and he was obliged to
sit and watch; the hideous power of the man produced an effect like
that of nightmare, and he could not move a limb. Nay, the man himself
was the nightmare; his presence weighed heavily on his victim like a
poisoned atmosphere. When the wretched cashier turned to implore the
Englishman's mercy, he met those blazing eyes that discharged electric
currents, which pierced through him and transfixed him like darts of
steel.
"What have I done to you?" he said, in his prostrate helplessness, and
he breathed hard like a stag at the water's edge.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52