The emissaries of the law got there too late. Denise and Louis, whom Jean had taught to dive, were actually on the bank of the river at a spot named to them by Jean, but Louis Tascheron had already dived four times, bringing up each time a bundle containing twenty thousand francs' worth of gold. The first sum was wrapped in a foulard handkerchief knotted by the four corners. This handkerchief, from which the water was instantly wrung, was thrown into a great fire of drift wood already lighted. Denise did not leave the fire until she saw every particle of the handkerchief consumed. The second sum was wrapped in a shawl, the third in a cambric handkerchief; these wrappings were instantly burned like the foulard.
Just as Denise was throwing the wrapping of the fourth and last package into the fire the gendarmes, accompanied by the commissary of police, seized that incriminating article, which Denise let them take without manifesting the least emotion. It was a handkerchief, on which, in spite of its soaking in the river, traces of blood could still be seen. When questioned as to what she was doing there, Denise said she was taking the stolen gold from the river according to her brother's instructions. The commissary asked her why she was burning certain articles; she said she was obeying her brother's last directions. When asked what those articles were she boldly answered, without attempting to deceive: "A foulard, a shawl, a cambric handkerchief, and the handkerchief now captured." The latter had belonged to her brother.
This discovery and its attendant circumstances made a great stir in Limoges. The shawl, more especially, confirmed the belief that Tascheron had committed this crime in the interests of some love affair.
"He protects that woman after his death," said one lady, hearing of these last discoveries, rendered harmless by the criminal's precautions.
"There may be some husband in Limoges who will miss his foulard," said the /procureur-du-roi/, with a laugh, "but he will not dare speak of it."
"These matters of dress are really so compromising," said old Madame Perret, "that I shall make a search through my wardrobe this very evening."
"Whose pretty little footmarks could he have taken such pains to efface while he left his own?" said Monsieur de Grandville.
"Pooh! I dare say she was an ugly woman," said the /procureur-du-roi/.
"She has paid dearly for her sin," observed the Abbe de Grancour.
"Do you know what this affair shows?" cried Monsieur de Grandville.
"It shows what women have lost by the Revolution, which has levelled all social ranks. Passions of this kind are no longer met with except in men who still feel an enormous distance between themselves and their mistresses."
"You saddle love with many vanities," remarked the Abbe Dutheil.
"What does Madame Graslin think?" asked the prefect.
"What do you expect her to think?" said Monsieur de Grandville. "Her child was born, as she predicted to me, on the morning of the execution; she has not seen any one since then, for she is dangerously ill."
A scene took place in another salon in Limoges which was almost comical. The friends of the des Vanneaulx came to congratulate them on the recovery of their property.
"Yes, but they ought to have pardoned that poor man," said Madame des Vanneaulx. "Love, and not greed, made him steal the money; he was neither vicious nor wicked."
"He was full of consideration for us," said Monsieur des Vanneaulx;
"and if I knew where his family had gone I would do something for them. They are very worthy people, those Tascherons."
