As evening fell, Madame de Bonmont with anxious heart hailed a cab
and drove to Rara’s rooms, for she wished to see him again and to
recover the amethyst ring. But she feared some disaster. When the cab
crossed the Pont de l’Europe and stopped in front of her lover’s door
she saw that the road was black with hats and coats. Something was
going on that reminded her of a funeral or a removal. Men were heaping
portfolios and piles of papers into a cab, others were bringing along
a little box which Madame de Bonmont recognised as the old military
trunk filled with stamped papers in which Rara had so often plunged his
flushed arms and his furious, hairy visage.
As she stood there, frozen with terror, she heard the voice of the
dishevelled _concierge_ whisper in her ear:
“Don’t come in. Be off as fast as you can! The police are here with the
magistrate and the commissioner. They have seized your gentleman’s
papers and sealed up everything.”
The cab carried away a prostrate Madame de Bonmont. In the depths of
despair at her lost love she was, however, conscious of this thought:
“And Monseigneur Guitrel’s ring, which has been sealed with the rest!”