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!”