He flew to the Palais-Royal: the office was shut.
"Two minutes earlier, and you might have paid your stake," said one of the vendors of tickets, whose beat was under the portico, where he vociferated this singular cry: "Twelve hundred francs for forty sous," and offered tickets all paid up.
By the glimmer of the street lamp and the lights of the cafe de la Rotonde, Joseph examined these tickets to see if, by chance, any of them bore the Descoings's numbers.

He found none, and returned home grieved at having done his best in vain for the old woman, to whom he related his ill-luck.

Agathe and her aunt went together to the midnight mass at Saint-Germain-des-Pres.

Joseph went to bed.

The collation did not take place.