"According to the letter that accompanies them, they concern you
intimately. It seems that they prove, in the most positive manner, that
you are descended from the Roussel family and that you consequently have
every right to the Mornington inheritance."
"I?"
The cry was a spontaneous exclamation of astonishment and protest.
And she at once went on, insistently:
"I, a right to the inheritance? I have none at all, Monsieur le Préfet,
none at all. I never knew Mr. Mornington. What is this story? There is
some mistake."
She spoke with great animation and with an apparent frankness that would
have impressed any other man than the Prefect of Police. But how could he
forget Don Luis's arguments and the accusation made beforehand against
the person who would arrive at the meeting?
"Give me the papers," he said.
She took from her handbag a blue envelope which was not fastened down and
which he found to contain a number of faded documents, damaged at the
folds and torn in different places.
He examined them amid perfect silence, read them through, studied them
thoroughly, inspected the signatures and the seals through a magnifying
glass, and said:
"They bear every sign of being genuine. The seals are official."
"Then, Monsieur le Préfet--?" said Florence, in a trembling voice.
"Then, Mademoiselle, let me tell you that your ignorance strikes me as
most incredible."
And, turning to the solicitor, he said:
"Listen briefly to what these documents contain and prove. Gaston
Sauverand, Cosmo Mornington's heir in the fourth line, had, as you know,
an elder brother, called Raoul, who lived in the Argentine Republic. This
brother, before his death, sent to Europe, in the charge of an old nurse,
a child of five who was none other than his daughter, a natural but
legally recognized daughter whom he had had by Mlle. Levasseur, a French
teacher at Buenos Ayres.
"Here is the birth certificate. Here is the signed declaration written
entirely in the father's hand. Here is the affidavit signed by the old
nurse. Here are the depositions of three friends, merchants or
solicitors at Buenos Ayres. And here are the death certificates of the
father and mother.
"All these documents have been legalized and bear the seals of the French
consulate. For the present, I have no reason to doubt them; and I am
bound to look upon Florence Levasseur as Raoul Sauverand's daughter and
Gaston Sauverand's niece."
"Gaston Sauvarand's niece? ... His niece?" stammered Florence.
The mention of a father whom she had, so to speak, never known, left her
unmoved. But she began to weep at the recollection of Gaston Sauverand,
whom she loved so fondly and to whom she found herself linked by such a
close relationship.
Were her tears sincere? Or were they the tears of an actress able to play
her part down to the slightest details? Were those facts really revealed
to her for the first time? Or was she acting the emotions which the
revelation of those facts would produce in her under natural conditions?
Don Luis observed M. Desmalions even more narrowly than he did the girl,
and tried to read the secret thoughts of the man with whom the decision
lay. And suddenly he became certain that Florence's arrest was a matter
resolved upon as definitely as the arrest of the most monstrous criminal.
Then he went up to her and said:
"Florence."
She looked at him with her tear-dimmed eyes and made no reply.
Slowly, he said:
"To defend yourself, Florence--for, though I am sure you do not know it,
you are under that obligation--you must understand the terrible position
in which events have placed you.
"Florence, the Prefect of Police has been led by the logical outcome of
those events to come to the final conclusion that the person entering
this room with an evident claim to the inheritance is the person who
killed the Mornington heirs. You entered the room, Florence, and you are
undoubtedly Cosmo Mornington's heir."
He saw her shake from head to foot and turn as pale as death.
Nevertheless, she uttered no word and made no gesture of protest.
He went on:
"It is a formal accusation. Do you say nothing in reply?"
She waited some time and then declared:
"I have nothing to say. The whole thing is a mystery. What would you have
me reply? I do not understand!"
Don Luis stood quivering with anguish in front of her. He stammered:
"Is that all? Do you accept?"
After a second, she said, in an undertone:
"Explain yourself, I beg of you. What you mean, I suppose, is that, if I
do not reply, I accept the accusation?"
"Yes."
"And then?"
"Arrest--prison--"
"Prison!"
She seemed to be suffering hideously. Her beautiful features were
distorted with fear. To her mind, prison evidently represented the
torments undergone by Marie and Sauverand. It must mean despair, shame,
death, all those horrors which Marie and Sauverand had been unable to
avoid and of which she in her turn would become the victim.
An awful sense of hopelessness overcame her, and she moaned:
"How tired I am! I feel that there is nothing to be done! I am stifled by
the mystery around me! Oh, if I could only see and understand!"
There was another long pause. Leaning over her, M. Desmalions studied her
face with concentrated attention. Then, as she did not speak, he put his
hand to the bell on his table and struck it three times.
Don Luis did not stir from where he stood, with his eyes despairingly
fixed on Florence. A battle was raging within him between his love and
generosity, which led him to believe the girl, and his reason, which
obliged him to suspect her. Was she innocent or guilty? He did not know.
Everything was against her. And yet why had he never ceased to love her?
Weber entered, followed by his men. M. Desmalions spoke to him and
pointed to Florence. Weber went up to her.
"Florence!" said Don Luis.
She looked at him and looked at Weber and his men; and, suddenly,
realizing what was coming, she retreated, staggered for a moment,
bewildered and fainting, and fell back in Don Luis's arms:
"Oh, save me, save me! Do save me!"
The action was so natural and unconstrained, the cry of distress so
clearly denoted the alarm which only the innocent can feel, that Don
Luis was promptly convinced. A fervent belief in her lightened his
heart. His doubts, his caution, his hesitation, his anguish: all these
vanished before a certainty that dashed upon him like an irresistible
wave. And he cried:
"No, no, that must not be! Monsieur le Préfet, there are things that
cannot be permitted--"
He stooped over Florence, whom he was holding so firmly in his arms that
nobody could have taken her from him. Their eyes met. His face was close
to the girl's. He quivered with emotion at feeling her throbbing, so
weak, so utterly helpless; and he said to her passionately, in a voice
too low for any but her to hear:
"I love you, I love you.... Ah, Florence, if you only knew what I feel:
how I suffer and how happy I am! Oh, Florence, I love you, I love you--"
Weber had stood aside, at a sign from the Prefect, who wanted to witness
the unexpected conflict between those two mysterious beings, Don Luis
Perenna and Florence Levasseur.
Don Luis unloosed his arms and placed the girl in a chair. Then, putting
his two hands on her shoulders, face to face with her, he said:
"Though you do not understand, Florence, I am beginning to understand a
good deal; and I can already almost see my way in the mystery that
terrifies you. Florence, listen to me. It is not you who are doing all
this, is it? There is somebody else behind you, above you--somebody who
gives you your instructions, isn't there, while you yourself don't know
where he is leading you?"
"Nobody is instructing me. What do you mean? Explain."
"Yes, you are not alone in your life. There are many things which you do
because you are told to do them and because you think them right and
because you do not know their consequences or even that they can have any
consequences. Answer my question: are you absolutely free? Are you not
yielding to some influence?"
The girl seemed to have come to herself, and her face recovered some of
its usual calmness. Nevertheless, it seemed as if Don Luis's question
made an impression on her.
"No," she said, "there is no influence--none at all--I'm sure of it."
He insisted, with growing eagerness:
"No, you are not sure; don't say that. Some one is dominating you without
your knowing it. Think for a moment. You are Cosmo Mornington's heir,
heir to a fortune which you don't care about, I know, I swear! Well, if
you don't want that fortune, to whom will it belong? Answer me. Is there
any one who is interested or believes himself interested in seeing you
rich? The whole question lies in that. Is your life linked with that of
some one else? Is he a friend of yours? Are you engaged to him?"
She gave a start of revolt.
"Oh, never! The man of whom you speak is incapable--"
"Ah," he cried, overcome with jealousy, "you confess it! So the man of
whom I speak exists! I swear that the villain--"
He turned toward M. Desmalions, his face convulsed with hatred. He made
no further effort to contain himself:
"Monsieur le Préfet, we are in sight of the goal. I know the road that
will lead us to it. The wild beast shall be hunted down to-night, or
to-morrow at least. Monsieur le Préfet, the letter that accompanied those
documents, the unsigned letter which this young lady handed you, was
written by the mother superior who manages a nursing-home in the Avenue
des Ternes.
"By making immediate inquiries at that nursing-home, by questioning the
superior and confronting her with Mlle. Levasseur, we shall discover the
identity of the criminal himself. But we must not lose a minute, or we
shall be too late and the wild beast will have fled."
His outburst was irresistible. There was no fighting against the violence
of his conviction. Still, M. Desmalions objected:
"Mlle. Levasseur could tell us--"
"She will not speak, or at least not till later, when the man has been
unmasked in her presence. Monsieur le Préfet, I entreat you to have the
same confidence in me as before. Have not all my promises been fulfilled?
Have confidence, Monsieur le Préfet; cast aside your doubts. Remember how
Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were overwhelmed with charges, the
most serious charges, and how they succumbed in spite of their innocence.
"Does the law wish to see Florence Levasseur sacrificed as the two others
were? And, besides, what I ask for is not her release, but the means to
defend her--that is to say, an hour or two's delay. Let Deputy Chief
Weber be responsible for her safe custody. Let your detectives go with
us: these and more as well, for we cannot have too many to capture the
loathsome brute in his lair."
M. Desmalions did not reply. After a brief moment he took Weber
aside and talked to him for some minutes. M. Desmalions did not seem
very favourably disposed toward Don Luis's request. But Weber was
heard to say:
"You need have no fear, Monsieur le Préfet. We run no risk."
And M. Desmalions yielded.
A few moments later Don Luis Perenna and Florence Levasseur took their
seats in a motor car with Weber and two inspectors. Another car, filled
with detectives, followed.
The hospital was literally invested by the police force and Weber
neglected none of the precautions of a regular siege.
The Prefect of Police, who arrived in his own car, was shown by the
manservant into the waiting-room and then into the parlour, where the
mother superior came to him at once. Without delay or preamble of any
sort he put his questions to her, in the presence of Don Luis, Weber,
and Florence:
"Reverend mother," he said, "I have a letter here which was brought to
me at headquarters and which tells me of the existence of certain
documents concerning a legacy. According to my information, this letter,
which is unsigned and which is in a disguised hand, was written by you.
Is that so?"
The mother superior, a woman with a powerful face and a determined air,
replied, without embarrassment:
"That is so, Monsieur le Préfet. As I had the honour to tell you in my
letter, I would have preferred, for obvious reasons, that my name should
not be mentioned. Besides, the delivery of the documents was all that
mattered. However, since you know that I am the writer, I am prepared to
answer your questions."