but the sound of carriages interrupts the silence of the street. The
clock struck, pitilessly. In the half-sleep that numbed her limbs,
Yvonne counted the strokes. She also heard certain noises, on different
floors of the house, which told her that her husband had dined, that he
was going up to his room, that he was going down again to his study. But
all this seemed very shadowy to her; and her torpor was such that she
did not even think of lying down on the sofa, in case he should come
in....
The twelve strokes of midnight.... Then half-past twelve ... then
one.... Yvonne thought of nothing, awaiting the events which were
preparing and against which rebellion was useless. She pictured her son
and herself as one pictures those beings who have suffered much and who
suffer no more and who take each other in their loving arms. But a
nightmare shattered this dream. For now those two beings were to be torn
asunder; and she had the awful feeling, in her delirium, that she was
crying and choking....
She leapt from her seat. The key had turned in the lock. The count was
coming, attracted by her cries. Yvonne glanced round for a weapon with
which to defend herself. But the door was pushed back quickly and,
astounded, as though the sight that presented itself before her eyes
seemed to her the most inexplicable prodigy, she stammered:
"You!... You!..."
A man was walking up to her, in dress-clothes, with his opera-hat and
cape under his arm, and this man, young, slender and elegant, she had
recognized as Horace Velmont.
"You!" she repeated.
He said, with a bow:
"I beg your pardon, madame, but I did not receive your letter until very
late."
"Is it possible? Is it possible that this is you ... that you were able
to ...?"
He seemed greatly surprised:
"Did I not promise to come in answer to your call?"
"Yes ... but ..."
"Well, here I am," he said, with a smile.
He examined the strips of canvas from which Yvonne had succeeded in
freeing herself and nodded his head, while continuing his inspection:
"So those are the means employed? The Comte d'Origny, I presume?... I
also saw that he locked you in.... But then the pneumatic letter?... Ah,
through the window!... How careless of you not to close it!"
He pushed both sides to. Yvonne took fright:
"Suppose they hear!"
"There is no one in the house. I have been over it."
"Still ..."
"Your husband went out ten minutes ago."
"Where is he?"
"With his mother, the Comtesse d'Origny."
"How do you know?"
"Oh, it's very simple! He was rung up by telephone and I awaited the
result at the corner of this street and the boulevard. As I expected,
the count came out hurriedly, followed by his man. I at once entered,
with the aid of special keys."
He told this in the most natural way, just as one tells a meaningless
anecdote in a drawing-room. But Yvonne, suddenly seized with fresh
alarm, asked:
"Then it's not true?... His mother is not ill?... In that case, my
husband will be coming back...."
"Certainly, the count will see that a trick has been played on him and
in three quarters of an hour at the latest...."
"Let us go.... I don't want him to find me here.... I must go to my
son...."
"One moment...."
"One moment!... But don't you know that they have taken him from me?...
That they are hurting him, perhaps?..."
With set face and feverish gestures, she tried to push Velmont back. He,
with great gentleness, compelled her to sit down and, leaning over her
in a respectful attitude, said, in a serious voice:
"Listen, madame, and let us not waste time, when every minute is
valuable. First of all, remember this: we met four times, six years
ago.... And, on the fourth occasion, when I was speaking to you, in the
drawing-room of this house, with too much--what shall I say?--with too
much feeling, you gave me to understand that my visits were no longer
welcome. Since that day I have not seen you. And, nevertheless, in spite
of all, your faith in me was such that you kept the card which I put
between the pages of that book and, six years later, you send for me and
none other. That faith in me I ask you to continue. You must obey me
blindly. Just as I surmounted every obstacle to come to you, so I will
save you, whatever the position may be."
Horace Velmont's calmness, his masterful voice, with the friendly
intonation, gradually quieted the countess. Though still very weak, she
gained a fresh sense of ease and security in that man's presence.
"Have no fear," he went on. "The Comtesse d'Origny lives at the other
end of the Bois de Vincennes. Allowing that your husband finds a
motor-cab, it is impossible for him to be back before a quarter-past
three. Well, it is twenty-five to three now. I swear to take you away at
three o'clock exactly and to take you to your son. But I will not go
before I know everything."
"What am I to do?" she asked.
"Answer me and very plainly. We have twenty minutes. It is enough. But
it is not too much."
"Ask me what you want to know."
"Do you think that the count had any ... any murderous intentions?"
"No."
"Then it concerns your son?"
"Yes."
"He is taking him away, I suppose, because he wants to divorce you and
marry another woman, a former friend of yours, whom you have turned out
of your house. Is that it? Oh, I entreat you, answer me frankly! These
are facts of public notoriety; and your hesitation, your scruples, must
all cease, now that the matter concerns your son. So your husband wished
to marry another woman?
"Yes."
"The woman has no money. Your husband, on his side, has gambled away
all his property and has no means beyond the allowance which he receives
from his mother, the Comtesse d'Origny, and the income of a large
fortune which your son inherited from two of your uncles. It is this
fortune which your husband covets and which he would appropriate more
easily if the child were placed in his hands. There is only one way:
divorce. Am I right?"
"Yes."
"And what has prevented him until now is your refusal?"
"Yes, mine and that of my mother-in-law, whose religious feelings are
opposed to divorce. The Comtesse d'Origny would only yield in case ..."
"In case ...?"
"In case they could prove me guilty of shameful conduct."
Velmont shrugged his shoulders:
"Therefore he is powerless to do anything against you or against your
son. Both from the legal point of view and from that of his own
interests, he stumbles against an obstacle which is the most
insurmountable of all: the virtue of an honest woman. And yet, in spite
of everything, he suddenly shows fight."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that, if a man like the count, after so many hesitations and
in the face of so many difficulties, risks so doubtful an adventure, it
must be because he thinks he has command of weapons ..."
"What weapons?"
"I don't know. But they exist ... or else he would not have begun by
taking away your son."
Yvonne gave way to her despair:
"Oh, this is horrible!... How do I know what he may have done, what he
may have invented?"
"Try and think.... Recall your memories.... Tell me, in this desk which
he has broken open, was there any sort of letter which he could possibly
turn against you?"
"No ... only bills and addresses...."
"And, in the words he used to you, in his threats, is there nothing that
allows you to guess?"
"Nothing."
"Still ... still," Velmont insisted, "there must be something." And he
continued, "Has the count a particularly intimate friend ... in whom he
confides?"
"No."
"Did anybody come to see him yesterday?"
"No, nobody."
"Was he alone when he bound you and locked you in?"
"At that moment, yes."
"But afterward?"
"His man, Bernard, joined him near the door and I heard them talking
about a working jeweller...."
"Is that all?"
"And about something that was to happen the next day, that is, to-day,
at twelve o'clock, because the Comtesse d'Origny could not come
earlier."
Velmont reflected:
"Has that conversation any meaning that throws a light upon your
husband's plans?"
"I don't see any."
"Where are your jewels?"
"My husband has sold them all."
"You have nothing at all left?"
"No."
"Not even a ring?"
"No," she said, showing her hands, "none except this."
"Which is your wedding-ring?"
"Which is my ... wedding--..."
She stopped, nonplussed. Velmont saw her flush as she stammered:
"Could it be possible?... But no ... no ... he doesn't know...."
Velmont at once pressed her with questions and Yvonne stood silent,
motionless, anxious-faced. At last, she replied, in a low voice:
"This is not my wedding-ring. One day, long ago, it dropped from the
mantelpiece in my bedroom, where I had put it a minute before and, hunt
for it as I might, I could not find it again. So I ordered another,
without saying anything about it ... and this is the one, on my
hand...."
"Did the real ring bear the date of your wedding?"
"Yes ... the 23rd of October."
"And the second?"
"This one has no date."
He perceived a slight hesitation in her and a confusion which, in point
of fact, she did not try to conceal.
"I implore you," he exclaimed, "don't hide anything from me.... You see
how far we have gone in a few minutes, with a little logic and
calmness.... Let us go on, I ask you as a favour."
"Are you sure," she said, "that it is necessary?"
"I am sure that the least detail is of importance and that we are nearly
attaining our object. But we must hurry. This is a crucial moment."
"I have nothing to conceal," she said, proudly raising her head. "It was
the most wretched and the most dangerous period of my life. While
suffering humiliation at home, outside I was surrounded with attentions,
with temptations, with pitfalls, like any woman who is seen to be
neglected by her husband. Then I remembered: before my marriage, a man
had been in love with me. I had guessed his unspoken love; and he has
died since. I had the name of that man engraved inside the ring; and I
wore it as a talisman. There was no love in me, because I was the wife
of another. But, in my secret heart, there was a memory, a sad dream,
something sweet and gentle that protected me...."
She had spoken slowly, without embarrassment, and Velmont did not doubt
for a second that she was telling the absolute truth. He kept silent;
and she, becoming anxious again, asked:
"Do you suppose ... that my husband ...?"
He took her hand and, while examining the plain gold ring, said:
"The puzzle lies here. Your husband, I don't know how, knows of the
substitution of one ring for the other. His mother will be here at
twelve o'clock. In the presence of witnesses, he will compel you to take
off your ring; and, in this way, he will obtain the approval of his
mother and, at the same time, will be able to obtain his divorce,
because he will have the proof for which he was seeking."
"I am lost!" she moaned. "I am lost!"
"On the contrary, you are saved! Give me that ring ... and presently he
will find another there, another which I will send you, to reach you
before twelve, and which will bear the date of the 23rd of October. So...."
He suddenly broke off. While he was speaking, Yvonne's hand had turned
ice-cold in his; and, raising his eyes, he saw that the young woman was
pale, terribly pale:
"What's the matter? I beseech you ..."
She yielded to a fit of mad despair:
"This is the matter, that I am lost!... This is the matter, that I can't
get the ring off! It has grown too small for me!... Do you
understand?... It made no difference and I did not give it a thought....
But to-day ... this proof ... this accusation.... Oh, what torture!...
Look ... it forms part of my finger ... it has grown into my flesh ...
and I can't ... I can't...."
She pulled at the ring, vainly, with all her might, at the risk of
injuring herself. But the flesh swelled up around the ring; and the ring
did not budge.
"Oh!" she cried, seized with an idea that terrified her. "I remember ...
the other night ... a nightmare I had.... It seemed to me that some one
entered my room and caught hold of my hand.... And I could not wake
up.... It was he! It was he! He had put me to sleep, I was sure of it
... and he was looking at the ring.... And presently he will pull it off
before his mother's eyes.... Ah, I understand everything: that working
jeweller!... He will cut it from my hand to-morrow.... You see, you
see.... I am lost!..."
She hid her face in her hands and began to weep. But, amid the silence,
the clock struck once ... and twice ... and yet once more. And Yvonne
drew herself up with a jerk:
"There he is!" she cried. "He is coming!... It is three o'clock!... Let
us go!..."
She grabbed at her cloak and ran to the door ... Velmont barred the way
and, in a masterful tone:
"You shall not go!"
"My son.... I want to see him, to take him back...."
"You don't even know where he is!"
"I want to go."
"You shall not go!... It would be madness...."
He took her by the wrists. She tried to release herself; and Velmont had
to employ a little force to overcome her resistance. In the end, he
succeeded in getting her back to the sofa, then in laying her at full
length and, at once, without heeding her lamentations, he took the
canvas strips and fastened her wrists and ankles:
"Yes," he said, "It would be madness! Who would have set you free? Who
would have opened that door for you? An accomplice? What an argument
against you and what a pretty use your husband would make of it with his
mother!... And, besides, what's the good? To run away means accepting
divorce ... and what might that not lead to?... You must stay here...."
She sobbed:
"I'm frightened.... I'm frightened ... this ring burns me.... Break
it.... Take it away.... Don't let him find it!"
"And if it is not found on your finger, who will have broken it? Again
an accomplice.... No, you must face the music ... and face it boldly,
for I answer for everything.... Believe me ... I answer for
everything.... If I have to tackle the Comtesse d'Origny bodily and thus
delay the interview.... If I had to come myself before noon ... it is
the real wedding-ring that shall be taken from your finger--that I
swear!--and your son shall be restored to you."
Swayed and subdued, Yvonne instinctively held out her hands to the
bonds. When he stood up, she was bound as she had been before.
He looked round the room to make sure that no trace of his visit
remained. Then he stooped over the countess again and whispered:
"Think of your son and, whatever happens, fear nothing.... I am watching
over you."
She heard him open and shut the door of the boudoir and, a few minutes
later, the hall-door.
At half-past three, a motor-cab drew up. The door downstairs was slammed
again; and, almost immediately after, Yvonne saw her husband hurry in,
with a furious look in his eyes. He ran up to her, felt to see if she
was still fastened and, snatching her hand, examined the ring. Yvonne
fainted....
* * * * *
She could not tell, when she woke, how long she had slept. But the broad
light of day was filling the boudoir; and she perceived, at the first
movement which she made, that her bonds were cut. Then she turned her
head and saw her husband standing beside her, looking at her:
"My son ... my son ..." she moaned. "I want my son...."
He replied, in a voice of which she felt the jeering insolence:
"Our son is in a safe place. And, for the moment, it's a question not of
him, but of you. We are face to face with each other, probably for the
last time, and the explanation between us will be a very serious one. I
must warn you that it will take place before my mother. Have you any
objection?"
Yvonne tried to hide her agitation and answered:
"None at all."
"Can I send for her?"
"Yes. Leave me, in the meantime. I shall be ready when she comes."
"My mother is here."
"Your mother is here?" cried Yvonne, in dismay, remembering Horace
Velmont's promise.
"What is there to astonish you in that?"
"And is it now ... is it at once that you want to ...?
"Yes."
"Why?... Why not this evening?... Why not to-morrow?"
"To-day and now," declared the count. "A rather curious incident
happened in the course of last night, an incident which I cannot account
for and which decided me to hasten the explanation. Don't you want
something to eat first?"
"No ... no...."
"Then I will go and fetch my mother."
He turned to Yvonne's bedroom. Yvonne glanced at the clock. It marked
twenty-five minutes to eleven!
"Ah!" she said, with a shiver of fright.
Twenty-five minutes to eleven! Horace Velmont would not save her and
nobody in the world and nothing in the world would save her, for there
was no miracle that could place the wedding-ring upon her finger.
The count, returning with the Comtesse d'Origny, asked her to sit down.
She was a tall, lank, angular woman, who had always displayed a hostile
feeling to Yvonne. She did not even bid her daughter-in-law
good-morning, showing that her mind was made up as regards the
accusation:
"I don't think," she said, "that we need speak at length. In two words,
my son maintains...."
"I don't maintain, mother," said the count, "I declare. I declare on my
oath that, three months ago, during the holidays, the upholsterer, when
laying the carpet in this room and the boudoir, found the wedding-ring
which I gave my wife lying in a crack in the floor. Here is the ring.
The date of the 23rd of October is engraved inside."
"Then," said the countess, "the ring which your wife carries...."
"That is another ring, which she ordered in exchange for the real one.
Acting on my instructions, Bernard, my man, after long searching, ended
by discovering in the outskirts of Paris, where he now lives, the little
jeweller to whom she went. This man remembers perfectly and is willing
to bear witness that his customer did not tell him to engrave a date,
but a name. He has forgotten the name, but the man who used to work with
him in his shop may be able to remember it. This working jeweller has
been informed by letter that I required his services and he replied
yesterday, placing himself at my disposal. Bernard went to fetch him at
nine o'clock this morning. They are both waiting in my study."
He turned to his wife:
"Will you give me that ring of your own free will?"
"You know," she said, "from the other night, that it won't come off my
finger."
"In that case, can I have the man up? He has the necessary implements
with him."
"Yes," she said, in a voice faint as a whisper.
She was resigned. She conjured up the future as in a vision: the
scandal, the decree of divorce pronounced against herself, the custody
of the child awarded to the father; and she accepted this, thinking that
she would carry off her son, that she would go with him to the ends of
the earth and that the two of them would live alone together and
happy....
Her mother-in-law said:
"You have been very thoughtless, Yvonne."
Yvonne was on the point of confessing to her and asking for her
protection. But what was the good? How could the Comtesse d'Origny
possibly believe her innocent? She made no reply.
Besides, the count at once returned, followed by his servant and by a
man carrying a bag of tools under his arm.
And the count said to the man:
"You know what you have to do?"
"Yes," said the workman. "It's to cut a ring that's grown too
small.... That's easily done.... A touch of the nippers...."
"And then you will see," said the count, "if the inscription inside the
ring was the one you engraved."
Yvonne looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to eleven. She seemed to
hear, somewhere in the house, a sound of voices raised in argument; and,
in spite of herself, she felt a thrill of hope. Perhaps Velmont has
succeeded.... But the sound was renewed; and she perceived that it was
produced by some costermongers passing under her window and moving
farther on.
It was all over. Horace Velmont had been unable to assist her. And she
understood that, to recover her child, she must rely upon her own
strength, for the promises of others are vain.
She made a movement of recoil. She had felt the workman's heavy hand on
her hand; and that hateful touch revolted her.
The man apologized, awkwardly. The count said to his wife:
"You must make up your mind, you know."
Then she put out her slim and trembling hand to the workman, who took
it, turned it over and rested it on the table, with the palm upward.
Yvonne felt the cold steel. She longed to die, then and there; and, at
once attracted by that idea of death, she thought of the poisons which
she would buy and which would send her to sleep almost without her
knowing it.
The operation did not take long. Inserted on the slant, the little steel
pliers pushed back the flesh, made room for themselves and bit the ring.
A strong effort ... and the ring broke. The two ends had only to be
separated to remove the ring from the finger. The workman did so.
The count exclaimed, in triumph:
"At last! Now we shall see!... The proof is there! And we are all
witnesses...."
He snatched up the ring and looked at the inscription. A cry of
amazement escaped him. The ring bore the date of his marriage to Yvonne:
"23rd of October"!...
* * * * *
We were sitting on the terrace at Monte Carlo. Lupin finished his story,
lit a cigarette and calmly puffed the smoke into the blue air.
I said:
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Why, the end of the story...."
"The end of the story? But what other end could there be?"
"Come ... you're joking ..."
"Not at all. Isn't that enough for you? The countess is saved. The
count, not possessing the least proof against her, is compelled by his
mother to forego the divorce and to give up the child. That is all.
Since then, he has left his wife, who is living happily with her son, a
fine lad of sixteen."
"Yes ... yes ... but the way in which the countess was saved?"
Lupin burst out laughing:
"My dear old chap"--Lupin sometimes condescends to address me in this
affectionate manner--"my dear old chap, you may be rather smart at
relating my exploits, but, by Jove, you do want to have the i's dotted
for you! I assure you, the countess did not ask for explanations!"
"Very likely. But there's no pride about me," I added, laughing. "Dot
those i's for me, will you?"
He took out a five-franc piece and closed his hand over it.
"What's in my hand?"
"A five-franc piece."
He opened his hand. The five-franc piece was gone.
"You see how easy it is! A working jeweller, with his nippers, cuts a
ring with a date engraved upon it: 23rd of October. It's a simple little
trick of sleight-of-hand, one of many which I have in my bag. By Jove,
I didn't spend six months with Dickson, the conjurer,[C] for nothing!"
[C] _The Exploits of Arsene Lupin._ By Maurice Leblanc. Translated by
Alexander Teixeira de Mattos (Cassell). IV. _The Escape of Arsene
Lupin._
"But then ...?"
"Out with it!"
"The working jeweller?"
"Was Horace Velmont! Was good old Lupin! Leaving the countess at three
o'clock in the morning, I employed the few remaining minutes before the
husband's return to have a look round his study. On the table I found
the letter from the working jeweller. The letter gave me the address. A
bribe of a few louis enabled me to take the workman's place; and I
arrived with a wedding-ring ready cut and engraved. Hocus-pocus!
Pass!... The count couldn't make head or tail of it."
"Splendid!" I cried. And I added, a little chaffingly, in my turn, "But
don't you think that you were humbugged a bit yourself, on this
occasion?"
"Oh! And by whom, pray?"
"By the countess?"
"In what way?"
"Hang it all, that name engraved as a talisman!... The mysterious Adonis
who loved her and suffered for her sake!... All that story seems very
unlikely; and I wonder whether, Lupin though you be, you did not just
drop upon a pretty love-story, absolutely genuine and ... none too
innocent."
Lupin looked at me out of the corner of his eye:
"No," he said.
"How do you know?"
"If the countess made a misstatement in telling me that she knew that
man before her marriage--and that he was dead--and if she really did
love him in her secret heart, I, at least, have a positive proof that it
was an ideal love and that he did not suspect it."
"And where is the proof?"
"It is inscribed inside the ring which I myself broke on the countess's
finger ... and which I carry on me. Here it is. You can read the name
she had engraved on it."
He handed me the ring. I read:
"Horace Velmont."
There was a moment of silence between Lupin and myself; and, noticing
it, I also observed on his face a certain emotion, a tinge of
melancholy.
I resumed:
"What made you tell me this story ... to which you have often alluded in
my presence?"
"What made me ...?"
He drew my attention to a woman, still exceedingly handsome, who was
passing on a young man's arm. She saw Lupin and bowed.
"It's she," he whispered. "She and her son."
"Then she recognized you?"
"She always recognizes me, whatever my disguise."