n ... intuition and
intelligence.... And Arsene Lupin, without boasting, is deficient in
neither one nor the other!..."

II

THE WEDDING-RING

Yvonne d'Origny kissed her son and told him to be good:

"You know your grandmother d'Origny is not very fond of children. Now
that she has sent for you to come and see her, you must show her what a
sensible little boy you are." And, turning to the governess, "Don't
forget, Fraeulein, to bring him home immediately after dinner.... Is
monsieur still in the house?"

"Yes, madame, monsieur le comte is in his study."

As soon as she was alone, Yvonne d'Origny walked to the window to catch
a glimpse of her son as he left the house. He was out in the street in a
moment, raised his head and blew her a kiss, as was his custom every
day. Then the governess took his hand with, as Yvonne remarked to her
surprise, a movement of unusual violence. Yvonne leant further out of
the window and, when the boy reached the corner of the boulevard, she
suddenly saw a man step out of a motor-car and go up to him. The man, in
whom she recognized Bernard, her husband's confidential servant, took
the child by the arm, made both him and the governess get into the car,
and ordered the chauffeur to drive off.

The whole incident did not take ten seconds.

Yvonne, in her trepidation, ran to her bedroom, seized a wrap and went
to the door. The door was locked; and there was no key in the lock.

She hurried back to the boudoir. The door of the boudoir also was
locked.

Then, suddenly, the image of her husband appeared before her, that
gloomy face which no smile ever lit up, those pitiless eyes in which,
for years, she had felt so much hatred and malice.

"It's he ... it's he!" she said to herself. "He has taken the child....
Oh, it's horrible!"

She beat against the door with her fists, with her feet, then flew to
the mantelpiece and pressed the bell fiercely.

The shrill sound rang through the house from top to bottom. The servants
would be sure to come. Perhaps a crowd would gather in the street. And,
impelled by a sort of despairing hope, she kept her finger on the
button.

A key turned in the lock.... The door was flung wide open. The count
appeared on the threshold of the boudoir. And the expression of his
face was so terrible that Yvonne began to tremble.

He entered the room. Five or six steps separated him from her. With a
supreme effort, she tried to stir, but all movement wa