rtily. "And I should not have known
the cruel terrors which your wound caused me. I have had an atrocious
time because of it, believe me, and, at this moment, your pallor fills
me with all the stings of remorse. Can you ever forgive me?"

"The proof of confidence which you have shown me in delivering yourself
unconditionally into my hands--it would have been so easy for me to
bring a few of Ganimard's friends with me--that proof of confidence
wipes out everything."

Was he speaking seriously? I confess frankly that I was greatly
perplexed. The struggle between the two men was beginning in a manner
which I was simply unable to understand. I had been present at the
first meeting between Lupin and Holmlock Shears, in the cafe near the
Gare Montparnesse,[2] and I could not help recalling the haughty
carriage of the two combatants, the terrific clash of their pride under
the politeness of their manners, the hard blows which they dealt each
other, their feints, their arrogance.

[2] Arsene Lupin versus Holmlock Shears, by Maurice Leblanc.

Here, it was quite different. Lupin, it is true, had not changed; he
exhibited the same tactics, the same crafty affability. But what a
strange adversary he had come upon! Was it even an adversary? Really,
he had neither the tone of one nor the appearance. Very calm, but with
a real calmness, not one assumed to cloak the passion of a man
endeavoring to restrain himself; very polite, but without exaggeration;
smiling, but without chaff, he presented the most perfect contrast to
Arsene Lupin, a contrast so perfect even that, to my mind, Lupin
appeared as much perplexed as myself.

No, there was no doubt about it: in the presence of that frail
stripling, with cheeks smooth as a girl's and candid and charming eyes,
Lupin was losing his ordinary self-assurance. Several times over, I
observed traces of embarrassment in him. He hesitated, did not attack
frankly, wasted time in mawkish and affected phrases.

It also looked as though he wanted something. He seemed to be seeking,
waiting. What for? Some aid?

There was a fresh ring of the bell. He himself ran and opened the door.
He returned with a letter:

"Will you allow me, gentlemen?" he asked.

He opened the letter. It contained a telegram. He read it--and became
as though transformed. His face lit up, his figure righted itself and I
saw the veins on his forehead swell. It was the athlete who once more
stood before me, the ruler,