and he was still prepared, at the moment of the final
catastrophe, to experience any number of further emotions; but the
shock which he received this time was utterly unexpected. It was not
astonishment, but stupefaction, terror. The man who stood before him,
the man whom the brutal force of events compelled him to look upon as
Arsene Lupin, was--Valmeras! Valmeras, the owner of the Chateau de
l'Aiguille! Valmeras, the very man to whom he had applied for
assistance against Arsene Lupin! Valmeras, his companion on the
expedition to Crozant! Valmeras, the plucky friend who had made
Raymonde's escape possible by felling one of Lupin's accomplices, or
pretending to fell him, in the dusk of the great hall! And Valmeras was
Lupin!

"You--you--So it's you!" he stammered.

"Why not?" exclaimed Lupin. "Did you think that you knew me for good
and all because you had seen me in the guise of a clergyman or under
the features of M. Massiban? Alas, when a man selects the position in
society which I occupy, he must needs make use of his little social
gifts! If Lupin were not able to change himself, at will, into a
minister of the Church of England or a member of the Academy of
Inscriptions and Belles-Lettres, it would be a bad lookout for Lupin!
Now Lupin, the real Lupin, is here before you, Beautrelet! Take a good
look at him."

"But then--if it's you--then--Mademoiselle--"

"Yes, Beautrelet, as you say--"

He again drew back the hanging, beckoned and announced:

"Mme. Arsene Lupin."

"Ah," murmured the lad, confounded in spite of everything, "Mlle. de
Saint-Veran!"

"No, no," protested Lupin. "Mme. Arsene Lupin, or rather, if you
prefer, Mme. Louis Valmeras, my wedded wife, married to me in
accordance with the strictest forms of law; and all thanks to you, my
dear Beautrelet."

He held out his hand to him.

"All my acknowledgements--and no ill will on your side, I trust?"

Strange to say, Beautrelet felt no ill will at all, no sense of
humiliation, no bitterness. He realized so strongly the immense
superiority of his adversary that he did not blush at being beaten by
him. He pressed the offered hand.

"Luncheon is served, ma'am."

A butler had placed a tray of dishes on the table.

"You must excuse us, Beautrelet: my chef is away and we can only give
you a cold lunch."

Beautrelet felt very little inclined to eat. He sat down, however, and
was enormously interested in Lupin's attitude. How much exactly did he
k