The Confessions of Arsène Lupin. Leblanc Maurice

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