813

"Oh, sir, I beg of you.. my friend is ill."

The shorter lady had fallen on the grass in a dead faint.

He retraced his steps and, anxiously:

"She is not wounded?" he asked. "Did those scoundrels."

"No.. no.. it's only the fright.. the excitement… Besides you will understand.. the lady is Mrs. Kesselbach.."

"Oh!" he said.

He produced a bottle of smelling-salts, which the younger woman at once applied to her friend's nostrils. And he added:

"Lift the amethyst that serves as a stopper… You will see a little box containing some tabloids. Give madame one of them.. one, no more.. they are very strong.."

He watched the young woman helping her friend. She was fair-haired, very simply dressed; and her face was gentle and grave, with a smile that lit up her features even when she was not smiling.

"That is Geneviève," he thought. And he repeated with emotion, "Geneviève.. Geneviève.."

Meanwhile, Mrs. Kesselbach gradually recovered consciousness. She was astonished at first, seemed not to understand. Then, her memory returning, she thanked her deliverer with a movement of the head.

He made a deep bow and said:

"Allow me to introduce myself… I am Prince Sernine.."

She said, in a faint voice:

"I do not know how to express my gratitude."

"By not expressing it at all, madame. You must thank chance, the chance that turned my steps in this direction. May I offer you my arm?"

A few minutes later, Mrs. Kesselbach rang at the door of the House of Retreat and said to the prince:

"I will ask one more service of you, monsieur. Do not speak of this assault."

"And yet, madame, it would be the only way of finding out."

"Any attempt to find out would mean an inquiry; and that would involve more noise and fuss about me, examinations, fatigue; and I am worn out as it is."

The prince did not insist. Bowing to her, he asked:

"Will you allow me to call and ask how you are?"

"Oh, certainly.."

She kissed Geneviève and went indoors.

Meantime, night was beginning to fall. Sernine would not let Geneviève return alone. But they had hardly entered the path, when a figure, standing out against the shadow, hastened toward them.

"Grandmother!" cried Geneviève.

She threw herself into the arms of an old woman, who covered her with kisses:

"Oh, my darling, my darling, what has happened? How late you are!.. And you are always so punctual!"

Geneviève introduced the prince:

"Prince Sernine.. Mme. Ernemont, my grandmother.."

Then she related the incident, and Mme. Ernemont repeated:

"Oh, my darling, how frightened you must have been!.. I shall never forget your kindness, monsieur, I assure you… But how frightened you must have been, my poor darling!"

"Come, granny, calm yourself, as I am here.."

"Yes, but the fright may have done you harm… One never knows the consequences… Oh, it's horrible!."

They went along a hedge, through which a yard planted with trees, a few shrubs, a playground and a white house were just visible. Behind the house, sheltered by a clump of elder-trees arranged to form a covered walk, was a little gate.

The old lady asked Prince Sernine to come in and led the way to a little drawing-room or parlor. Geneviève asked leave to withdraw for a moment, to go and see her pupils, whose supper-time it was. The prince and Mme. Ernemont remained alone.

The old lady had a sad and a pale face, under her white hair, which ended in two long, loose curls. She was too stout, her walk was heavy and, notwithstanding her appearance and her dress, which was that of a lady, she had something a little vulgar about her; but her eyes were immensely kind.

Prince Sernine went up to her, took her head in his two hands and kissed her on both cheeks:

"Well, old one, and how are you?"

She stood dumfounded, wild-eyed, open-mouthed. The prince kissed her again, laughing.

She spluttered:

"You! It's you! O mother of God!.. O mother of God!.. Is it possible!.. O mother of God!."

"My dear old Victoire!"

"Don't call me that," she cried, shuddering. "Victoire is dead.. your old servant no longer exists.[3 - See Arsène Lupin, by Edgar Jepson and Maurice Leblanc, and The Hollow Needle, by Maurice Leblanc, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos.] I belong entirely to Geneviève." And, lowering her voice, "O mother of God!.. I saw your name in the papers: then it's true that you have taken to your wicked life again?"

"As you see."

"And yet you swore to me that it was finished, that you were going away for good, that you wanted to become an honest man."

"I tried. I have been trying for four years… You can't say that I have got myself talked about during those four years!"

"Well?"

"Well, it bores me."

She gave a sigh and asked: