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Juve had rea.s.sured de Loubersac: he declared that Wilhelmine had spoken the truth, that she certainly was Therese Auvernois and the most honest girl in the world.
Juve calmed and finally convinced de Loubersac.
It only remained for the repentant lover to reinstate himself in Wilhelmine's good graces--if that were possible. Now, more ardently than ever before, he desired to make Wilhelmine his wife. See her, be reconciled to her, he must!
He arrived at a favourable moment. The poor girl, lonely and alone, was a prey to the most gloomy forebodings. Life had lost all its savour. She was in the depths of despair.
De Loubersac, standing before her, as at a judgment bar, again implored her forgiveness.
"Oh, how I regret the brutal, wounding things I said to you, Wilhelmine!" he murmured humbly, sorrowfully.
The innocent girl, so bitterly wronged by his thoughts and words, crimsoned with indignation at the memory of them. Her tone was icy.
"I may be able to forgive you, Monsieur, but that is all you can hope for."
"Will you never be able to love me again?" begged Henri, with the humble simplicity of a boy.
"No, Monsieur." Wilhelmine's voice was hard.
It was all Henri could do not to burst into tears of humiliation and despair.
"Wilhelmine--you are cruel!... If you could only know how you are making me suffer! Oh, I know I deserve to suffer! I recognise that!...
All I can say now is--Farewell!... Farewell for ever!"
Wilhelmine sat silent, her face hidden in her hands.
Henri went on:
"I leave Paris shortly. I have asked for an exchange. I am to be sent to Africa, to the outposts of Morocco. I shall carry with me the memory--how cherished--of your adorable self, dearest of the dear!...
It shall live in my heart until the day when, if Heaven but hear my prayers, I shall die at the head of my troops."
With that de Loubersac moved slowly to the door, overwhelmed by the conviction that he had irreparably wounded the girl he adored, that he had destroyed for ever the love she had borne him!
A stifled cry caught his ear.
"Henri!"...
"Wilhelmine!"
They were in each others' arms and in tears.
How the lovers talked! What plans they made! How happy would be their coming life together! What bliss!
Wilhelmine broke off:
"Henri, do you know that it is past midnight?"
"I seem only to have come!" cried her lover.
"Ah, but you should not have stayed so late, my Henri!... The baron is not here. I am alone!... Indeed, indeed, you must go!"
"Oh," laughed the happy Henri: "Why, of course the baron is not here!"...
Wilhelmine, all smiles, shook a finger at Henri.
"Be off with you!... Do, do be off with you!"
"Wilhelmine!"...
"Henri!"...
The lovers kissed each other--a long, lingering kiss....
x.x.xIV
A FANToMAS TRICK
Fandor stared at himself with wild eyes....
He must be in an abominable dream, a mad nightmare!... He must be!...
What was behind all this? This outrage? This Vagualame, criminal proprietor of this pavilion, was the author of it! To him he owed it that he was thus bound, masked, disguised!
That sinister menace was still ringing in his ears: "Through Fantomas thou shalt die!"
Well, however it might come, Death came but once! He would await the event!
Fandor's spirit rose once more--indomitable.
He closed his eyes.
He lived again, as might a drowning man, his hours of joy, of struggle, of triumph, of defeat, of high endeavour: all the thick-packed hours of vivid life. Ah, how Fantomas had haunted him from childhood onwards!
"'Tis but life's logic," he reflected: "I have fought Fantomas, and not always has the victory been wholly his! More than once I have called check to him! It is his turn to take revenge with the irrevocable checkmate. Well, I have lost. I pay."
The heavy silence of the studio was loud with menace.
Surrounded by it, he awaited Death's coming, in whatever guise....
The studio door swung open noiselessly. Some twenty men appeared, all clothed in black and masked in velvet. Their approach over the thickly carpeted floor was soundless.
Fandor stared at these strange figures.
Solemnly, silently, they ranged themselves in a half circle facing Fandor. He who was plainly the chief of them remained apart, arms crossed, head high, considering Fandor. He spoke:
