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"What do you know exactly? What do you know about me?"
"There are many things that I do not know. I do not know your name. But I know..."
She interrupted him with a gesture; and, resolutely, in her turn, dominating the man who was compelling her to speak:
"It doesn't matter," she exclaimed. "What you know, after all, is not much and is of no importance. But what are your plans? You offer me your help: with what view? For what work? You have flung yourself headlong into this business; I have been unable to undertake anything without meeting you on my path: you must be contemplating some aim... What aim?"
"What aim? Upon my word, it seems to me that my conduct..."
"No, no," she said, emphatically, "no phrases! What you and I want is certainties; and, to achieve them, absolute frankness. I will set you the example. M. Daubrecq possesses a thing of unparalleled value, not in itself, but for what it represents. That thing you know. You have twice held it in your hands. I have twice taken it from you. Well, I am ent.i.tled to believe that, when you tried to obtain possession of it, you meant to use the power which you attribute to it and to use it to your own advantage..."
"What makes you say that?"
"Yes, you meant to use it to forward your schemes, in the interest of your own affairs, in accordance with your habits as a..."
"As a burglar and a swindler," said Lupin, completing the sentence for her.
She did not protest. He tried to read her secret thoughts in the depths of her eyes. What did she want with him? What was she afraid of? If she mistrusted him, had he not also reasons to mistrust that woman who had twice taken the crystal stopper from him to restore it to Daubrecq?
Mortal enemy of Daubrecq's though she were, up to what point did she remain subject to that man's will? By surrendering himself to her, did he not risk surrendering himself to Daubrecq? And yet he had never looked upon graver eyes nor a more honest face.
Without further hesitation, he stated:
"My object is simple enough. It is the release of my friends Gilbert and Vaucheray."
"Is that true? Is that true?" she exclaimed, quivering all over and questioning him with an anxious glance.
"If you knew me..."
"I do know you... I know who you are. For months, I have taken part in your life, without your suspecting it... and yet, for certain reasons, I still doubt..."
He said, in a more decisive tone:
"You do not know me. If you knew me, you would know that there can be no peace for me before my two companions have escaped the awful fate that awaits them."
She rushed at him, took him by the shoulders and positively distraught, said:
"What? What did you say? The awful fate?... Then you believe... you believe..."
"I really believe," said Lupin, who felt how greatly this threat upset her, "I really believe that, if I am not in time, Gilbert and Vaucheray are done for."
"Be quiet!... Be quiet!" she cried, clutching him fiercely. "Be quiet!... You mustn't say that... There is no reason... It's just you who suppose..."
"It's not only I, it's Gilbert as well..."
"What? Gilbert? How do you know?"
"From himself?"
"From him?"
"Yes, from Gilbert, who has no hope left but in me; from Gilbert, who knows that only one man in the world can save him and who, a few days ago, sent me a despairing appeal from prison. Here is his letter."
She s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper greedily and read in stammering accents:
"Help, governor!... I am frightened!... I am frightened!..."
She dropped the letter. Her hands fluttered in s.p.a.ce. It was as though her staring eyes beheld the sinister vision which had already so often terrified Lupin. She gave a scream of horror, tried to rise and fainted.
CHAPTER V. THE TWENTY-SEVEN
The child was sleeping peacefully on the bed. The mother did not move from the sofa on which Lupin had laid her; but her easier breathing and the blood which was now returning to her face announced her impending recovery from her swoon.
He observed that she wore a wedding-ring. Seeing a locket hanging from her bodice, he stooped and, turning it, found a miniature photograph representing a man of about forty and a lad--a stripling rather--in a schoolboy's uniform. He studied the fresh, young face set in curly hair:
"It's as I thought," he said. "Ah, poor woman!"
The hand which he took between his grew warmer by degrees. The eyes opened, then closed again. She murmured:
"Jacques..."
"Do not distress yourself... it's all right he's asleep."
She recovered consciousness entirely. But, as she did not speak, Lupin put questions to her, to make her feel a gradual need of unbosoming herself. And he said, pointing to the locket:
"The schoolboy is Gilbert, isn't he?"
"Yes," she said.
"And Gilbert is your son?"
She gave a shiver and whispered:
"Yes, Gilbert is my son, my eldest son."
So she was the mother of Gilbert, of Gilbert the prisoner at the Sante, relentlessly pursued by the authorities and now awaiting his trial for murder!
Lupin continued:
"And the other portrait?"
"My husband."
"Your husband?"
"Yes, he died three years ago."
She was now sitting up. Life quivered in her veins once more, together with the horror of living and the horror of all the ghastly things that threatened her. Lupin went on to ask: