He had recovered a fierce energy and was shouting and stammering at the same time. Patrice stood opposite him, holding him covered with the revolver, ready to act, but still waiting to hear the terrible words that tortured him.
“She is lost, Patrice!” Siméon continued, raising his voice still louder. “Lost! There’s nothing to be done! And you will not find even her body in the bowels of the earth, where I buried her with the bags of gold. Under the tombstone? No, not such a fool! No, Patrice, you will never find her. The gold is stifling her. She’s dead! Coralie is dead! Oh, the delight of throwing that in your face! The anguish you must be feeling! Coralie is dead! Coralie is dead!”
“Don’t shout so, you’ll wake her,” said Don Luis, calmly.
The brief sentence was followed by a sort of stupor which paralyzed the two adversaries. Patrice’s arms dropped to his sides. Siméon turned giddy and sank into a chair. Both of them, knowing the things of which Don Luis was capable, knew what he meant.
But Patrice wanted something more than a vague sentence that might just as easily be taken as a jest. He wanted a certainty.
“Wake her?” he asked, in a broken voice.
“Well, of course!” said Don Luis. “When you shout too loud, you wake people up.”
“Then she’s alive?”
“You can’t wake the dead, whatever people may say. You can only wake the living.”
“Coralie is alive! Coralie is alive!” Patrice repeated, in a sort of rapture that transfigured his features. “Can it be possible? But then she must be here! Oh, I beg of you, say you’re in earnest, give me your word! … Or no, it’s not true, is it? I can’t believe it … you must be joking. …”
“Let me answer you, captain, as I answered that wretch just now. You are admitting that it is possible for me to abandon my work before completing it. How little you know me! What I undertake to do I do. It’s one of my habits and a good one at that. That’s why I cling to it. Now watch me.”
He turned to one side of the room. Opposite the hanging that covered the door by which Patrice had entered was a second curtain, concealing another door. He lifted the curtain.
“No, no, she’s not there,” said Patrice, in an almost inaudible voice. “I dare not believe it. The disappointment would be too great. Swear to me …”
“I swear nothing, captain. You have only to open your eyes. By Jove, for a French officer, you’re cutting a pretty figure! Why, you’re as white as a sheet! Of course it’s she! It’s Little Mother Coralie! Look, she’s in bed asleep, with two nurses to watch her. But there’s no danger; she’s not wounded. A bit of a temperature, that’s all, and extreme weakness. Poor Little Mother Coralie! I never could have imagined her in such a state of exhaustion and coma.”
Patrice had stepped forward, brimming over with joy. Don Luis stopped him:
“That will do, captain. Don’t go any nearer. I brought her here, instead of taking her home, because I thought a change of scene and atmosphere essential. But she must have no excitement. She’s had her share of that; and you might spoil everything by showing yourself.”
“You’re right,” said Patrice. “But are you quite sure … ?”
“That she’s alive?” asked Don Luis, laughing. “She’s as much alive as you or I and quite ready to give you the happiness you deserve and to change her name to Mme. Patrice Belval. You must have just a little patience, that’s all. And there is yet one obstacle to overcome, captain, for remember she’s a married woman!”
He closed the door and led Patrice back to Essarès Bey:
“There’s the obstacle, captain. Is your mind made up now? This wretch still stands between you and your Coralie.”
Essarès had not even glanced into the next room, as though he knew that there could be no doubt about Don Luis’ word. He sat shivering in his chair, cowering, weak and helpless.
“You don’t seem comfortable,” said Don Luis. “What’s worrying you? You’re frightened, perhaps? What for? I promise you that we will do nothing except by mutual consent and until we are all of the same opinion. That ought to cheer you up. We’ll be your judges, the three of us, here and now. Captain Patrice Belval, Arsène Lupin and old Siméon will form the court. Let the trial begin. Does anyone wish to speak in defense of the prisoner at the bar, Essarès Bey? No one. The prisoner at the bar is sentenced to death. Extenuating circumstances? No notice of appeal? No. Commutation of sentence? No. Reprieve? No. Immediate execution? Yes. You see, there’s no delay. What about the means of death? A revolver-shot? That will do. It’s clean, quick work. Captain Belval, your bird. The gun’s loaded. Here you are.”
Patrice did not move. He stood gazing at the foul brute who had done him so many injuries. His whole being seethed with hatred. Nevertheless, he replied:
“I will not kill that man.”
“I agree, captain. Your scruples do you honor. You have not the right to kill a man whom you know to be the husband of the woman you love. It is not for you to remove the obstacle. Besides, you hate taking life. So do I. This animal is too filthy for words. And so, my good man, there’s no one left but yourself to help us out of
