“We know the gentleman’s ways; he is employing one of his favourite dodges. Forgive the expression, monsieur le duc, but he is ‘nursing’ you. Don’t fall into the trap.”
“What dodge? What trap?” asked the duke, anxiously.
“He is trying to make you lose your head and to lead you, by intimidation, to do something which you would refuse to do in cold blood.”
“Still, M. Arsène Lupin can hardly hope that I will offer him my daughter’s hand!”
“No, but he hopes that you will commit, to put it mildly, a blunder.”
“What blunder?”
“Exactly that blunder which he wants you to commit.”
“Then you think, monsieur le préfet … ?”
“I think the best thing you can do, monsieur le duc, is to go home, or, if all this excitement worries you, to run down to the country and stay there quietly, without upsetting yourself.”
This conversation only increased the old duke’s fears. Lupin appeared to him in the light of a terrible person, who employed diabolical methods and kept accomplices in every sphere of society. Prudence was the watchword.
And life, from that moment, became intolerable. The duke grew more crabbed and silent than ever and denied his door to all his old friends and even to Angélique’s three suitors, her Cousins de Mussy, d’Emboise and de Caorches, who were none of them on speaking terms with the others, in consequence of their rivalry, and who were in the habit of calling, turn and turn about, every week.
For no earthly reason, he dismissed his butler and his coachman. But he dared not fill their places, for fear of engaging creatures of Arsène Lupin’s; and his own man, Hyacinthe, in whom he had every confidence, having had him in his service for over forty years, had to take upon himself the laborious duties of the stables and the pantry.
“Come, father,” said Angélique, trying to make him listen to common sense. “I really can’t see what you are afraid of. No one can force me into this ridiculous marriage.”
“Well, of course, that’s not what I’m afraid of.”
“What then, father?”
“How can I tell? An abduction! A burglary! An act of violence! There is no doubt that the villain is scheming something; and there is also no doubt that we are surrounded by spies.”
One afternoon, he received a newspaper in which the following paragraph was marked in red pencil:
“The signing of the marriage-contract is fixed for this evening, at the Sarzeau-Vendôme town-house. It will be quite a private ceremony and only a few privileged friends will be present to congratulate the happy pair. The witnesses to the contract on behalf of Mlle. de Sarzeau-Vendôme, the Prince de la Rochefoucauld-Limours and the Comte de Chartres, will be introduced by M. Arsène Lupin to the two gentlemen who have claimed the honour of acting as his groomsmen, namely, the prefect of police and the governor of the Santé Prison.”
Ten minutes later, the duke sent his servant Hyacinthe to the post with three express messages. At four o’clock, in Angélique’s presence, he saw the three cousins: Mussy, fat, heavy, pasty-faced; d’Emboise, slender, fresh-coloured and shy: Caorches, short, thin and unhealthy-looking: all three, old bachelors by this time, lacking distinction in dress or appearance.
The meeting was a short one. The duke had worked out his whole plan of campaign, a defensive campaign, of which he set forth the first stage in explicit terms:
“Angélique and I will leave Paris tonight for our place in Brittany. I rely on you, my three nephews, to help us get away. You, d’Emboise, will come and fetch us in your car, with the hood up. You, Mussy, will bring your big motor and kindly see to the luggage with Hyacinthe, my man. You, Caorches, will go to the Gare d’Orléans and book our berths in the sleeping-car for Vannes by the 10:40 train. Is that settled?”
The rest of the day passed without incident. The duke, to avoid any accidental indiscretion, waited until after dinner to tell Hyacinthe to pack a trunk and a portmanteau. Hyacinthe was to accompany them, as well as Angélique’s maid.
At nine o’clock, all the other servants went to bed, by their master’s order. At ten minutes to ten, the duke, who was completing his preparations, heard the sound of a motor-horn. The porter opened the gates of the courtyard. The duke, standing at the window, recognized d’Emboise’s landaulette:
“Tell him I shall be down presently,” he said to Hyacinthe, “and let mademoiselle know.”
In a few minutes, as Hyacinthe did not return, he left his room. But he was attacked on the landing by two masked men, who gagged and bound him before he could utter a cry. And one of the men said to him, in a low voice:
“Take this as a first warning, monsieur le duc. If you persist in leaving Paris and refusing your consent, it will be a more serious matter.”
And the same man said to his companion:
“Keep an eye on him. I will see to the young lady.”
By that time, two other confederates had secured the lady’s maid; and Angélique, herself gagged, lay fainting on a couch in her boudoir.
She came to almost immediately, under the stimulus of a bottle of salts held to her nostrils; and, when she opened her eyes, she saw bending over her a young man, in evening-clothes, with a smiling and friendly face, who said:
“I implore your forgiveness, mademoiselle. All these happenings are a trifle sudden and this behaviour rather out of the way. But circumstances often compel us to deeds of which our conscience does not approve. Pray pardon me.”
He took her hand very gently and slipped a broad gold ring on the girl’s finger, saying:
“There, now we are engaged. Never forget the man who gave you this ring. He entreats you not to run away from him … and to stay in Paris and await the proofs of his devotion. Have faith in him.”
He said all this in so serious and respectful a voice, with so much
