“Yes, Sire.”
The Emperor gave a last glance at that strange man who set himself up in his presence as his equal. Then he bowed his head slightly and walked away without another word.
“Aha, Majesty, I’ve caught you this time!” said Lupin, following him with his eyes. And, philosophically, “No doubt it’s a poor revenge … and would rather have recovered Alsace-Lorraine. … But still …”
He interrupted himself and stamped his foot on the ground:
“You confounded Lupin! Will you never change, will you always remain hateful and cynical to the last moment of your existence? Be serious, hang it all! The time has come, now or never, to be serious!”
He climbed the path that leads to the chapel and stopped at the place where the rock had broken loose. He burst out laughing:
“It was a good piece of work and His Imperial Majesty’s officers did not know what to make of it. But how could they guess that I myself loosened that rock, that, at the last moment, I gave the decisive blow of the pickaxe and that the aforesaid rock rolled down the path which I had made between it and … an emperor whose life I was bent on saving?”
He sighed:
“Ah, Lupin, what a complex mind you have! All that trouble because you had sworn that this particular Majesty should shake you by the hand! A lot of good it has done you! ‘An Emperor’s hand five fingers has, no more,’ as Victor Hugo might have said.”
He entered the chapel and, with a special key, opened the low door of a little sacristy. On a heap of straw, lay a man, with his hands and legs bound and a gag in his mouth.
“Well, my friend, the hermit,” said Lupin, “it wasn’t so very long, was it? Twenty-four hours at the most. … But I have worked jolly hard on your behalf! Just think, you have saved the Emperor’s life! Yes, old chap. You are the man who saved the Emperor’s life. I have made your fortune, that’s what I’ve done. They’ll build a cathedral for you and put up a statue to you when you’re dead and gone. Here, take your things.”
The hermit, nearly dead with hunger, staggered to his feet. Lupin quickly put on his own clothes and said:
“Farewell, O worthy and venerable man. Forgive me for this little upset. And pray for me. I shall need it. Eternity is opening its gate wide to me. Farewell.”
He stood for a few moments on the threshold of the chapel. It was the solemn moment at which one hesitates, in spite of everything, before the terrible end of all things. But his resolution was irrevocable and, without further reflection, he darted out, ran down the slope, crossed the level ground of Tiberius’s Leap and put one leg over the handrail:
“Lupin, I give you three minutes for playacting. ‘What’s the good?’ you will say. ‘There is nobody here.’ Well … and what about you? Can’t you act your last farce for yourself? By Jove, the performance is worth it. … Arsène Lupin, heroic comedy in eighty scenes. … The curtain rises on the death-scene … and the principal part is played by Lupin in person. … ‘Bravo, Lupin!’ … Feel my heart, ladies and gentlemen … seventy beats to the minute. … And a smile on my lips. … ‘Bravo, Lupin! Oh, the rogue, what cheek he has!’ … Well, jump, my lord. … Are you ready? It’s the last adventure, old fellow. No regrets? Regrets? What for, heavens above? My life was splendid. Ah, Dolores, Dolores, if you had not come into it, abominable monster that you were! … And you, Malreich, why did you not speak? … And you, Pierre Leduc. … Here I am! … My three dead friends, I am about to join you. … Oh, Geneviève, my dear Geneviève! … Here, have you done, you old play-actor? … Right you are! Right you are! I’m coming. …”
He pulled his other leg over, looked down the abyss at the dark and motionless sea and, raising his head:
“Farewell, immortal and thrice-blessed nature! Moriturus te salutat! Farewell, all that is beautiful on earth! Farewell, splendor of things. Farewell, life!”
He flung kisses to space, to the sky, to the sun. … Then, folding his arms, he took the leap.
Sidi-bel-Abbes. The barracks of the Foreign Legion. An adjutant sat smoking and reading his newspaper in a small, low-ceilinged room.
Near him, close to the window opening on the yard, two great devils of noncommissioned officers were jabbering in guttural French, mixed with Teutonic phrases.
The door opened. Someone entered. It was a slightly-built man, of medium height, smartly-dressed.
The adjutant rose, glared angrily at the intruder and growled:
“I say, what on earth is the orderly up to? … And you, sir, what do you want?”
“Service.”
This was said frankly, imperiously.
The two noncoms burst into a silly laugh. The man looked at them askance.
“In other words, you wish to enlist in the Legion?” asked the adjutant.
“Yes, but on one condition.”
“Conditions, by Jove! What conditions?”
“That I am not left mouldering here. There is a company leaving for Morocco. I’ll join that.”
One of the noncoms gave a fresh chuckle and was heard to say:
“The Moors are in for a bad time. The gentleman’s enlisting.”
“Silence!” cried the man, “I don’t stand being laughed at.”
His voice sounded harsh and masterful.
The noncom, a brutal-looking giant, retorted:
“Here, recruity, you’d better be careful how you talk to me, or …”
“Or what?”
“You’ll get something you won’t like, that’s all!”
The man went up to him, took him round the waist, swung him over the ledge of the window and pitched him into the yard.
Then he said to the other:
“Go away.”
The other went away.
The man at once returned to the adjutant and said:
“Lieutenant, pray be so good as to tell the major that Don Luis Perenna, a Spanish grandee and a Frenchman at heart, wishes to take service in the Foreign Legion. Go, my friend.”
The flabbergasted adjutant did not move.
“Go, my friend, and go at once. I have no time to waste.”
The adjutant rose, looked at his astounding visitor with a bewildered eye and went out in the tamest fashion.
Then
