“Gently, child,” said Lupin, “be calm. … It’s all in a good cause. … Keep an eye on her, will you? Meanwhile, I will have a look at the object in dispute.”
It was an odd volume of Montesquieu’s Voyage au temple de Guide, in a binding at least a century old. But Lupin had hardly opened it before he exclaimed:
“I say, I say, this is queer! There is a sheet of parchment stuck on each right hand page; and those sheets are covered with a very close, small handwriting.”
He read, at the beginning:
“Diary of the Chevalier Gilles de Malrêche, French servant to His Royal Highness the Prince of Zweibruckenveldenz, begun in the Year of Our Lord 1794.”
“What! Does it say that?” asked the count.
“What surprises you?”
“Isilda’s grandfather, the old man who died two years ago, was called Malreich, which is the German form of the same name.”
“Capital! Isilda’s grandfather must have been the son or the grandson of the French servant who wrote his diary in an odd volume of Montesquieu’s works. And that is how the diary came into Isilda’s hands.”
He turned the pages at random:
“. His Royal Highness went hunting.
“. His Royal Highness went out riding. He was mounted on Cupidon.”
“By Jove!” muttered Lupin. “So far, it’s not very exciting.”
He turned over a number of pages and read:
“ I have remitted ten crowns to Hermann. He is giving music-lessons in London.”
Lupin gave a laugh:
“Oho! Hermann is dethroned and our respect comes down with a rush!”
“Yes,” observed Waldemar, “the reigning grand-duke was driven from his dominions by the French troops.”
Lupin continued:
“ Napoleon slept at Veldenz last night. I made His Majesty’s bed and this morning I emptied his slops.”
“Oh, did Napoleon stop at Veldenz?”
“Yes, yes, on his way back to the army, at the time of the Austrian campaign, which ended with the battle of Wagram. It was an honor of which the grand-duchal family were very proud afterwards.”
Lupin went on reading:
“. His Royal Highness returned to his dominions.
“. I accompanied His Royal Highness to the hiding-place last night and was happy to be able to show him that no one had guessed its existence. For that matter, who would have suspected that a hiding-place could be contrived in …”
Lupin stopped, with a shout. Isilda had suddenly escaped from the men guarding her, made a grab at him and taken to flight, carrying the book with her.
“Oh, the little mischief! Quick, you! … Go round by the stairs below. I’ll run after her by the passage.”
But she had slammed the door behind her and bolted it. He had to go down and run along the buildings with the others, looking for a staircase which would take them to the first floor.
The fourth house was the only one open. He went upstairs. But the passage was empty and he had to knock at doors, force locks and make his way into unoccupied rooms, while Waldemar, showing as much ardor in the pursuit as himself, pricked the curtains and hangings with the point of his sword.
A voice called out from the ground-floor, towards the right wing. They rushed in that direction. It was one of the officers’ wives, who beckoned to them at the end of a passage and told them that the girl must be in her lodging.
“How do you know?” asked Lupin.
“I wanted to go to my room. The door was shut and I could not get in.”
Lupin tried and found the door locked:
“The window!” he cried. “There must be a window!”
He went outside, took the count’s sword and smashed the panes. Then, helped up by two men, he hung on to the wall, passed his arm through the broken glass, turned the latch and stumbled into the room.
He saw Isilda huddled before the fireplace, almost in the midst of the flames:
“The little beast!” he said. “She has thrown it into the fire!”
He pushed her back savagely, tried to take the book and burnt his hands in the attempt. Then, with the tongs, he pulled it out of the grate and threw the table cloth over it to stifle the blaze.
But it was too late. The pages of the old manuscript, all burnt up, were falling into ashes.
Lupin gazed at her in silence. The count said:
“One would think that she knew what she was doing.”
“No, she does not know. Only, her grandfather must have entrusted her with that book as a sort of treasure, a treasure which no one was ever to set eyes on, and, with her stupid instinct, she preferred to throw it into the fire rather than part with it.”
“Well then. …”
“Well then what?”
“You won’t find the hiding-place.”
“Aha, my dear count, so you did, for a moment, look upon my success as possible? And Lupin does not strike you as quite a charlatan? Make your mind easy, Waldemar: Lupin has more than one string to his bow. I shall succeed.”
“Before twelve o’clock tomorrow?”
“Before twelve o’clock tonight. But, for the moment, I am starving with hunger. And, if your kindness would go so far. …”
He was taken to the sergeants’ mess and a substantial meal prepared for him, while the count went to make his report to the Emperor.
Twenty minutes later, Waldemar returned and they sat down and dined together, opposite each other, silent and pensive.
“Waldemar, a good cigar would be a treat. … I thank you. … Ah, this one crackles as a self-respecting Havana should!”
He lit his cigar and, after a minute or two:
“You can smoke, count; I don’t mind in the least; in fact, I rather like it.”
An hour passed. Waldemar dozed and, from time to time, swallowed a glass of brandy to wake himself up.
Soldiers passed in and out, waiting on them.
“Coffee,” asked Lupin.
They brought him some coffee.
“What bad stuff!” he grumbled. “If that’s
