Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (english reading book TXT) 📖
- Author: Maurice Leblanc
Book online «Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (english reading book TXT) 📖». Author Maurice Leblanc
“Then Guerchard understood—he recognized you?” said Victoire anxiously.
“As soon as the first paralysis had passed, Guerchard dared to see clearly ... to see the truth,” said Lupin. “And then it was a chase. There were ten—fifteen of them on my heels. Out of breath—grunting, furious—a mob—a regular mob. I had passed the night before in a motor-car. I was dead beat. In fact, I was done for before I started ... and they were gaining ground all the time.”
“Why didn’t you hide?” said Victoire.
“For a long while they were too close. They must have been within five feet of me. I was done. Then I was crossing one of the bridges. ... There was the Seine ... handy ... I made up my mind that, rather than be taken, I’d make an end of it ... I’d throw myself over.”
“Good Lord!—and then?” cried Victoire.
“Then I had a revulsion of feeling. At any rate, I’d stick it out to the end. I gave myself another minute... one more minute—the last, and I had my revolver on me... but during that minute I put forth every ounce of strength I had left ... I began to gain ground ... I had them pretty well strung out already ... they were blown too. The knowledge gave me back my courage, and I plugged on ... my feet did not feel so much as though they were made of lead. I began to run away from them ... they were dropping behind ... all of them but one ... he stuck to me. We went at a jog-trot, a slow jog-trot, for I don’t know how long. Then we dropped to a walk—we could run no more; and on we went. My strength and wind began to come back. I suppose my pursuer’s did too; for exactly what I expected happened. He gave a yell and dashed for me. I was ready for him. I pretended to start running, and when he was within three yards of me I dropped on one knee, caught his ankles, and chucked him over my head. I don’t know whether he broke his neck or not. I hope he did.”
“Splendid!” said Victoire. “Splendid!”
“Well, there I was, outside Paris, and I’m hanged if I know where. I went on half a mile, and then I rested. Oh, how sleepy I was! I would have given a hundred thousand francs for an hour’s sleep—cheerfully. But I dared not let myself sleep. I had to get back here unseen. There were you and Sonia.”
“Sonia? Another woman?” cried Victoire. “Oh, it’s then that I’m frightened ... when you get a woman mixed up in your game. Always, when you come to grief ... when you really get into danger, there’s a woman in it.”
“Oh, but she’s charming!” protested Lupin.
“They always are,” said Victoire drily. “But go on. Tell me how you got here.”
“Well, I knew it was going to be a tough job, so I took a good rest—an hour, I should think. And then I started to walk back. I found that I had come a devil of a way—I must have gone at Marathon pace. I walked and walked, and at last I got into Paris, and found myself with still a couple of miles to go. It was all right now; I should soon find a cab. But the luck was dead against me. I heard a man come round the corner of a side-street into a long street I was walking down. He gave a yell, and came bucketing after me. It was that hound Dieusy. He had recognized my figure. Off I went; and the chase began again. I led him a dance, but I couldn’t shake him off. All the while I was working my way towards home. Then, just at last, I spurted for all I was worth, got out of his sight, bolted round the corner of the street into the secret entrance, and here I am.” He smiled weakly, and added, “Oh, my dear Victoire, what a profession it is!”
THE CUTTING OF THE TELEPHONE WIRES
The door opened, and in came Charolais, bearing a tray.
“Here’s your breakfast, master,” he said.
“Don’t call me master—that’s how his men address Guerchard. It’s a disgusting practice,” said Lupin severely.
Victoire and Charolais were quick laying the table. Charolais kept up a running fire of questions as he did it; but Lupin did not trouble to answer them. He lay back, relaxed, drawing deep breaths. Already his lips had lost their greyness, and were pink; there was a suggestion of blood under the skin of his pale face. They soon had the table laid; and he walked to it on fairly steady feet. He sat down; Charolais whipped off a cover, and said:
“Anyhow, you’ve got out of the mess neatly. It was a jolly smart escape.”
“Oh, yes. So far it’s all right,” said Lupin. “But there’s going to be trouble presently—lots of it. I shall want all my wits. We all shall.”
He fell upon his breakfast with the appetite but not the manners of a wolf. Charolais went out of the room. Victoire hovered about him, pouring out his coffee and putting sugar into it.
“By Jove, how good these eggs are!” he said. “I think that, of all the thousand ways of cooking eggs, en cocotte is the best.”
“Heavens! how empty I was!” he said presently. “What a meal I’m making! It’s really a very healthy life, this of mine, Victoire. I feel much better already.”
“Oh, yes; it’s all very well to talk,” said Victoire, in a scolding tone; for since he was better, she felt, as a good woman should, that the time had come to put in a word out of season. “But, all the same, you’re trying to kill yourself—that’s what you’re doing. Just because you’re young you abuse your youth. It won’t last for ever; and you’ll be sorry you used it up before it’s time. And this life of lies and thefts and of all kinds of improper things—I suppose it’s going to begin all over again. It’s no good your getting a lesson. It’s just thrown away upon you.”
“What I want next is a bath,” said Lupin.
“It’s all very well your pretending not to listen to me, when you know very well that I’m speaking for your good,” she went on, raising her voice a little. “But I tell you that all this is going to end badly. To be a thief gives you no position in the world—no position at all—and when I think of what you made me do the night before last, I’m just horrified at myself.”
“We’d better not talk about that—the mess you made of it! It was positively excruciating!” said Lupin.
“And what did you expect? I’m an honest woman, I am!” said Victoire sharply. “I wasn’t brought up to do things like that, thank goodness! And to begin at my time of life!”
“It’s true, and I often ask myself how you bring yourself to stick to me,” said Lupin, in a reflective, quite impersonal tone. “Please pour me out another cup of coffee.”
“That’s what I’m always asking myself,” said Victoire, pouring out the coffee. “I don’t know—I give it up. I suppose it is because I’m fond of you.”
“Yes, and I’m very fond of you, my dear Victoire,” said Lupin, in a coaxing tone.
“And then, look you, there are things that there’s no understanding. I often talked to your poor mother about them. Oh, your poor mother! Whatever would she have said to these goings-on?”
Lupin helped himself to another cutlet; his eyes twinkled and he said, “I’m not sure that she would have been very much surprised. I always told her that I was going to punish society for the way it had treated her. Do you think she would have been surprised?”
“Oh, nothing you did would have surprised her,” said Victoire. “When you were quite a little boy you were always making us wonder. You gave yourself such airs, and you had such nice manners of your own—altogether different from the other boys. And you were already a bad boy, when you were only seven years old, full of all kinds of tricks; and already you had begun to steal.”
“Oh, only sugar,” protested Lupin.
“Yes, you began by stealing sugar,” said Victoire, in the severe tones of a moralist. “And then it was jam, and then it was pennies. Oh, it was all very well at that age—a little thief is pretty enough. But now—when you’re twenty-eight years old.”
“Really, Victoire, you’re absolutely depressing,” said Lupin, yawning; and he helped himself to jam.
“I know very well that you’re all right at heart,” said Victoire. “Of course you only rob the rich, and you’ve always been kind to the poor.... Yes; there’s no doubt about it: you have a good heart.”
“I can’t help it—what about it?” said Lupin, smiling.
“Well, you ought to have different ideas in your head. Why are you a burglar?”
“You ought to try it yourself, my dear Victoire,” said Lupin gently; and he watched her with a humorous eye.
“Goodness, what a thing to say!” cried Victoire.
“I assure you, you ought,” said Lupin, in a tone of thoughtful conviction. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve taken my degree in medicine and in law. I have been an actor, and a professor of Jiu-jitsu. I have even been a member of the detective force, like that wretched Guerchard. Oh, what a dirty world that is! Then I launched out into society. I have been a duke. Well, I give you my word that not one of these professions equals that of burglar—not even the profession of Duke. There is so much of the unexpected in it, Victoire—the splendid unexpected.... And then, it’s full of variety, so terrible, so fascinating.” His voice sank a little, and he added, “And what fun it is!”
“Fun!” cried Victoire.
“Yes ... these rich men, these swells in their luxury—when one relieves them of a bank-note, how they do howl! ... You should have seen that fat old Gournay-Martin when I relieved him of his treasures—what an agony! You almost heard the death-rattle in his throat. And then the coronet! In the derangement of their minds—and it was sheer derangement, mind you—already prepared at Charmerace, in the derangement of Guerchard, I had only to put out my hand and pluck the coronet. And the joy, the ineffable joy of enraging the police! To see Guerchard’s furious eyes when I downed him.... And look round you!” He waved his hand round the luxurious room. “Duke of Charmerace! This trade leads to everything ... to everything on condition that one sticks to it ....I tell you, Victoire, that when one cannot be a great artist or a great soldier, the only thing to be is a great thief!”
“Oh, be quiet!” cried Victoire. “Don’t talk like that. You’re working yourself up; you’re intoxicating yourself! And all that, it is not Catholic. Come, at your age, you ought to have one idea in your head which should drive out all these others, which should make you forget all these thefts.... Love ... that would change you, I’m sure of it. That would make another man of you. You ought to marry.”
“Yes ... perhaps ... that would make another man of me. That’s what I’ve been thinking. I believe you’re right,” said Lupin thoughtfully.
“Is that true? Have you really been thinking of it?” cried Victoire joyfully.
“Yes,” said Lupin, smiling at her eagerness. “I have been thinking about it—seriously.”
“No more messing about—no more intrigues. But a real woman ... a woman for life?” cried Victoire.
“Yes,” said Lupin softly; and his eyes were shining in a very grave face.
“Is it serious—is it real love, dearie?” said Victoire. “What’s she like?”
“She’s beautiful,” said Lupin.
“Oh, trust you for that. Is she a blonde or a brunette?”
“She’s very fair and delicate—like a princess in a fairy tale,” said Lupin softly.
“What is she? What does she do?” said Victoire.
“Well, since you ask me, she’s a thief,” said Lupin with a mischievous smile.
“Good Heavens!” cried Victoire.
“But she’s a very charming thief,” said Lupin; and he rose smiling.
He lighted a cigar, stretched himself and yawned: “She had ever so much more reason for stealing than ever I had,” he said. “And she has always hated it like poison.”
“Well, that’s something,” said Victoire; and her blank and fallen face brightened a little.
Lupin walked up and down the room, breathing out long luxurious puffs of smoke from his excellent cigar, and watching Victoire with a humorous eye. He walked across to his book-shelf, and scanned the titles of
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