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the gray hair. That will be more difficult. It’s you and I now, mummy.”

He found the mother and the boy clasped in each other’s arms; and the mother, in a great state of alarm, her eyes moist with tears, was saying:

“You’re not hurt? You’re sure? Oh, how frightened you must have been, my poor little Jacques!”

“A fine little fellow,” said Lupin.

She did not reply. She was feeling the child’s jersey, as Lupin had done, no doubt to see if he had succeeded in his nocturnal mission; and she questioned him in a whisper.

“No, mummy,” said the child. “No, really.”

She kissed him fondly and petted him, until, in a little while, the child, worn out with fatigue and excitement, fell asleep. She remained leaning over him for a long time. She herself seemed very much worn out and in need of rest.

Lupin did not disturb her contemplation. He looked at her anxiously, with an attention which she did not perceive, and he noticed the wider rings round her eyes and the deeper marks of wrinkles. Yet he considered her handsomer than he had thought, with that touching beauty which habitual suffering gives to certain faces that are more human, more sensitive than others.

She wore so sad an expression that, in a burst of instinctive sympathy, he went up to her and said: “I do not know what your plans are, but, whatever they may be, you stand in need of help. You cannot succeed alone.”

“I am not alone.”

“The two men outside? I know them. They’re no good. I beseech you, make use of me. You remember the other evening, at the theatre, in the private box? You were on the point of speaking. Do not hesitate today.”

She turned her eyes on him, looked at him long and fixedly and, as though unable to escape that opposing will, she said:

“What do you know exactly? What do you know about me?”

“There are many things that I do not know. I do not know your name. But I know⁠ ⁠…”

She interrupted him with a gesture; and, resolutely, in her turn, dominating the man who was compelling her to speak:

“It doesn’t matter,” she exclaimed. “What you know, after all, is not much and is of no importance. But what are your plans? You offer me your help: with what view? For what work? You have flung yourself headlong into this business; I have been unable to undertake anything without meeting you on my path: you must be contemplating some aim⁠ ⁠… What aim?”

“What aim? Upon my word, it seems to me that my conduct⁠ ⁠…”

“No, no,” she said, emphatically, “no phrases! What you and I want is certainties; and, to achieve them, absolute frankness. I will set you the example. M. Daubrecq possesses a thing of unparalleled value, not in itself, but for what it represents. That thing you know. You have twice held it in your hands. I have twice taken it from you. Well, I am entitled to believe that, when you tried to obtain possession of it, you meant to use the power which you attribute to it and to use it to your own advantage⁠ ⁠…”

“What makes you say that?”

“Yes, you meant to use it to forward your schemes, in the interest of your own affairs, in accordance with your habits as a⁠ ⁠…”

“As a burglar and a swindler,” said Lupin, completing the sentence for her.

She did not protest. He tried to read her secret thoughts in the depths of her eyes. What did she want with him? What was she afraid of? If she mistrusted him, had he not also reasons to mistrust that woman who had twice taken the crystal stopper from him to restore it to Daubrecq? Mortal enemy of Daubrecq’s though she were, up to what point did she remain subject to that man’s will? By surrendering himself to her, did he not risk surrendering himself to Daubrecq? And yet he had never looked upon graver eyes nor a more honest face.

Without further hesitation, he stated:

“My object is simple enough. It is the release of my friends Gilbert and Vaucheray.”

“Is that true? Is that true?” she exclaimed, quivering all over and questioning him with an anxious glance.

“If you knew me⁠ ⁠…”

“I do know you⁠ ⁠… I know who you are. For months, I have taken part in your life, without your suspecting it⁠ ⁠… and yet, for certain reasons, I still doubt⁠ ⁠…”

He said, in a more decisive tone:

“You do not know me. If you knew me, you would know that there can be no peace for me before my two companions have escaped the awful fate that awaits them.”

She rushed at him, took him by the shoulders and positively distraught, said:

“What? What did you say? The awful fate?⁠ ⁠… Then you believe⁠ ⁠… you believe⁠ ⁠…”

“I really believe,” said Lupin, who felt how greatly this threat upset her, “I really believe that, if I am not in time, Gilbert and Vaucheray are done for.”

“Be quiet!⁠ ⁠… Be quiet!” she cried, clutching him fiercely. “Be quiet!⁠ ⁠… You mustn’t say that⁠ ⁠… There is no reason⁠ ⁠… It’s just you who suppose⁠ ⁠…”

“It’s not only I, it’s Gilbert as well⁠ ⁠…”

“What? Gilbert? How do you know?”

“From himself?”

“From him?”

“Yes, from Gilbert, who has no hope left but in me; from Gilbert, who knows that only one man in the world can save him and who, a few days ago, sent me a despairing appeal from prison. Here is his letter.”

She snatched the paper greedily and read in stammering accents:

“Help, governor!⁠ ⁠… I am frightened!⁠ ⁠… I am frightened!⁠ ⁠…”

She dropped the letter. Her hands fluttered in space. It was as though her staring eyes beheld the sinister vision which had already so often terrified Lupin. She gave a scream of horror, tried to rise and fainted.

V The Twenty-Seven

The child was sleeping peacefully on the bed. The mother did not move from the sofa on which Lupin had laid her; but her easier breathing and the blood which was now returning to her face announced her impending recovery from her swoon.

He observed that

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