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said Guerchard; and his eyes were shining.

      “On your word of honour?” said Lupin.

      “On my word of honour,” said Guerchard.

      “Very well,” said Lupin, in a quiet, businesslike voice. “To begin with, here in this pocket-book you’ll find all the documents relating to the death of the Duke of Charmerace. In it you will also find the receipt of the Plantin furniture repository at Batignolles for the objects of art which I collected at Gournay-Martin’s. I sent them to Batignolles because, in my letters asking the owners of valuables to forward them to me, I always make Batignolles the place to which they are to be sent; therefore I knew that you would never look there. They are all in cases; for, while you were making those valuable inquiries yesterday, my men were putting them into cases. You’ll not find the receipt in the name of either the Duke of Charmerace or my own. It is in the name of a respected proprietor of Batignolles, a M. Pierre Servien. But he has lately left that charming suburb, and I do not think he will return to it.”

      Guerchard almost snatched the pocket-book out of his hand. He verified the documents in it with greedy eyes; and then he put them back in it, and stuffed it into the breast-pocket of his coat.

      “And where’s the coronet?” he said, in an excited voice.

      “You’re nearly standing on it,” said Lupin.

      “It’s in that kit-bag at your feet, on the top of the change of clothes in it.”

      Guerchard snatched up the kit-bag, opened it, and took out the coronet.

      “I’m afraid I haven’t the case,” said Lupin, in a tone of regret. “If you remember, I left it at Gournay-Martin’s—in your charge.”

      Guerchard examined the coronet carefully. He looked at the stones in it; he weighed it in his right hand, and he weighed it in his left.

      “Are you sure it’s the real one?” said Lupin, in a tone of acute but affected anxiety. “Do not—oh, do not let us have any more of these painful mistakes about it. They are so wearing.”

      “Yes—yes—this is the real one,” said Guerchard, with another deep sigh of relief.

      “Well, have you done bleeding me?” said Lupin contemptuously.

      “Your arms,” said Guerchard quickly.

      “They weren’t in the bond,” said Lupin. “But here you are.” And he threw his revolver on the table.

      Guerchard picked it up and put it into his pocket. He looked at Lupin as if he could not believe his eyes, gloating over him. Then he said in a deep, triumphant tone:

      “And now for the handcuffs!”

      CHAPTER XXIII

      THE END OF THE DUEL

      “The handcuffs?” said Lupin; and his face fell. Then it cleared; and he added lightly, “After all, there’s nothing like being careful; and, by Jove, with me you need to be. I might get away yet. What luck it is for you that I’m so soft, so little of a Charmerace, so human! Truly, I can’t be much of a man of the world, to be in love like this!”

      “Come, come, hold out your hands!” said Guerchard, jingling the handcuffs impatiently.

      “I should like to see that child for the last time,” said Lupin gently.

      “All right,” said Guerchard.

      “Arsène Lupin—and nabbed by you! If you aren’t in luck! Here you are!” said Lupin bitterly; and he held out his wrists.

      Guerchard snapped the handcuffs on them with a grunt of satisfaction.

      Lupin gazed down at them with a bitter face, and said: “Oh, you are in luck! You’re not married by any chance?”

      “Yes, yes; I am,” said Guerchard hastily; and he went quickly to the door and opened it: “Dieusy!” he called. “Dieusy! Mademoiselle Kritchnoff is at liberty. Tell her so, and bring her in here.”

      Lupin started back, flushed and scowling; he cried: “With these things on my hands!… No!… I can’t see her!”

      Guerchard stood still, looking at him. Lupin’s scowl slowly softened, and he said, half to himself, “But I should have liked to see her…very much…for if she goes like that…I shall not know when or where—” He stopped short, raised his eyes, and said in a decided tone: “Ah, well, yes; I should like to see her.”

      “If you’ve quite made up your mind,” said Guerchard impatiently, and he went into the anteroom.

      Lupin stood very still, frowning thoughtfully. He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then the voice of Guerchard in the anteroom, saying, in a jeering tone, “You’re free, mademoiselle; and you can thank the Duke for it. You owe your liberty to him.”

      “Free! And I owe it to him?” cried the voice of Sonia, ringing and golden with extravagant joy.

      “Yes, mademoiselle,” said Guerchard. “You owe it to him.”

      She came through the open door, flushed deliciously and smiling, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. Lupin had never seen her look half so adorable.

      “Is it to you I owe it? Then I shall owe everything to you. Oh, thank you—thank you!” she cried, holding out her hands to him.

      Lupin half turned away from her to hide his handcuffs.

      She misunderstood the movement. Her face fell suddenly like that of a child rebuked: “Oh, I was wrong. I was wrong to come here!” she cried quickly, in changed, dolorous tones. “I thought yesterday…I made a mistake…pardon me. I’m going. I’m going.”

      Lupin was looking at her over his shoulder, standing sideways to hide the handcuffs. He said sadly. “Sonia—”

      “No, no, I understand! It was impossible!” she cried quickly, cutting him short. “And yet if you only knew—if you knew how I have changed—with what a changed spirit I came here.… Ah, I swear that now I hate all my past. I loathe it. I swear that now the mere presence of a thief would overwhelm me with disgust.”

      “Hush!” said Lupin, flushing deeply, and wincing. “Hush!”

      “But, after all, you’re right,” she said, in a gentler voice. “One can’t wipe out what one has done. If I were to give back everything I’ve taken—if I were to spend years in remorse and repentance, it would be no use. In your eyes I should always be Sonia Kritchnoff, the thief!” The great tears welled slowly out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks; she let them stream unheeded.

      “Sonia!” cried Lupin, protesting.

      But she would not hear him. She broke out with fresh vehemence, a feverish passion: “And yet, if I’d been a thief, like so many others…but you know why I stole. I’m not trying to defend myself, but, after all, I did it to keep honest; and when I loved you it was not the heart of a thief that thrilled, it was the heart of a poor girl who loved…that’s all…who loved.”

      “You don’t know what you’re doing! You’re torturing me! Be quiet!” cried Lupin hoarsely, beside himself.

      “Never mind…I’m going…we shall never see one another any more,” she sobbed. “But will you…will you shake hands just for the last time?”

      “No!” cried Lupin.

      “You won’t?” wailed Sonia in a heartrending tone.

      “I can’t!” cried Lupin.

      “You ought not to be like this.… Last night…if you were going to let me go like this…last night…it was wrong,” she wailed, and turned to go.

      “Wait, Sonia! Wait!” cried Lupin hoarsely. “A moment ago you said something.… You said that the mere presence of a thief would overwhelm you with disgust. Is that true?”

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