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“The pleasure of serving France by accepting the proposal which will accompany the request for my release.”

“I am to make a proposal? I?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“What proposal?”

“I do not know, but it seems to me that there is always a favorable ground on which to come to an understanding … there are possibilities of agreement …”

The stranger looked at him, without grasping his meaning. Lupin leant forward and, as though seeking his words, as though putting an imaginary case, said:

“Let me suppose that two great countries are divided by some insignificant question … that they have different points of view on a matter of secondary importance … a colonial matter, for instance, in which their self-esteem is at stake rather than their interest … Is it inconceivable that the ruler of one of those countries might come of his own accord to treat this matter in a new spirit of conciliation … and give the necessary instructions … so that …”

“So that I might leave Morocco to France?” said the stranger, with a burst of laughter.

The idea which Lupin was suggesting struck him as the most comical thing that he had ever heard; and he laughed heartily. The disparity was so great between the object aimed at and the means proposed!

“Of course, of course!” he resumed, with a vain attempt to recover his seriousness. “Of course, it’s a very original idea: the whole of modern politics upset so that Arsène Lupin may be free! … The plans of the Empire destroyed so that Arsène Lupin may continue his exploits! … Why not ask me for Alsace and Lorraine at once?”

“I did think of it, Sire,” replied Lupin, calmly. The stranger’s merriment increased:

“Splendid! And you let me off?”

“This time, yes.”

Lupin had crossed his arms. He, too, was amusing himself by exaggerating the part which he was playing; and he continued, with affected seriousness:

“A series of circumstances might one day arise which would put in my hands the power of 
demanding
 and 
obtaining
 that restitution. When that day comes, I shall certainly not fail to do so. For the moment, the weapons at my disposal oblige me to be more modest. Peace in Morocco will satisfy me.”

“Just that?”

“Just that.”

“Morocco against your liberty!”

“Nothing more … or, rather—for we must not lose sight entirely of the main object of this conversation—or, rather, a little good will on the part of one of the countries in question … and, in exchange, the surrender of the letters which are in my power.”

“Those letters, those letters!” muttered the stranger irritably. “After all, perhaps they are not so valuable …”

“There are some in your own hand, Sire; and you considered them valuable enough to come to this cell …”

“Well, what does it matter?”

“But there are others of which you do not know the authorship and about which I can give you a few particulars.”

“Oh, indeed!” said the stranger, rather anxiously.

Lupin hesitated.

“Speak, speak plainly,” said the stranger. “Say what you have in your mind.”

In the profound silence of the cell, Lupin declared, with a certain solemnity:

“Twenty years ago a draft treaty was prepared between Germany, Great Britain, and France.”

“That’s not true! It’s impossible! Who could have done such a thing?”

“The Emperor’s father and the Queen of England, his grandmother, both acting under the influence of the Empress Frederick.”

“Impossible! I repeat, it is impossible!”

“The correspondence is in the hiding-place at Veldenz Castle; and I alone know the secret of the hiding-place.”

The stranger walked up and down with an agitated step. Then he stopped short:

“Is the text of the treaty included in that correspondence?”

“Yes, Sire. It is in your father’s own hand.”

“And what does it say?”

“By that treaty, France and Great Britain granted and promised Germany an immense colonial empire, the empire which she does not at present possess and which has become a necessity to her, in these times, to ensure her greatness.”

“And what did England demand as a set-off against that empire?”

“The limitation of the German fleet.”

“And France?”

“Alsace and Lorraine.”

The Emperor leant against the table in silent thought. Lupin continued:

“Everything was ready. The cabinets of Paris and London had been sounded and had consented. The thing was practically done. The great treaty of alliance was on the point of being concluded. It would have laid the foundations of a definite and universal peace. The death of your father destroyed that sublime dream. But I ask Your Imperial Majesty, what
will your people think, what will the world think, when it knows that Frederick III, one of the heroes of 1870, a German, a pure and loyal German, respected by all, generally admired for his nobility of character, agreed to the restitution of Alsace-Lorraine and therefore considered that restitution just?”

He was silent for an instant leaving the problem to fix itself in its precise terms before the Emperor’s conscience, before his conscience as a man, a son and a sovereign. Then he concluded:

“Your Imperial Majesty yourself must know whether you wish or do not wish history to record the existence of that treaty. As for me, Sire, you can see that my humble personality counts for very little in the discussion.”

A long pause followed upon Lupin’s words. He waited, with his soul torn with anguish. His whole destiny was at stake, in this minute which he had conceived and, in a manner, produced with such effort and such stubbornness, an historic minute, born of his brain, in which “his humble personality,” for all that he might say, weighed heavily upon the fate of empires and the peace of the world.

Opposite him, in the shadow, Cæsar stood meditating.

What answer would he make? What solution would he give to the problem?

He walked across the cell for a few moments, which to Lupin seemed interminable. Then he stopped and asked:

“Are there any other conditions?”

“Yes, Sire, but they are insignificant.”

“Name them.”

“I have found the son of the Grand-duke of Zweibrucken-Veldenz. The grand-duchy must be restored to him.”

“Anything else?”

“He loves a young girl, who loves him in her turn. She is the fairest and the most virtuous of her sex. He must marry her.”

“Anything else?”

“That is all.”

“There is nothing more?”

“Nothing. Your majesty need only have this letter delivered to the editor of the 
Grand Journal
, who will then destroy, unread, the article which he may now receive at any moment.”

Lupin held out the letter, with a heavy heart and a trembling hand. If the Emperor took it, that would be a sign of his acceptance.

The Emperor hesitated and then, with an abrupt movement, took the letter, put on his hat, wrapped his cloak round him and walked out without a word.

Lupin remained for a few seconds, staggering, as though dazed …

Then, suddenly, he fell into his chair, shouting with joy and pride …

“Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, I am sorry to say good-bye to you to-day.”

“Why, M. Lupin, are you thinking of leaving us?”

“With the greatest reluctance, I assure you, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. Our relations have been so very pleasant and cordial! But all good things must come to an end. My cure at the Santé Palace is finished. Other duties call me. I have resolved to make my escape to-night.”

“Then I wish you good luck, M. Lupin.”

“A thousand thanks, M. le Juge d’Instruction.”

Arsène Lupin waited patiently for the hour of his escape, not without asking himself how it would be contrived and by what means France and Germany, uniting for the joint performance of this deserving work, would succeed in effecting it without creating too great a scandal.

Late in the afternoon, the warder told him to go to the entrance-yard. He hurried out and was met by the governor, who handed him ever to M. Weber. M. Weber made him step into a motor-car in which somebody was already seated.

Lupin had a violent fit of laughter:

“What, you, my poor old Weber! Have they let you in for this tiresome job? Are you to be responsible for my escape? Upon my word, you are an unlucky beggar! Oh, my poor old chap, what hard lines! First made famous through my arrest, you are now to become immortal through my escape!”

He looked at the other man:

“Well, well, Monsieur le Préfet de Police, so you are in the business too! That’s a nasty thing for you, what? If you take my advice, you’ll stay in the background and leave the honor and glory to Weber! It’s his by right! … And he can stand a lot, the rascal!”

The car travelled at a fast pace, along the Seine and through Boulogne. At Saint-Cloud, they crossed the river.

“Splendid!” cried Lupin. “We’re going to Garches! You want me there, in order to reënact the death of Altenheim. We shall go down into the underground passage, I shall disappear and people will say that I got through another outlet, known to myself alone! Lord, how idiotic!”

He seemed quite unhappy about it:

“Idiotic! Idiotic in the highest degree! I blush for shame! … And those are the people who govern us! … What an age to live in! … But, you poor devils, why didn’t you come to me? I’d have invented a beautiful little escape for you, something of a miraculous nature. I had it all ready pigeon-holed in my mind! The public would have yelled with wonder and danced with delight. Instead of which … However, it’s quite true that you were given rather short notice … but all the same …”

The programme was exactly as Lupin had foreseen. They walked through the grounds of the House of Retreat to the Pavillon Hortense. Lupin and his two companions went down the stairs and along the underground passage. At the end of the tunnel, the deputy-chief said:

“You are free.”

“And there you are!” said Lupin. “Is that all? Well, my dear Weber, thank you very much and sorry to have given you so much trouble. Good-bye, Monsieur le Préfet; kind regards to the missus!”

He climbed the stairs that led to the Villa des Glycines, raised the trap-door and sprang into the room.

A hand fell on his shoulder.

Opposite him stood his first visitor of the day before, the one who had accompanied the Emperor. There were four men with him, two on either side.

“Look here,” said Lupin, “what’s the meaning of this joke? I thought I was free!”

“Yes, yes,” growled the German, in his rough voice, “you are free … free to travel with the five of us … if that suits you.”

Lupin looked at him, for a second, with a mad longing to hit him on the nose, just to teach him. But the five men looked devilish determined. Their leader did not betray any exaggerated fondness for him; and it seemed to him that the fellow would be only too pleased to resort to extreme measures. Besides, after all, what did he care?

He chuckled:

“If it suits me? Why, it’s the dream of my life!”

A powerful covered car was waiting in the paved yard outside the villa. Two men got into the driver’s seat, two others inside, with their backs to the motor. Lupin and the stranger sat down on the front seat.

“Vorwarts!” cried Lupin, in German. “Vorwarts nach Veldenz!”

The stranger said:

“Silence! Those men must know nothing. Speak French. They don’t know French. But why speak at all?”

“Quite right,” said Lupin to himself. “Why speak at all?”

The car travelled all the evening and all night, without any incident. Twice they stopped to take in petrol at some sleepy little town.

The Germans took it in turns to watch their prisoner, who did not open his eyes until the early morning.

They stopped for breakfast at an inn on a hillside, near which stood a sign-post. Lupin saw that they were at an equal distance from Metz and Luxemburg. From there, they took a road that slanted north-east, in the direction of Treves.

Lupin said to his travelling-companion:

“Am I right in believing that I have the honor of speaking to Count von Waldemar, the Emperor’s confidential friend, the one who searched Hermann III.’s house in Dresden?”

The stranger remained silent.

“You’re the sort of chap I can’t stand at any price,” muttered Lupin. “I’ll have some fun with you, one of these days. You’re ugly, you’re fat, you’re heavy; in short, I don’t like you.” And he added, aloud, “You are wrong not to answer me, Monsieur le Comte. I was speaking in your own interest: just as we were stepping in, I saw a motor come into sight, behind us, on the horizon. Did you see it?”

“No, why?”

“Nothing.”

“Still …”

“No, nothing at all … a mere remark … Besides, we are ten minutes ahead … and our car is at least a forty-horse-power.”

“It’s a sixty,” said the German, looking at him uneasily from the corner of his eye.

“Oh, then we’re all right!”

They were climbing a little slope. When they reached the top, the count leant out of the window:

“Damn it all!” he swore.

“What’s the matter?” asked Lupin.

The count turned to him and, in a threatening voice:

“Take care! If anything happens, it will be so much the worse for you.”

“Oho! It seems the other’s gaining on us! … But what are you afraid of, my dear count? It’s no doubt a traveller … perhaps even some one they are sending to help us.”

“I don’t want any help,” growled the German.

He leant out again. The car was only two or three hundred yards behind.

He said to his men, pointing to Lupin.

“Bind him. If he resists …”

He drew his revolver.

“Why should I resist, O gentle Teuton?” chuckled Lupin. And he added, while they were fastening his hands, “It is really curious to see how people take precautions when they need not and don’t when they ought to. What the devil do you care about that motor? Accomplices of mine? What an idea!”

Without replying, the German gave orders to the driver:

“To the right! … Slow down! … Let them pass … If they slow down also, stop!”

But, to his great surprise, the motor seemed, on the contrary, to increase its speed. It passed in front of the car like a whirlwind, in a cloud of dust. Standing up at the back, leaning over the hood, which was lowered, was a man dressed in black.