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Maurice Leblanc - Arsene LupinMaurice Leblanc - Arsene Lupin Part 5 of 99 “Speaking of Madame de Relzières, do you know that she is on pins and needles with anxiety? Her son is fighting a duel to-day,” she said. “With whom?” said Sonia. “No one knows. She got hold of a letter from the seconds,” said Marie. “My mind is quite at rest about Relzières,” said Germaine. “He’s a first-class swordsman. No one could beat him.” Sonia did not seem to share her freedom from anxiety. Her forehead was puckered in little lines of perplexity, as if she were puzzling out some problem; and there was a look of something very like fear in her gentle eyes. “Wasn’t Relzières a great friend of your fiance at one time?” said Jeanne. “A great friend? I should think he was,” said Germaine. “Why, it was through Relzières that we got to know Jacques.” “Where was that?” said Marie. “Here—in this very château,” said Germaine. “Actually in his own house?” said Marie, in some surprise. “Yes; actually here. Isn’t life funny?” said Germaine. “If, a few months after his father’s death, Jacques had not found himself hard-up, and obliged to dispose of this château, to raise the money for his expedition to the South Pole; and if papa and I had not wanted an historic château; and lastly, if papa had not suffered from rheumatism, I should not be calling myself in a month from now the Duchess of Charmerace.” “Now what on earth has your father’s rheumatism got to do with your being Duchess of Charmerace?” cried Jeanne. “Everything,” said Germaine. “Papa was afraid that this château was damp. To prove to papa that he had nothing to fear, Jacques, en grand seigneur, offered him his hospitality, here, at Charmerace, for three weeks.” “That was truly ducal,” said Marie. “But he is always like that,” said Sonia. “Oh, he’s all right in that way, little as he cares about society,” said Germaine. “Well, by a miracle my father got cured of his rheumatism here. Jacques fell in love with me; papa made up his mind to buy the château; and I demanded the hand of Jacques in marriage.” “You did? But you were only sixteen then,” said Marie, with some surprise. “Yes; but even at sixteen a girl ought to know that a duke is a duke. I did,” said Germaine. “Then since Jacques was setting out for the South Pole, and papa considered me much too young to get married, I promised Jacques to wait for his return.” “Why, it was everything that’s romantic!” cried Marie. “Romantic? Oh, yes,” said Germaine; and she pouted. “But between ourselves, if I’d known that he was going to stay all that time at the South Pole—” “That’s true,” broke in Marie. “To go away for three years and stay away seven—at the end of the world.” “All Germaine’s beautiful youth,” said Jeanne, with her malicious smile. “Thanks!” said Germaine tartly. “Well, you ARE twenty-three. It’s the flower of one’s age,” said Jeanne. “Not quite twenty-three,” said Germaine hastily. “And look at the wretched luck I’ve had. The Duke falls ill and is treated at Montevideo. As soon as he recovers, since he’s the most obstinate person in the world, he resolves to go on with the expedition. He sets out; and for an age, without a word of warning, there’s no more news of him—no news of any kind. For six months, you know, we believed him dead.” “Dead? Oh, how unhappy you must have been!” said Sonia. “Oh, don’t speak of it! For six months I daren’t put on a light frock,” said Germaine, turning to her. “A lot she must have cared for him,” whispered Jeanne to Marie. “Fortunately, one fine day, the letters began again. Three months ago a telegram informed us that he was coming back; and at last the Duke returned,” said Germaine, with a theatrical air. “The Duke returned,” cried Jeanne, mimicking her. “Never mind. Fancy waiting nearly seven years for one’s fiance. That was constancy,” said Sonia. “Oh, you’re a sentimentalist, Mlle. Kritchnoff,” said Jeanne, in a tone of mockery. “It was the influence of the castle.” “What do you mean?” said Germaine. “Oh, to own the castle of Charmerace and call oneself Mlle. Gournay-Martin—it’s not worth doing. One MUST become a duchess,” said Jeanne. “Yes, yes; and for all this wonderful constancy, seven years of it, Germaine was on the point of becoming engaged to another man,” said Marie, smiling. “And he a mere baron,” said Jeanne, laughing. “What? Is that true?” said Sonia. “Didn’t you know, Mlle. Kritchnoff? She nearly became engaged to the Duke’s cousin, the Baron de Relzières. It was not nearly so grand.” <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Sonia" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Sonia</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Marie" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Marie</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Relzi%C3%A8res" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Relzières</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Germaine" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Germaine</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Jeanne" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Jeanne</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Jacques" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Jacques</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/SouthPole" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#SouthPole</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Charmerace" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Charmerace</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Montevideo" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Montevideo</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Mlle" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Mlle</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Kritchnoff" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Kritchnoff</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Gournay" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Gournay</a>-Martin <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/ArseneLupin" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#ArseneLupin</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/MauriceLeBlanc" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#MauriceLeBlanc</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/mystery" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#mystery</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/booktoot" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#booktoot</a>

Maurice Leblanc - Arsene LupinMaurice Leblanc - Arsene Lupin Part 2 of 99 CHAPTER I THE MILLIONAIRE’S DAUGHTERThe rays of the September sun flooded the great halls of the old château of the Dukes of Charmerace, lighting up with their mellow glow the spoils of so many ages and many lands, jumbled together with the execrable taste which so often afflicts those whose only standard of value is money. The golden light warmed the panelled walls and old furniture to a dull lustre, and gave back to the fading gilt of the First Empire chairs and couches something of its old brightness. It illumined the long line of pictures on the walls, pictures of dead and gone Charmeraces, the stern or debonair faces of the men, soldiers, statesmen, dandies, the gentle or imperious faces of beautiful women. It flashed back from armour of brightly polished steel, and drew dull gleams from armour of bronze. The hues of rare porcelain, of the rich inlays of Oriental or Renaissance cabinets, mingled with the hues of the pictures, the tapestry, the Persian rugs about the polished floor to fill the hall with a rich glow of colour. But of all the beautiful and precious things which the sun-rays warmed to a clearer beauty, the face of the girl who sat writing at a table in front of the long windows, which opened on to the centuries-old turf of the broad terrace, was the most beautiful and the most precious. It was a delicate, almost frail, beauty. Her skin was clear with the transparent lustre of old porcelain, and her pale cheeks were only tinted with the pink of the faintest roses. Her straight nose was delicately cut, her rounded chin admirably moulded. A lover of beauty would have been at a loss whether more to admire her clear, germander eyes, so melting and so adorable, or the sensitive mouth, with its rather full lips, inviting all the kisses. But assuredly he would have been grieved by the perpetual air of sadness which rested on the beautiful face—the wistful melancholy of the Slav, deepened by something of personal misfortune and suffering. Her face was framed by a mass of soft fair hair, shot with strands of gold where the sunlight fell on it; and little curls, rebellious to the comb, strayed over her white forehead, tiny feathers of gold. She was addressing envelopes, and a long list of names lay on her left hand. When she had addressed an envelope, she slipped into it a wedding-card. On each was printed: “M. Gournay-Martin has the honour to inform you of the marriage of his daughter Germaine to the Duke of Charmerace.” She wrote steadily on, adding envelope after envelope to the pile ready for the post, which rose in front of her. But now and again, when the flushed and laughing girls who were playing lawn-tennis on the terrace, raised their voices higher than usual as they called the score, and distracted her attention from her work, her gaze strayed through the open window and lingered on them wistfully; and as her eyes came back to her task she sighed with so faint a wistfulness that she hardly knew she sighed. Then a voice from the terrace cried, “Sonia! Sonia!” “Yes. Mlle. Germaine?” answered the writing girl. “Tea! Order tea, will you?” cried the voice, a petulant voice, rather harsh to the ear. “Very well, Mlle. Germaine,” said Sonia; and having finished addressing the envelope under her pen, she laid it on the pile ready to be posted, and, crossing the room to the old, wide fireplace, she rang the bell. She stood by the fireplace a moment, restoring to its place a rose which had fallen from a vase on the mantelpiece; and her attitude, as with arms upraised she arranged the flowers, displayed the delightful line of a slender figure. As she let fall her arms to her side, a footman entered the room. “Will you please bring the tea, Alfred,” she said in a charming voice of that pure, bell-like tone which has been Nature’s most precious gift to but a few of the greatest actresses. “For how many, miss?” said Alfred. “For four—unless your master has come back.” “Oh, no; he’s not back yet, miss. He went in the car to Rennes to lunch; and it’s a good many miles away. He won’t be back for another hour.” “And the Duke—he’s not back from his ride yet, is he?” “Not yet, miss,” said Alfred, turning to go. “One moment,” said Sonia. “Have all of you got your things packed for the journey to Paris? You will have to start soon, you know. Are all the maids ready?” <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Charmeraces" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Charmeraces</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Oriental" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Oriental</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Renaissance" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Renaissance</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Persian" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Persian</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Slav" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Slav</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/M_Gournay" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#M_Gournay</a>-Martin <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Germaine" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Germaine</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Sonia" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Sonia</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Mlle" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Mlle</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Alfred" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Alfred</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Rennes" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Rennes</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/Paris" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#Paris</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/ArseneLupin" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#ArseneLupin</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/MauriceLeBlanc" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#MauriceLeBlanc</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/mystery" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#mystery</a> <a href="https://mastodon.ozioso.online/tags/booktoot" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#booktoot</a>

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