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"I can march into the police-office whenever I like, and set the whole lot to work." Mme. Mergy, who was less hopefully inclined, said: "Alas, will you be in time? What terrifies me is the thought that the list may be destroyed." "Goodness gracious me, by whom? By Daubrecq?" "No, but by the marquis, when he gets hold of it." "He hasn't got it yet!
Give the porter of the Ambassadeurs-Palace ten francs for the loan of his cap. The three gents arrive. They speak to me. Explain to them that a lady traveller, Mme. Mergy, is going on to Genoa, to the Hotel Continental. The gents hesitate. M. Nicole wants to get out. The others hold him back. The train starts. Good luck, gents!
I did not know her until I was called in to see her, the other day, in particularly tragic circumstances." "Is she ill?" "Mme. Mergy has taken poison." "What!" Daubrecq gave a start and he continued, without concealing his distress: "What's that you say? Poison! Is she dead?" "No, the dose was not large enough. If no complications ensue, I consider that Mme. Mergy's life is saved."
Clarisse Mergy, the loving wife of that Mergy whom Daubrecq had really murdered, the terrified mother of that Gilbert whom Daubrecq had led astray, Clarisse Mergy, to save her son from the scaffold, must, come what may and however ignominious the position, yield to Daubrecq's wishes.
"Nobody knows... four men... there were pistols fired... The police are on the spot. Prasville is directing the investigations." Lupin did not move a limb. He looked at Clarisse Mergy, who lay huddled in a chair. He himself had to bow his head. Daubrecq carried off meant one more chance of success lost...
He came and sat close beside her and stated, plainly: "This is what I propose... what must be... what shall be... I will ask, or rather I will demand, not Gilbert's pardon, to begin with, but a reprieve, a postponement of the execution, a postponement of three or four weeks. And, when Mme. Mergy has become Mme.
The Masher's answer was received the next day: "Sebastiani, a Corsican, was recommended to the Duc de Montmaur by the Marquis d'Albufex. He lives at two or three miles from the house, in a hunting-lodge built among the ruins of the feudal stronghold which was the cradle of the Montmaur family." "That's it," said Lupin to Clarisse Mergy, showing her the Masher's letter.
Clarisse Mergy shook her head: "No, no, I don't think that; the noise will not have roused him, for we postponed the attempt for twenty-four hours so that the portress might put a narcotic in his wine." And she added, slowly, "And then, you see, nothing can make Daubrecq be more on his guard than he is already. His life is nothing but one mass of precautions against danger.
Now d'Albufex, having sold everything that he ever had, possessed neither country-houses nor landed estates. They turned their attention to the marquis' relations and intimate friends. Was he able on this side to dispose of some safe retreat in which to imprison Daubrecq? The result was equally fruitless. And the days passed. And what days for Clarisse Mergy!
He wrote the words, "From Mme. Mergy," in the margin and added: "There, he is sure to see me." "But..." Victoire began. "Oh, drop your buts, old dear, do as I say, and don't make such a fuss about it!" She was utterly taken aback and stammered: "You!... is it you?"
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