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Updated: July 10, 2025
This statement of the girl he knew as Wilhelmine de Naarboveck, far from impressing him favourably, seemed to him an improbable story invented, every bit of it, for the sole purpose of putting him on the wrong track.
The waters in the docks reflected the light from the quay lamps on their shining, heaving, surface. Now, for some time, Henri de Loubersac had been longing to ask Juve a question, longing yet fearing to voice it a question relating to his personal affairs. Had not Juve, as Vagualame, clearly insinuated that Wilhelmine de Naarboveck must have been the mistress of Captain Brocq?
Since he had learned that Wilhelmine visited Lady Beltham's tomb regularly this notorious Lady Beltham, mistress of Fantômas he had been saying to himself: "No Mademoiselle Wilhelmine is not the daughter of de Naarboveck, the rich diplomat! But who, then, is she?"
"You have made a mistake: I am not Mademoiselle Wilhelmine de Naarboveck, as you seem to imagine. I am merely her companion: I dare add, a friend of the house. They call me Mademoiselle Berthe."... "Bobinette!" cried Fandor, almost in spite of himself. He immediately regretted this too familiar interjection; but that young person did not take offence.
And, besides, you ought to consider that it was precisely at the Naarboveck receptions we met." With the utterance of these last words Bobinette glanced at Captain Brocq as if she would annihilate him: the remembrance of their first meeting seemed more odious to her than pleasing. Brocq, whose eyes were obstinately lowered, saw nothing of this.
"Monsieur," said de Naarboveck, coming close to Fandor, as though he was afraid of being overheard: "You know, at least, by name a certain enigmatic individual who plays an important part in the affairs of which we both are victims, in different ways.... I will no longer hide from you that we are in this individual's house!" "And," gasped Fandor, "this individual is called?"...
"By jove!" said Fandor, half aloud, "this fine fellow has done himself well in the way of a dwelling-place!" The journalist's reflections were interrupted by the entrance of an exceedingly elegant young lady. Fandor rose and saluted this charming apparition. The journalist had naturally expected to see Monsieur de Naarboveck enter the room: in his stead came this pretty girl.
Juve shot his answer at the lieutenant, like a stone from a catapult. "Wilhelmine de Naarboveck!" A shout of indignant protest burst from de Loubersac. He could not contain his fury: he kicked the supposed Vagualame with such force that he sent him rolling in the greasy mud of the Seine bank. "Beast!" growled Juve, as he picked himself up.
"M. Dupont told me de Naarboveck lived alone with his daughter, therefore he has people dining with him this evening," reasoned the journalist. He then decided to dine himself, and return an hour and a half later. Naarboveck well dined and wined could give him more time, and would be the easier to interview.
Fandor had noticed, too, while the talk went on, that Mademoiselle de Naarboveck was deeply moved, and looked sorrowful. She was a graceful girl, in all the freshness and brilliancy of her twenty years, with large eyes, soft and luminous.
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