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Updated: June 4, 2025
The cab was seen at Saint-Pol, at Lescure, at Mont Gargan, at La Rouge-Marc and Place du Gaillardbois; in the Rue Maladrerie, Rue Dinanderie, before Saint-Romain, Saint-Vivien, Saint-Maclou, Saint-Nicaise in front of the Customs, at the 'Vieille Tour, the 'Trois Pipes, and the Monumental Cemetery. From time to time, the coachman on his box cast despairing eyes at the public-houses.
And I do not know that anyone could better this epitaph which the Duke of Saint-Maclou composed for himself in the last words he spoke this side the grave. A Passing Carriage. When I saw that the Duke of Saint-Maclou was dead, I laid him down on the sands, straightening him into a seemly posture; and I closed his eyes and spread his handkerchief over his face.
And she put out her hand and took mine, and drew me to her, passing her arm through mine. The Duke of Saint-Maclou looked up at us; then he dropped his head, heavily and with a thud on the sand, and so lay till we thought he was dead. Yet it might be that his life could be saved, and I said to Marie: "Stay by him, while I run for help." "I will not stay by him," she said.
Well, I have looked in Avranches. She is not in Avranches. I'll go home again." Marie Delhasse came close to my side. "Ask him," she said to me, "if he speaks of the Duchess of Saint-Maclou." I put the question as I was directed. "You couldn't have guessed better if you'd known," said Jean; and a swift glance from Marie Delhasse told me that her suspicion as to my knowledge was aroused.
"The Duchess of Saint-Maclou." I laid down my cigar, maintaining, however, a calm demeanor. "Aha!" said Gustave. "You will come, my friend?" I could not deny that Gustave had a right to his little triumph; for a year ago, when the duchess had visited England with her husband, I had received an invitation to meet her at the Embassy.
I believe he doubted me; perhaps waiters are bred to suspicion by the things they see. "Ah!" said he, "then it does not interest you to know that a gentleman has been to see the young lady?" I took out ten francs. "Yes, it does," said I, handing him the money. "Who was it?" "The Duke of Saint-Maclou," he whispered mysteriously. "Is he gone?" I asked in some alarm. I had no wish to encounter him.
In my room I chanced to find a femme-de-chambre. To her I put a question or two as to the gentry of the neighborhood. She rattled me off a few distinguished names, and ended: "The duke of Saint-Maclou has also a small château." "Is he there now?" I asked. "The duchess only, sir," she answered. "Ah, they tell wonderful stories of her!" "Do they? Pray, of what kind?"
But again I stood with it in my hand struck still with the thought that I could not now return it to Marie Delhasse, that she had vanished leaving it on my hands, and that, in all likelihood, in three or four hours' time the Duke of Saint-Maclou would be scouring the country and setting every spring in motion in the effort to find the truant lady, and what I thought he would be at least anxious about the truant necklace.
I held my peace; and in a moment she went on passionately: "Who would have guessed that you would insult me? Is it your habit to insult women?" "Not mine only, it seems," said I, meeting her glance boldly. "What do you mean, sir?" "Had you, then, an invitation from Mme. de Saint-Maclou?" She drew back as if I had struck her. And I felt as though I had struck her.
You will say that this is a confession. But why not? In the evening, when a few privileged neighbours meet at his house the justice of the peace, the notary, Major Comte d'Astrignac, who has also gone to live at Saint-Maclou Don Luis is not afraid to speak of Arsène Lupin. "I used to see a great deal of him," he says. "He was not a bad man.
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