"I have it with me."
"How were you robbed of the box?"
René explained.
"That Count de Keller is my evil genius. He is none other than the Volpetti who under the alias 'Naundorff' bestowed that name upon me in Prussia. He represents the police who like a web envelop me. 'Twas the police that directed the blows from which you rescued me in London. And that police will now pursue you, René. I regret that we have undertaken this voyage, for how are we to succeed in this difficult undertaking, having lost my certificates of identity? Let us renounce the project and return, I to exile and you to your country. I am not safe in England; therefore I shall remove to Holland. In that land of liberty and justice, I may find the happiness I seek, the simple happiness of family life. René, I seem to hear again the words spoken to me in my dungeon: Your friends shall perish."
René looked at Amélie. Her tears were dry and her lofty countenance expressed only resolution. His discouragement was swept away and he turned to the father, saying:
"I shall never give up the fight. And what of the knave who robbed me? Is he to laugh in my face? Listen. Volpetti will soon be here. I also have become a spy. I have tracked him by pouring out torrents of money."
"Bravo, my René!" said Amélie, giving him her hand.
"Girl," sighed Naundorff, "you have inherited the intrepidity of your grandmother, Marie Antoinette and great-grandmother, Marie Thérèse, combined; I, the stoicism and passivity of my father. While I am with you, my blood rises and I believe in the impossible; my fears vanish, my dual personality merges into one and I assure myself that I am not a self-duped fool—God bless you!"
"Father," she exclaimed, "you have not the right to surrender claims which your children inherit. Do you think that the iniquitous regime on the French throne will last indefinitely? Has not that wonderful colossus, Napoleon, rolled on the ground from his pedestal? Another usurper today rules our country. Is his hour never to come?"
She was a picture of splendid anger and sublime indignation.