“Why? Because my father was only an outsider ... as poor as Job ... a simple professor ... and a professor of what? Of gymnastics, fencing, and boxing!”
“Then what is your name?”
“An uncommonly vulgar one.”
“What is it?”
“Arsène Lupin.”
“Arsène Lupin?”
“Yes; it’s hardly a brilliant name, is it? And the best thing to do was to change it, don’t you think?”
Clarice appeared overwhelmed. It made no difference what his name was—to her. But in the eyes of the Baron the particle “de” was the very first qualification of a son-in-law.
She murmured however:
“You ought not to have disowned your father. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in being a professor.”