The Masher’s answer was received the next day:
“Sébastiani, 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. “That name, Sébastiani, at once reminded me that d’Albufex is of Corsican descent. There was a connection....”
“Then what do you intend to do?”
“If Daubrecq is imprisoned in those ruins, I intend to enter into communication with him.”
“He will distrust you.”
“No. Lately, acting on the information of the police, I ended by discovering the two old ladies who carried off your little Jacques at Saint-Germain and who brought him, the same evening, to Neuilly. They are two old maids, cousins of Daubrecq, who makes them a small monthly allowance. I have been to call on those Demoiselles Rousselot; remember the name and the address: 134 bis, Rue du Bac. I inspired them with confidence, promised them to find their cousin and benefactor; and the elder sister, Euphrasie Rousselot, gave me a letter in which she begs Daubrecq to trust M. Nicole entirely. So you see, I have taken every precaution. I shall leave to-night.”
“We, you mean,” said Clarisse.
“You!”
“Can I go on living like this, in feverish inaction?” And she whispered, “I am no longer counting the days, the thirty-eight or forty days that remain to us: I am counting the hours.”