“I don’t know. He may do anything.”
She was greatly agitated, and, truly, the situation justified, to some extent, her nervous excitement. I was impelled to say to her:
“Of course, there are many strange coincidences, but you need have no fear. Admitting that Arsène Lupin is on this train, he will not commit any indiscretion; he will be only too happy to escape the peril that already threatens him.”
My words did not reassure her, but she remained silent for a time. I unfolded my newspapers and read reports of Arsène Lupin’s trial, but, as they contained nothing that was new to me, I was not greatly interested. Moreover, I was tired and sleepy. I felt my eyelids close and my head drop.
“But, monsieur, you are not going to sleep!”
She seized my newspaper, and looked at me with indignation.
“Certainly not,” I said.
“That would be very imprudent.”
“Of course,” I assented.
I struggled to keep awake. I looked through the window at the landscape and the fleeting clouds, but in a short time all that became confused and indistinct; the image of the nervous lady and the drowsy gentleman were effaced from my memory, and I was buried in the soothing depths of a profound sleep. The tranquility of my response was soon disturbed by disquieting dreams, wherein a creature that had played the part and bore the name of Arsène Lupin held an important place. He appeared to me with his back laden with articles of value; he leaped over walls, and plundered castles. But the outlines of that creature, who was no longer Arsène Lupin, assumed a more definite form. He came toward me, growing larger and larger, leaped into the compartment with incredible agility, and landed squarely on my chest. With a cry of fright and pain, I awoke. The man, the traveller, our companion, with his knee on my breast, held me by the throat.