“Good morning, my dear Beautrelet, you’re a little late. Lunch was fixed for twelve. However, it’s only a few minutes—but what’s the matter? Don’t you know me? Have I changed so much?”
In the course of his fight with Lupin, Beautrelet had met with many surprises and he was still prepared, at the moment of the final catastrophe, to experience any number of further emotions; but the shock which he received this time was utterly unexpected. It was not astonishment, but stupefaction, terror. The man who stood before him, the man whom the brutal force of events compelled him to look upon as Arsène Lupin, was—Valméras! Valméras, the owner of the Château de l’Aiguille! Valméras, the very man to whom he had applied for assistance against Arsène Lupin! Valméras, his companion on the expedition to Crozant! Valméras, the plucky friend who had made Raymonde’s escape possible by felling one of Lupin’s accomplices, or pretending to fell him, in the dusk of the great hall! And Valméras was Lupin!
“You—you—So it’s you!” he stammered.
“Why not?” exclaimed Lupin. “Did you think that you knew me for good and all because you had seen me in the guise of a clergyman or under the features of M. Massiban? Alas, when a man selects the position in society which I occupy, he must needs make use of his little social gifts! If Lupin were not able to change himself, at will, into a minister of the Church of England or a member of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-Lettres, it would be a bad lookout for Lupin! Now Lupin, the real Lupin, is here before you, Beautrelet! Take a good look at him.”
“But then—if it’s you—then—Mademoiselle—”
“Yes, Beautrelet, as you say—”
He again drew back the hanging, beckoned and announced:
“Mme. Arsène Lupin.”
“Ah,” murmured the lad, confounded in spite of everything, “Mlle. de Saint-Véran!”
“No, no,” protested Lupin. “Mme. Arsène Lupin, or rather, if you prefer, Mme. Louis Valméras, my wedded wife, married to me in accordance with the strictest forms of law; and all thanks to you, my dear Beautrelet.”