“You know it, I am certain: day by day, hour by hour, I have followed your train of thought and the progress of your investigations. At the very moment when Brédoux struck you, you were about to tell all. Subsequently, you delayed your revelations, out of solicitude for your father. But they are now promised to this paper here. The article is written. It will be set up in an hour. It will appear to-morrow.”
“Quite right.”
Lupin rose, and slashing the air with his hand,
“It shall not appear!” he cried.
“It shall appear!” said Beautrelet, starting up in his turn.
At last, the two men were standing up to each other. I received the impression of a shock, as if they had seized each other round the body. Beautrelet seemed to burn with a sudden energy. It was as though a spark had kindled within him a group of new emotions: pluck, self-respect, the passion of fighting, the intoxication of danger. As for Lupin, I read in the radiance of his glance the joy of the duellist who at length encounters the sword of his hated rival.
“Is the article in the printer’s hands?”
“Not yet.”
“Have you it there—on you?”
“No fear! I shouldn’t have it by now, in that case!”