In a shaking voice it needed an almost superhuman effort to steady, Jérôme Fandor promised he would not forget the name! A thousand thoughts were whirling madly through his brain, his heart was still beating high with excitement, when M. Moche went on:
“Well then, hook it, my boy; here’s three half-pence for going, to pay your Underground; it’s not far, you can walk back.”
Yes, he could walk back quite well, Fandor agreed, hardly conscious of what he was saying.
Ten minutes later he was on his way to the Rue des Couronnes.
Elisabeth Dollon! He was going, he, Jérôme Fandor, to see Elisabeth Dollon! As if the past had suddenly risen before his eyes as on the film of an imaginary cinematograph of dreams, Jérôme Fandor lived again in pain and grief the torturing crises, the grim tragedies that name called back to memory, a woman’s name, the name of Elisabeth Dollon. No, never had he forgotten the pathetic heroine of those terrible days.
Elisabeth Dollon, the unhappy sister of the painter, Jacques Dollon, Fantômas’ victim, deemed by some to be himself Fantômas till the day when Juve and Fandor rehabilitated his good name, was she not the only being Fandor cherished with a fond affection? Since the first day he had learnt to know her, to appreciate the girl’s proud and tender character, Jérôme Fandor had loved her!
It was for her, to do her honour, to rescue her from the most odious entanglements, that he had in those days devoted himself, body and soul, to the task of clearing up the mysterious affair of the Messenger of Death. Twenty times over, in the course of that police investigation, Fandor and Juve had risked their lives. Juve for his part was acting more for the sake of unmasking Fantômas than for any other reason, but for Fandor, he was spurred on by the interest he felt in Elisabeth Dollon.
Once, for a moment, he had believed his dearest wishes would be fulfilled. Then, at that very instant of joyful satisfaction, an appalling catastrophe had destroyed his hopes. The prey he was tracking down escaped, and Fantômas, to crown his victory, in eluding the wiles of his two pursuers, Fandor and Juve, had the cruelty to add yet another triumph. He wrote to Elisabeth Dollon—already his victim—“Fandor is Charles Rambert; Charles Rambert is a criminal and a coward,” with the result that, terrified by this false and treacherous calumny, she avoided the young man, vanished from his life, swore she would never see him more!
And now, now when he was poor, helpless, condemned to live in company of bandits, apaches, the dregs of society, Fate gave him this sublime recompense, sending him this day to see whom? whom but Elisabeth Dollon!
“To see her, heavens! to see her! to tell her who I am, what I am, what I live for, to win a half-hour of sweet, calm converse with her, wherein to convince her of the truth, to explain to her Fantômas’ machinations, oh! it is too much happiness!” Jérôme Fandor strove to regain his self-possession, to master his nerves, but his pace was headlong as he sped to the Rue des Couronnes, where he hoped to win at last an unfeigned declaration of renewed affection from Elisabeth Dollon.