She
finished by seizing it and nervously drawing it to her. Our eyes
met, and I read in hers so much anxiety and fear that I could not
refrain from speaking to her:
"Are you ill, madame? Shall I open the window?"
Her only reply was a gesture indicating that she was afraid of our
companion. I smiled, as her husband had done, shrugged my
shoulders, and explained to her, in pantomime, that she had
nothing to fear, that I was there, and, besides, the gentleman
appeared to be a very harmless individual. At that moment, he
turned toward us, scrutinized both of us from head to foot, then
settled down in his corner and paid us no more attention.
After a short silence, the lady, as if she had mustered all her
energy to perform a desperate act, said to me, in an almost
inaudible voice:
"Do you know who is on our train?"
"Who?"
"He....he....I assure you...."
"Who is he?"
"Arsene Lupin!"
She had not taken her eyes off our companion, and it was to him
rather than to me that she uttered the syllables of that
disquieting name. He drew his hat over his face. Was that to
conceal his agitation or, simply, to arrange himself for sleep?
Then I said to her:
"Yesterday, through contumacy, Arsene Lupin was sentenced to
twenty years' imprisonment at hard labor.
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