Maurice Leblanc - Arsene Lupin Part 7 of 99

CHAPTER II THE COMING OF THE CHAROLAIS

Sonia went back to her table, and once more began putting wedding-cards in their envelopes and addressing them. Germaine moved restlessly about the room, fidgeting with the bric-a-brac on the cabinets, shifting the pieces about, interrupting Sonia to ask whether she preferred this arrangement or that, throwing herself into a chair to read a magazine, getting up in a couple of minutes to straighten a picture on the wall, throwing out all the while idle questions not worth answering. Ninety-nine human beings would have been irritated to exasperation by her fidgeting; Sonia endured it with a perfect patience. Five times Germaine asked her whether she should wear her heliotrope or her pink gown at a forthcoming dinner at Madame de Relzières’. Five times Sonia said, without the slightest variation in her tone, “I think you look better in the pink.” And all the while the pile of addressed envelopes rose steadily.
Presently the door opened, and Alfred stood on the threshold.
“Two gentlemen have called to see you, miss,” he said.
“Ah, the two Du Buits,” cried Germaine.
“They didn’t give their names, miss.”
“A gentleman in the prime of life and a younger one?” said Germaine.
“Yes, miss.”
“I thought so. Show them in.”
“Yes, miss. And have you any orders for me to give Victoire when we get to Paris?” said Alfred.
“No. Are you starting soon?”
“Yes, miss. We’re all going by the seven o’clock train. It’s a long way from here to Paris; we shall only reach it at nine in the morning. That will give us just time to get the house ready for you by the time you get there to-morrow evening,” said Alfred.
“Is everything packed?”
“Yes, miss—everything. The cart has already taken the heavy luggage to the station. All you’ll have to do is to see after your bags.”
“That’s all right. Show M. du Buit and his brother in,” said Germaine.
She moved to a chair near the window, and disposed herself in an attitude of studied, and obviously studied, grace.
As she leant her head at a charming angle back against the tall back of the chair, her eyes fell on the window, and they opened wide.
“Why, whatever’s this?” she cried, pointing to it.
“Whatever’s what?” said Sonia, without raising her eyes from the envelope she was addressing.
“Why, the window. Look! one of the panes has been taken out. It looks as if it had been cut.”
“So it has—just at the level of the fastening,” said Sonia. And the two girls stared at the gap.
“Haven’t you noticed it before?” said Germaine.
“No; the broken glass must have fallen outside,” said Sonia.
The noise of the opening of the door drew their attention from the window. Two figures were advancing towards them—a short, round, tubby man of fifty-five, red-faced, bald, with bright grey eyes, which seemed to be continually dancing away from meeting the eyes of any other human being. Behind him came a slim young man, dark and grave. For all the difference in their colouring, it was clear that they were father and son: their eyes were set so close together. The son seemed to have inherited, along with her black eyes, his mother’s nose, thin and aquiline; the nose of the father started thin from the brow, but ended in a scarlet bulb eloquent of an exhaustive acquaintance with the vintages of the world.
Germaine rose, looking at them with an air of some surprise and uncertainty: these were not her friends, the Du Buits.
The elder man, advancing with a smiling bonhomie, bowed, and said in an adenoid voice, ingratiating of tone: “I’m M. Charolais, young ladies—M. Charolais—retired brewer—chevalier of the Legion of Honour—landowner at Rennes. Let me introduce my son.” The young man bowed awkwardly. “We came from Rennes this morning, and we lunched at Kerlor’s farm.”
“Shall I order tea for them?” whispered Sonia.
“Gracious, no!” said Germaine sharply under her breath; then, louder, she said to M. Charolais, “And what is your object in calling?”
“We asked to see your father,” said M. Charolais, smiling with broad amiability, while his eyes danced across her face, avoiding any meeting with hers. “The footman told us that M. Gournay-Martin was out, but that his daughter was at home. And we were unable, quite unable, to deny ourselves the pleasure of meeting you.” With that he sat down; and his son followed his example.
Sonia and Germaine, taken aback, looked at one another in some perplexity.
“What a fine château, papa!” said the young man.

#CHAPTERII #CHAROLAIS #Germaine #Sonia #MadamedeRelzières’ #Alfred #DuBuits #Paris #M_Charolais #LegionofHonour #Rennes #Kerlor #M_Gournay-Martin #ArseneLupin #MauriceLeBlanc #mystery #booktoot

Maurice Leblanc - Arsene Lupin Part 4 of 99

Alfred came in, bearing the tea-tray, and set it on a little table near that at which Sonia was sitting.
Germaine, who was feeling too important to sit still, was walking up and down the room. Suddenly she stopped short, and pointing to a silver statuette which stood on the piano, she said, “What’s this? Why is this statuette here?”
“Why, when we came in, it was on the cabinet, in its usual place,” said Sonia in some astonishment.
“Did you come into the hall while we were out in the garden, Alfred?” said Germaine to the footman.
“No, miss,” said Alfred.
“But some one must have come into it,” Germaine persisted.
“I’ve not heard any one. I was in my pantry,” said Alfred.
“It’s very odd,” said Germaine.
“It is odd,” said Sonia. “Statuettes don’t move about of themselves.”
All of them stared at the statuette as if they expected it to move again forthwith, under their very eyes. Then Alfred put it back in its usual place on one of the cabinets, and went out of the room.
Sonia poured out the tea; and over it they babbled about the coming marriage, the frocks they would wear at it, and the presents Germaine had already received. That reminded her to ask Sonia if any one had yet telephoned from her father’s house in Paris; and Sonia said that no one had.
“That’s very annoying,” said Germaine. “It shows that nobody has sent me a present to-day.”
Pouting, she shrugged her shoulders with an air of a spoiled child, which sat but poorly on a well-developed young woman of twenty-three.
“It’s Sunday. The shops don’t deliver things on Sunday,” said Sonia gently.
But Germaine still pouted like a spoiled child.
“Isn’t your beautiful Duke coming to have tea with us?” said Jeanne a little anxiously.
“Oh, yes; I’m expecting him at half-past four. He had to go for a ride with the two Du Buits. They’re coming to tea here, too,” said Germaine.
“Gone for a ride with the two Du Buits? But when?” cried Marie quickly.
“This afternoon.”
“He can’t be,” said Marie. “My brother went to the Du Buits’ house after lunch, to see Andre and Georges. They went for a drive this morning, and won’t be back till late to-night.”
“Well, but—but why did the Duke tell me so?” said Germaine, knitting her brow with a puzzled air.
“If I were you, I should inquire into this thoroughly. Dukes—well, we know what dukes are—it will be just as well to keep an eye on him,” said Jeanne maliciously.
Germaine flushed quickly; and her eyes flashed. “Thank you. I have every confidence in Jacques. I am absolutely sure of him,” she said angrily.
“Oh, well—if you’re sure, it’s all right,” said Jeanne.
The ringing of the telephone-bell made a fortunate diversion.
Germaine rushed to it, clapped the receiver to her ear, and cried: “Hello, is that you, Pierre? ... Oh, it’s Victoire, is it? ... Ah, some presents have come, have they? ... Well, well, what are they? ... What! a paper-knife—another paper-knife! ... Another Louis XVI. inkstand—oh, bother! ... Who are they from? ... Oh, from the Countess Rudolph and the Baron de Valery.” Her voice rose high, thrilling with pride.
Then she turned her face to her friends, with the receiver still at her ear, and cried: “Oh, girls, a pearl necklace too! A large one! The pearls are big ones!”
“How jolly!” said Marie.
“Who sent it?” said Germaine, turning to the telephone again. “Oh, a friend of papa’s,” she added in a tone of disappointment. “Never mind, after all it’s a pearl necklace. You’ll be sure and lock the doors carefully, Victoire, won’t you? And lock up the necklace in the secret cupboard.... Yes; thanks very much, Victoire. I shall see you to-morrow.”
She hung up the receiver, and came away from the telephone frowning.
“It’s preposterous!” she said pettishly. “Papa’s friends and relations give me marvellous presents, and all the swells send me paper-knives. It’s all Jacques’ fault. He’s above all this kind of thing. The Faubourg Saint-Germain hardly knows that we’re engaged.”
“He doesn’t go about advertising it,” said Jeanne, smiling.
“You’re joking, but all the same what you say is true,” said Germaine. “That’s exactly what his cousin Madame de Relzières said to me the other day at the At Home she gave in my honour—wasn’t it, Sonia?” And she walked to the window, and, turning her back on them, stared out of it.
“She HAS got her mouth full of that At Home,” said Jeanne to Marie in a low voice.
There was an awkward silence. Marie broke it:

#Alfred #Sonia #Germaine #Paris #Jeanne #DuBuits #Marie #Andre #Georges #Jacques #Pierre #AnotherLouisXVI #MadamedeRelzières #Home #ArseneLupin #MauriceLeBlanc #mystery #booktoot

Maurice Leblanc - Arsene Lupin

CHAPTER II THE COMING OF THE CHAROLAIS

Sonia went back to her table, and once more began putting wedding-cards in their envelopes and addressing them. Germaine moved restlessly about the room, fidgeting with the bric-a-brac on the cabinets, shifting the pieces about, interrupting Sonia to ask whether she preferred this arrangement or that, throwing herself into a chair to read a magazine, getting up in a couple of minutes to straighten a picture on the wall, throwing out all the while idle questions not worth answering. Ninety-nine human beings would have been irritated to exasperation by her fidgeting; Sonia endured it with a perfect patience. Five times Germaine asked her whether she should wear her heliotrope or her pink gown at a forthcoming dinner at Madame de Relzières’. Five times Sonia said, without the slightest variation in her tone, “I think you look better in the pink.” And all the while the pile of addressed envelopes rose steadily.
Presently the door opened, and Alfred stood on the threshold.
“Two gentlemen have called to see you, miss,” he said.
“Ah, the two Du Buits,” cried Germaine.
“They didn’t give their names, miss.”
“A gentleman in the prime of life and a younger one?” said Germaine.
“Yes, miss.”
“I thought so. Show them in.”
“Yes, miss. And have you any orders for me to give Victoire when we get to Paris?” said Alfred.
“No. Are you starting soon?”
“Yes, miss. We’re all going by the seven o’clock train. It’s a long way from here to Paris; we shall only reach it at nine in the morning. That will give us just time to get the house ready for you by the time you get there to-morrow evening,” said Alfred.
“Is everything packed?”
“Yes, miss—everything. The cart has already taken the heavy luggage to the station. All you’ll have to do is to see after your bags.”
“That’s all right. Show M. du Buit and his brother in,” said Germaine.
She moved to a chair near the window, and disposed herself in an attitude of studied, and obviously studied, grace.
As she leant her head at a charming angle back against the tall back of the chair, her eyes fell on the window, and they opened wide.
“Why, whatever’s this?” she cried, pointing to it.
“Whatever’s what?” said Sonia, without raising her eyes from the envelope she was addressing.
“Why, the window. Look! one of the panes has been taken out. It looks as if it had been cut.”
“So it has—just at the level of the fastening,” said Sonia. And the two girls stared at the gap.
“Haven’t you noticed it before?” said Germaine.
“No; the broken glass must have fallen outside,” said Sonia.
The noise of the opening of the door drew their attention from the window. Two figures were advancing towards them—a short, round, tubby man of fifty-five, red-faced, bald, with bright grey eyes, which seemed to be continually dancing away from meeting the eyes of any other human being. Behind him came a slim young man, dark and grave. For all the difference in their colouring, it was clear that they were father and son: their eyes were set so close together. The son seemed to have inherited, along with her black eyes, his mother’s nose, thin and aquiline; the nose of the father started thin from the brow, but ended in a scarlet bulb eloquent of an exhaustive acquaintance with the vintages of the world.
Germaine rose, looking at them with an air of some surprise and uncertainty: these were not her friends, the Du Buits.
The elder man, advancing with a smiling bonhomie, bowed, and said in an adenoid voice, ingratiating of tone: “I’m M. Charolais, young ladies—M. Charolais—retired brewer—chevalier of the Legion of Honour—landowner at Rennes. Let me introduce my son.” The young man bowed awkwardly. “We came from Rennes this morning, and we lunched at Kerlor’s farm.”
“Shall I order tea for them?” whispered Sonia.
“Gracious, no!” said Germaine sharply under her breath; then, louder, she said to M. Charolais, “And what is your object in calling?”
“We asked to see your father,” said M. Charolais, smiling with broad amiability, while his eyes danced across her face, avoiding any meeting with hers. “The footman told us that M. Gournay-Martin was out, but that his daughter was at home. And we were unable, quite unable, to deny ourselves the pleasure of meeting you.” With that he sat down; and his son followed his example.
Sonia and Germaine, taken aback, looked at one another in some perplexity.
“What a fine château, papa!” said the young man.

#CHAPTERII #CHAROLAIS #Germaine #Sonia #MadamedeRelzières’ #Alfred #DuBuits #Paris #M_Charolais #LegionofHonour #Rennes #Kerlor #M_Gournay-Martin #ArseneLupin #MauriceLeBlanc #mystery #booktoot