Maurice Leblanc - Arsene Lupin Part 19 of 99

“The car’s four years old,” he said joyfully. “He’ll give me eight hundred for it, and it’s not worth a pipe of tobacco. And eight hundred pounds is just the price of a little Watteau I’ve had my eye on for some time—a first-class investment.”
They strolled down the terrace, and through one of the windows into the hall. Firmin had lighted the lamps, two of them. They made but a small oasis of light in a desert of dim hall. The millionaire let himself down very gingerly into an Empire chair, as if he feared, with excellent reason, that it might collapse under his weight.
“Well, my dear Duke,” he said, “you don’t ask me the result of my official lunch or what the minister said.”
“Is there any news?” said the Duke carelessly.
“Yes. The decree will be signed to-morrow. You can consider yourself decorated. I hope you feel a happy man,” said the millionaire, rubbing his fat hands together with prodigious satisfaction.
“Oh, charmed—charmed,” said the Duke, with entire indifference.
“As for me, I’m delighted—delighted,” said the millionaire. “I was extremely keen on your being decorated. After that, and after a volume or two of travels, and after you’ve published your grandfather’s letters with a good introduction, you can begin to think of the Academy.”
“The Academy!” said the Duke, startled from his usual coolness. “But I’ve no title to become an Academician.”
“How, no title?” said the millionaire solemnly; and his little eyes opened wide. “You’re a duke.”
“There’s no doubt about that,” said the Duke, watching him with admiring curiosity.
“I mean to marry my daughter to a worker—a worker, my dear Duke,” said the millionaire, slapping his big left hand with his bigger right. “I’ve no prejudices—not I. I wish to have for son-in-law a duke who wears the Order of the Legion of Honour, and belongs to the Academie Française, because that is personal merit. I’m no snob.”
A gentle, irrepressible laugh broke from the Duke.
“What are you laughing at?” said the millionaire, and a sudden lowering gloom overspread his beaming face.
“Nothing—nothing,” said the Duke quietly. “Only you’re so full of surprises.”
“I’ve startled you, have I? I thought I should. It’s true that I’m full of surprises. It’s my knowledge. I understand so much. I understand business, and I love art, pictures, a good bargain, bric-a-brac, fine tapestry. They’re first-class investments. Yes, certainly I do love the beautiful. And I don’t want to boast, but I understand it. I have taste, and I’ve something better than taste; I have a flair, the dealer’s flair.”
“Yes, your collections, especially your collection in Paris, prove it,” said the Duke, stifling a yawn.
“And yet you haven’t seen the finest thing I have—the coronet of the Princesse de Lamballe. It’s worth half a million francs.”
“So I’ve heard,” said the Duke, a little wearily. “I don’t wonder that Arsène Lupin envied you it.”
The Empire chair creaked as the millionaire jumped.
“Don’t speak of the swine!” he roared. “Don’t mention his name before me.”
“Germaine showed me his letter,” said the Duke. “It is amusing.”
“His letter! The blackguard! I just missed a fit of apoplexy from it,” roared the millionaire. “I was in this very hall where we are now, chatting quietly, when all at once in comes Firmin, and hands me a letter.”
He was interrupted by the opening of the door. Firmin came clumping down the room, and said in his deep voice, “A letter for you, sir.”
“Thank you,” said the millionaire, taking the letter, and, as he fitted his eye-glass into his eye, he went on, “Yes, Firmin brought me a letter of which the handwriting,”—he raised the envelope he was holding to his eyes, and bellowed, “Good heavens!”
“What’s the matter?” said the Duke, jumping in his chair at the sudden, startling burst of sound.
“The handwriting!—the handwriting!—it’s THE SAME HANDWRITING!” gasped the millionaire. And he let himself fall heavily backwards against the back of his chair.
There was a crash. The Duke had a vision of huge arms and legs waving in the air as the chair-back gave. There was another crash. The chair collapsed. The huge bulk banged to the floor.
The laughter of the Duke rang out uncontrollably. He caught one of the waving arms, and jerked the flabby giant to his feet with an ease which seemed to show that his muscles were of steel.
“Come,” he said, laughing still. “This is nonsense! What do you mean by the same handwriting? It can’t be.”

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Maurice Leblanc - Arsene Lupin Part 11 of 99

Germaine finished admiring herself; she was incapable even of suspecting that so expensive a pendant could not suit her perfectly.
The Duke said idly: “Goodness! Are all those invitations to the wedding?”
“That’s only down to the letter V,” said Germaine proudly.
“And there are twenty-five letters in the alphabet! You must be inviting the whole world. You’ll have to have the Madeleine enlarged. It won’t hold them all. There isn’t a church in Paris that will,” said the Duke.
“Won’t it be a splendid marriage!” said Germaine. “There’ll be something like a crush. There are sure to be accidents.”
“If I were you, I should have careful arrangements made,” said the Duke.
“Oh, let people look after themselves. They’ll remember it better if they’re crushed a little,” said Germaine.
There was a flicker of contemptuous wonder in the Duke’s eyes. But he only shrugged his shoulders, and turning to Sonia, said, “Will you be an angel and play me a little Grieg, Mademoiselle Kritchnoff? I heard you playing yesterday. No one plays Grieg like you.”
“Excuse me, Jacques, but Mademoiselle Kritchnoff has her work to do,” said Germaine tartly.
“Five minutes’ interval—just a morsel of Grieg, I beg,” said the Duke, with an irresistible smile.
“All right,” said Germaine grudgingly. “But I’ve something important to talk to you about.”
“By Jove! So have I. I was forgetting. I’ve the last photograph I took of you and Mademoiselle Sonia.” Germaine frowned and shrugged her shoulders. “With your light frocks in the open air, you look like two big flowers,” said the Duke.
“You call that important!” cried Germaine.
“It’s very important—like all trifles,” said the Duke, smiling. “Look! isn’t it nice?” And he took a photograph from his pocket, and held it out to her.
“Nice? It’s shocking! We’re making the most appalling faces,” said Germaine, looking at the photograph in his hand.
“Well, perhaps you ARE making faces,” said the Duke seriously, considering the photograph with grave earnestness. “But they’re not appalling faces—not by any means. You shall be judge, Mademoiselle Sonia. The faces—well, we won’t talk about the faces—but the outlines. Look at the movement of your scarf.” And he handed the photograph to Sonia.
“Jacques!” said Germaine impatiently.
“Oh, yes, you’ve something important to tell me. What is it?” said the Duke, with an air of resignation; and he took the photograph from Sonia and put it carefully back in his pocket.
“Victoire has telephoned from Paris to say that we’ve had a paper-knife and a Louis Seize inkstand given us,” said Germaine.
“Hurrah!” cried the Duke in a sudden shout that made them both jump.
“And a pearl necklace,” said Germaine.
“Hurrah!” cried the Duke.
“You’re perfectly childish,” said Germaine pettishly. “I tell you we’ve been given a paper-knife, and you shout ‘hurrah!’ I say we’ve been given a pearl necklace, and you shout ‘hurrah!’ You can’t have the slightest sense of values.”
“I beg your pardon. This pearl necklace is from one of your father’s friends, isn’t it?” said the Duke.
“Yes; why?” said Germaine.
“But the inkstand and the paper-knife must be from the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and well on the shabby side?” said the Duke.
“Yes; well?”
“Well then, my dear girl, what are you complaining about? They balance; the equilibrium is restored. You can’t have everything,” said the Duke; and he laughed mischievously.
Germaine flushed, and bit her lip; her eyes sparkled.
“You don’t care a rap about me,” she said stormily.
“But I find you adorable,” said the Duke.
“You keep annoying me,” said Germaine pettishly. “And you do it on purpose. I think it’s in very bad taste. I shall end by taking a dislike to you—I know I shall.”
“Wait till we’re married for that, my dear girl,” said the Duke; and he laughed again, with a blithe, boyish cheerfulness, which deepened the angry flush in Germaine’s cheeks.
“Can’t you be serious about anything?” she cried.
“I am the most serious man in Europe,” said the Duke.
Germaine went to the window and stared out of it sulkily.
The Duke walked up and down the hall, looking at the pictures of some of his ancestors—somewhat grotesque persons—with humorous appreciation. Between addressing the envelopes Sonia kept glancing at him. Once he caught her eye, and smiled at her. Germaine’s back was eloquent of her displeasure. The Duke stopped at a gap in the line of pictures in which there hung a strip of old tapestry.

#Germaine #Madeleine #Paris #Sonia #MademoiselleKritchnoff #Jacques #I_ #MademoiselleSonia #LouisSeize #Europe #ArseneLupin #MauriceLeBlanc #mystery #booktoot

Maurice Leblanc - Arsene Lupin Part 11 of 99

Germaine finished admiring herself; she was incapable even of suspecting that so expensive a pendant could not suit her perfectly.
The Duke said idly: “Goodness! Are all those invitations to the wedding?”
“That’s only down to the letter V,” said Germaine proudly.
“And there are twenty-five letters in the alphabet! You must be inviting the whole world. You’ll have to have the Madeleine enlarged. It won’t hold them all. There isn’t a church in Paris that will,” said the Duke.
“Won’t it be a splendid marriage!” said Germaine. “There’ll be something like a crush. There are sure to be accidents.”
“If I were you, I should have careful arrangements made,” said the Duke.
“Oh, let people look after themselves. They’ll remember it better if they’re crushed a little,” said Germaine.
There was a flicker of contemptuous wonder in the Duke’s eyes. But he only shrugged his shoulders, and turning to Sonia, said, “Will you be an angel and play me a little Grieg, Mademoiselle Kritchnoff? I heard you playing yesterday. No one plays Grieg like you.”
“Excuse me, Jacques, but Mademoiselle Kritchnoff has her work to do,” said Germaine tartly.
“Five minutes’ interval—just a morsel of Grieg, I beg,” said the Duke, with an irresistible smile.
“All right,” said Germaine grudgingly. “But I’ve something important to talk to you about.”
“By Jove! So have I. I was forgetting. I’ve the last photograph I took of you and Mademoiselle Sonia.” Germaine frowned and shrugged her shoulders. “With your light frocks in the open air, you look like two big flowers,” said the Duke.
“You call that important!” cried Germaine.
“It’s very important—like all trifles,” said the Duke, smiling. “Look! isn’t it nice?” And he took a photograph from his pocket, and held it out to her.
“Nice? It’s shocking! We’re making the most appalling faces,” said Germaine, looking at the photograph in his hand.
“Well, perhaps you ARE making faces,” said the Duke seriously, considering the photograph with grave earnestness. “But they’re not appalling faces—not by any means. You shall be judge, Mademoiselle Sonia. The faces—well, we won’t talk about the faces—but the outlines. Look at the movement of your scarf.” And he handed the photograph to Sonia.
“Jacques!” said Germaine impatiently.
“Oh, yes, you’ve something important to tell me. What is it?” said the Duke, with an air of resignation; and he took the photograph from Sonia and put it carefully back in his pocket.
“Victoire has telephoned from Paris to say that we’ve had a paper-knife and a Louis Seize inkstand given us,” said Germaine.
“Hurrah!” cried the Duke in a sudden shout that made them both jump.
“And a pearl necklace,” said Germaine.
“Hurrah!” cried the Duke.
“You’re perfectly childish,” said Germaine pettishly. “I tell you we’ve been given a paper-knife, and you shout ‘hurrah!’ I say we’ve been given a pearl necklace, and you shout ‘hurrah!’ You can’t have the slightest sense of values.”
“I beg your pardon. This pearl necklace is from one of your father’s friends, isn’t it?” said the Duke.
“Yes; why?” said Germaine.
“But the inkstand and the paper-knife must be from the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and well on the shabby side?” said the Duke.
“Yes; well?”
“Well then, my dear girl, what are you complaining about? They balance; the equilibrium is restored. You can’t have everything,” said the Duke; and he laughed mischievously.
Germaine flushed, and bit her lip; her eyes sparkled.
“You don’t care a rap about me,” she said stormily.
“But I find you adorable,” said the Duke.
“You keep annoying me,” said Germaine pettishly. “And you do it on purpose. I think it’s in very bad taste. I shall end by taking a dislike to you—I know I shall.”
“Wait till we’re married for that, my dear girl,” said the Duke; and he laughed again, with a blithe, boyish cheerfulness, which deepened the angry flush in Germaine’s cheeks.
“Can’t you be serious about anything?” she cried.
“I am the most serious man in Europe,” said the Duke.
Germaine went to the window and stared out of it sulkily.
The Duke walked up and down the hall, looking at the pictures of some of his ancestors—somewhat grotesque persons—with humorous appreciation. Between addressing the envelopes Sonia kept glancing at him. Once he caught her eye, and smiled at her. Germaine’s back was eloquent of her displeasure. The Duke stopped at a gap in the line of pictures in which there hung a strip of old tapestry.

#Germaine #Madeleine #Paris #Sonia #MademoiselleKritchnoff #Jacques #I_ #MademoiselleSonia #LouisSeize #Europe #ArseneLupin #MauriceLeBlanc #mystery #booktoot