her more attentively. She did not
lower her eyes at first. But she blushed. And never had he seen so
pathetic a face, marked with such modesty and such dignity. He said to
her, as on that first evening in Paris:

"Oh, your eyes ... the calm and sadness of your eyes ... the beauty of
your eyes!"

She dropped her head and stammered:

"Go away ... go ..."

In the presence of her confusion, he received a quick intuition of the
deeper feelings that stirred her, unknown to herself. To that spinster
soul, of which he recognized the romantic power of imagination, the
unsatisfied yearnings, the poring over old-world books, he suddenly
represented, in that exceptional moment and in consequence of the
unconventional circumstances of their meetings, somebody special, a
Byronic hero, a chivalrous brigand of romance. One evening, in spite of
all obstacles, he, the world-famed adventurer, already ennobled in song
and story and exalted by his own audacity, had come to her and slipped
the magic ring upon her finger: a mystic and passionate betrothal, as in
the days of the _Corsair_ and _Hernani_.... Greatly moved and touched,
he was on the verge of giving way to an enthusiastic impulse and
exclaiming:

"Let us go away together!... Let us fly!... You are my bride ... my
wife.... Share my dangers, my sorrows and my joys.... It will be a
strange and vigorous, a proud and magnificent life...."

But Angelique's eyes were raised to his again; and they were so pure and
so noble that he blushed in his turn. This was not the woman to whom
such words could be addressed.

He whispered:

"Forgive me.... I am a contemptible wretch.... I have wrecked your
life...."

"No," she replied, softly. "On the contrary, you have shown me where my
real life lies."

He was about to ask her to explain. But she had opened the door and was
pointing the way to him. Nothing more could be spoken between them. He
went out without a word, bowing very low as he passed.

* * * * *

A month later, Angelique de Sarzeau-Vendome, Princesse de Bourbon-Conde,
lawful wife of Arsene Lupin, took the veil and, under the name of Sister
Marie-Auguste, buried herself within the walls of the Visitation
Convent.

On the day of the ceremony, the mother superior of the convent received
a heavy sealed envelope containing a letter with the following words:

"For Sister Marie-Auguste's poor."

Enclosed with the letter were five hund