ectric shock.

"Mr. Arthur Rance!" he cried.

Mr. Arthur Rance stood before us calmly bowing.

CHAPTER XX. An Act of Mademoiselle Stangerson

"You remember me, Monsieur?" asked Rouletabille.

"Perfectly!" replied Arthur Rance. "I recognise you as the lad at the
bar. [The face of Rouletabille crimsoned at being called a "lad."] I
want to shake hands with you. You are a bright little fellow."

The American extended his hand and Rouletabille, relaxing his frown,
shook it and introduced Mr. Arthur Rance to me. He invited him to share
our meal.

"No thanks. I breakfasted with Monsieur Stangerson."

Arthur Rance spoke French perfectly,--almost without an accent.

"I did not expect to have the pleasure of seeing you again, Monsieur. I
thought you were to have left France the day after the reception at the
Elysee."

Rouletabille and I, outwardly indifferent, listened most intently for
every word the American would say.

The man's purplish red face, his heavy eyelids, the nervous twitchings,
all spoke of his addiction to drink. How came it that so sorry a
specimen of a man should be so intimate with Monsieur Stangerson?

Some days later, I learned from Frederic Larsan--who, like ourselves,
was surprised and mystified by his appearance and reception at the
chateau--that Mr. Rance had been an inebriate for only about fifteen
years; that is to say, since the professor and his daughter left
Philadelphia. During the time the Stangersons lived in America they were
very intimate with Arthur Rance, who was one of the most distinguished
phrenologists of the new world. Owing to new experiments, he had
made enormous strides beyond the science of Gall and Lavater. The
friendliness with which he was received at the Glandier may be explained
by the fact that he had once rendered Mademoiselle Stangerson a great
service by stopping, at the peril of his own life, the runaway horses of
her carriage. The immediate result of that could, however, have been no
more than a mere friendly association with the Stangersons; certainly,
not a love affair.

Frederic Larsan did not tell me where he had picked up this information;
but he appeared to be quite sure of what he said.

Had we known these facts at the time Arthur Rance met us at the Donjon
Inn, his presence at the chateau might not have puzzled us, but they
could not have failed to increase our interest in the man himself. The
American must have been at least forty-five year