"I beg your pardon, sir, but, before pursuing this conversation, the object of which, between ourselves, is none too clear to me, I should be much obliged if you would tell me to whom I have the honour of speaking." "Absolutely unnecessary," replied the stranger. "Absolutely essential," declared Lupin. "Why?" "For reasons of politeness, sir. You know my name and I do not know yours; this implies a disregard of good form which I cannot suffer." The stranger lost patience: "The mere fact that the governor of the prison brought us here shows . . ." "That M. Borély does not know his manners," said Lupin. "M. Borély should have introduced us to each other. We are equals here, sir: it is no case of a superior and an inferior, of a prisoner and a visitor who condescends to come and see him. There are two men here; and one of those two men has a hat on his head, which he ought not to have." "Now look here . . ." "Take the lesson as you please, sir," said Lupin. The stranger came closer to him and tried to speak. "The hat first," said Lupin, "the hat. . . ." "You shall listen to me!" "No." "Yes." "No." Matters were becoming virulent, stupidly. The second stranger, the one who had kept silent, placed his hand on his companion's shoulder and said, in German: "Leave him to me." "Why, it was understood . . ." "Hush . . . and go away!" "Leaving you alone?" "Yes." "But the door?" "Shut it and walk away." "But this man . . . you know who he is. . . . Arsène Lupin. . . ." "Go away!" The other went out, cursing under his breath. "Pull the door!" cried the second visitor. "Harder than that. . . . Altogether! . . . That's right. . . ." Then he turned, took the lantern and raised it slowly: "Shall I tell you who I am?" he asked. "No," replied Lupin. "And why?" "Because I know." "Ah!" "You are the visitor I was expecting." "I?" "Yes, Sire." CHAPTER XI CHARLEMAGNE "Silence!" said the stranger, sharply. "Don't use that word." "Then what shall I call Your . . ." "Call me nothing." They were both silent; and this moment of respite was not one of those which go before the struggle of two adversaries ready for the fray. The stranger strode to and fro with the air of a master accustomed to command and to be obeyed. Lupin stood motionless. He had abandoned his usual provocative attitude and his sarcastic smile. He waited, gravely and deferentially. But, down in the depths of his being, he revelled, eagerly, madly, in the marvellous situation in which he found himself placed: here, in his cell, he, a prisoner; he, the adventurer; he, the swindler, the burglar; he, Arsène Lupin . . . face to face with that demi-god of the modern world, that formidable entity, the heir of Cæsar and of Charlemagne. He was intoxicated for a moment with the sense of his own power. The tears came to his eyes when he thought of his triumph. . . . The stranger stood still. And at once, with the very first sentence, they came to the immediate point: