"Lupin, I give you three minutes for play-acting. 'What's the good?' you will say. 'There is nobody here.' Well . . . and what about you? Can't you act your last farce for yourself? By Jove, the performance is worth it. . . . _Arsène Lupin_, heroic comedy in eighty scenes. . . . The curtain rises on the death-scene . . . and the principal part is played by Lupin in person. . . . 'Bravo, Lupin!' . . . Feel my heart, ladies and gentlemen . . . seventy beats to the minute. . . . And a smile on my lips. . . . 'Bravo, Lupin! Oh, the rogue, what cheek he has!' . . . Well, jump, my lord. . . . Are you ready? It's the last adventure, old fellow. No regrets? Regrets? What for, heavens above? My life was splendid. Ah, Dolores, Dolores, if you had not come into it, abominable monster that you were! . . . . . . And you, Malreich, why did you not speak? . . . And you, Pierre Leduc. . . . Here I am! . . . My three dead friends, I am about to join you. . . . Oh, Geneviève, my dear Geneviève! . . . Here, have you done, you old play-actor? . . . Right you are! Right you are! I'm coming. . . ." He pulled his other leg over, looked down the abyss at the dark and motionless sea and, raising his head: "Farewell, immortal and thrice-blessed nature! _Moriturus te salutat!_ Farewell, all that is beautiful on earth! Farewell, splendor of things. Farewell, life!" He flung kisses to space, to the sky, to the sun. . . . Then, folding his arms, he took the leap. * * * * * Sidi-bel-Abbes. The barracks of the Foreign Legion. An adjutant sat smoking and reading his newspaper in a small, low-ceilinged room. Near him, close to the window opening on the yard, two great devils of non-commissioned officers were jabbering in guttural French, mixed with Teutonic phrases. The door opened. Some one entered. It was a slightly-built man, of medium height, smartly-dressed. The adjutant rose, glared angrily at the intruder and growled: "I say, what on earth is the orderly up to? . . . And you, sir, what do you want?" "Service." This was said frankly, imperiously. The two non-coms burst into a silly laugh. The man looked at them askance. "In other words, you wish to enlist in the Legion?" asked the adjutant. "Yes, but on one condition." "Conditions, by Jove! What conditions?" "That I am not left mouldering here. There is a company leaving for Morocco. I'll join that." One of the non-coms gave a fresh chuckle and was heard to say: "The Moors are in for a bad time. The gentleman's enlisting." "Silence!" cried the man, "I don't stand being laughed at." His voice sounded harsh and masterful. The non-com, a brutal-looking giant, retorted: "Here, recruity, you'd better be careful how you talk to me, or . . ." "Or what?" "You'll get something you won't like, that's all!" The man went up to him, took him round the waist, swung him over the ledge of the window and pitched him into the yard. Then he said to the other: "Go away."