They went along a hedge, through which a yard planted with trees, a few shrubs, a playground and a white house were just visible. Behind the house, sheltered by a clump of elder-trees arranged to form a covered walk, was a little gate. The old lady asked Prince Sernine to come in and led the way to a little drawing-room or parlor. Geneviève asked leave to withdraw for a moment, to go and see her pupils, whose supper-time it was. The prince and Mme. Ernemont remained alone. The old lady had a sad and a pale face, under her white hair, which ended in two long, loose curls. She was too stout, her walk was heavy and, notwithstanding her appearance and her dress, which was that of a lady, she had something a little vulgar about her; but her eyes were immensely kind. Prince Sernine went up to her, took her head in his two hands and kissed her on both cheeks: "Well, old one, and how are you?" She stood dumfounded, wild-eyed, open-mouthed. The prince kissed her again, laughing. She spluttered: "You! It's you! O mother of God! . . . O mother of God! . . . Is it possible! . . . O mother of God! . . ." "My dear old Victoire!" "Don't call me that," she cried, shuddering. "Victoire is dead . . . your old servant no longer exists.[3] I belong entirely to Geneviève." And, lowering her voice, "O mother of God! . . . I saw your name in the papers: then it's true that you have taken to your wicked life again?" [Footnote 3: See _Arsène Lupin_, by Edgar Jepson and Maurice Leblanc, and _The Hollow Needle_, by Maurice Leblanc, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos.] "As you see." "And yet you swore to me that it was finished, that you were going away for good, that you wanted to become an honest man." "I tried. I have been trying for four years. . . . You can't say that I have got myself talked about during those four years!" "Well?" "Well, it bores me." She gave a sigh and asked: "Always the same. . . . You haven't changed. . . . Oh, it's settled, you never will change. . . . So you are in the Kesselbach case?" "Why, of course! But for that, would I have taken the trouble to arrange for an attack on Mrs. Kesselbach at six o'clock, so that I might have the opportunity of delivering her from the clutches of my own men at five minutes past? Looking upon me as her rescuer, she is obliged to receive me. I am now in the heart of the citadel and, while protecting the widow, can keep a lookout all round. Ah, you see, the sort of life which I lead does not permit me to lounge about and waste my time on little questions of politeness and such outside matters. I have to go straight to the point, violently, brutally, dramatically. . . ." She looked at him in dismay and gasped: "I see . . . I see . . . it's all lies about the attack. . . . But then . . . Geneviève . . ."