“What a fall!” said Guerchard, in a taunting voice. “To be expected, eagerly, at the Princess’s to-morrow evening, and to pass the evening in a police-station ... to have intended in a month’s time, as the Duke of Charmerace, to mount the steps of the Madeleine with all pomp and to fall down the father-in-law’s staircase this evening—this very evening”—his voice rose suddenly on a note of savage triumph—“with the handcuffs on! What? Is that a good enough revenge for Guerchard—for that poor old idiot, Guerchard? The rogues’ Brummel in a convict’s cap! The gentleman-burglar in a gaol! For Lupin it’s only a trifling annoyance, but for a duke it’s a disaster! Come, in your turn, be frank: don’t you find that amusing?” The Duke rose quietly, and said coldly, “Have you finished?” “DO you?” cried Guerchard; and he rose and faced him. “Oh, yes; I find it quite amusing,” said the Duke lightly. “And so do I,” cried Guerchard. “No; you’re frightened,” said the Duke calmly. “Frightened!” cried Guerchard, with a savage laugh. “Yes, you’re frightened,” said the Duke. “And don’t think, policeman, that because I’m familiar with you, I throw off a mask. I don’t wear one. I’ve none to throw off. I AM the Duke of Charmerace.” “You lie! You escaped from the Santé four years ago. You are Lupin! I recognize you now.” “Prove it,” said the Duke scornfully. “I will!” cried Guerchard. “You won’t. I AM the Duke of Charmerace.” Guerchard laughed wildly. “Don’t laugh. You know nothing—nothing, dear boy,” said the Duke tauntingly. “Dear boy?” cried Guerchard triumphantly, as if the word had been a confession. “What do I risk?” said the Duke, with scathing contempt. “Can you arrest me? ... You can arrest Lupin ... but arrest the Duke of Charmerace, an honourable gentleman, member of the Jockey Club, and of the Union, residing at his house, 34 B, University Street ... arrest the Duke of Charmerace, the fiance of Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin?” “Scoundrel!” cried Guerchard, pale with sudden, helpless fury. “Well, do it,” taunted the Duke. “Be an ass.... Make yourself the laughing-stock of Paris ... call your coppers in. Have you a proof—one single proof? Not one.” “Oh, I shall get them,” howled Guerchard, beside himself. “I think you may,” said the Duke coolly. “And you might be able to arrest me next week ... the day after to-morrow perhaps ... perhaps never ... but not to-night, that’s certain.” “Oh, if only somebody could hear you!” gasped Guerchard. “Now, don’t excite yourself,” said the Duke. “That won’t produce any proofs for you.... The fact is, M. Formery told you the truth when he said that, when it is a case of Lupin, you lose your head. Ah, that Formery—there is an intelligent man if you like.” “At all events, the coronet is safe ... to-night—”