He craved some explanation, lie though it might be, which should permit him to retain some doubt. But with an air of surprise she answered: “What on earth does that matter to you?” “What? Of course it matters to me!” he cried. “One might really imagine that those revelations could have some effect on you,” she said looking at him with just a suspicion of mockery in her expression. “What on earth do you mean?” he said in astonished accents. “Goodness! It’s very simple. I mean to say that I could have understood your being shocked at the confirmation of the monstrous crimes of which Beaumagnan and the Baron d’Etigues so falsely and stupidly accused me; but there is no longer any question of them.” “But I haven’t forgotten their accusations either,” he said. “Their accusations against the woman whose name I gave them, against the Marquise de Belmonte. But it is not a question of crimes at all. What does all that chance revealed to you a little while ago really matter to you?” He was taken aback by this unexpected question. She looked him straight in the face, smiling, entirely at her ease, and went on a trifle ironically: “Doubtless the Vicomte Ralph d’Andresy has had his sensibilities ruffled? The Vicomte Ralph d’Andresy must evidently have moral principles, and the delicate sentiments of a gentleman.” “And supposing he has?” said he. “When I experienced that disillusionment----” “Steady on!” she said sharply. “You’ve let the cat out of the bag! You’re disappointed. You ran after a beautiful dream and it all vanished, now that the woman appears to you exactly as she is. Answer frankly since we are honestly trying to get things clear. You’re disappointed, aren’t you?” “Yes, I am,” he said dryly. They were silent. She gazed deep into his eyes and murmured: “I’m a thief, am I not? That’s what you mean, isn’t it? A thief?” “Yes.” She smiled and said: “And what about you?” And as he started back she caught him firmly by the arm, tried to shake him, and cried imperiously: “Yes, what about you, my young friend? What are _you_? The time has come for you to lay your cards on the table also. Who are you?” “My name is Ralph d’Andresy.” “Rubbish! Your name is Arsène Lupin. Your father Theophrastus Lupin, who combined the occupation of professor of boxing and gymnastics with the more lucrative profession of crook, was convicted and imprisoned in the United States, and died there. Your mother resumed her maiden name and lived as a poor relation at the house of a distant cousin, the Duke of Dreux-Soubise. One day the Duchess discovered that jewels of the greatest historical value, nothing less, in fact, than the famous necklace of Queen Marie Antoinette, had disappeared. In spite of the most exhaustive attempts to discover it no one ever knew who was the author of this theft, executed with a diabolical daring and cleverness. But I, I do know. It was you. You were six years old.” Ralph listened, pale with anger and grinding his teeth.