"Go away ... go ..." In the presence of her confusion, he received a quick intuition of the deeper feelings that stirred her, unknown to herself. To that spinster soul, of which he recognized the romantic power of imagination, the unsatisfied yearnings, the poring over old-world books, he suddenly represented, in that exceptional moment and in consequence of the unconventional circumstances of their meetings, somebody special, a Byronic hero, a chivalrous brigand of romance. One evening, in spite of all obstacles, he, the world-famed adventurer, already ennobled in song and story and exalted by his own audacity, had come to her and slipped the magic ring upon her finger: a mystic and passionate betrothal, as in the days of the _Corsair_ and _Hernani_.... Greatly moved and touched, he was on the verge of giving way to an enthusiastic impulse and exclaiming: "Let us go away together!... Let us fly!... You are my bride ... my wife.... Share my dangers, my sorrows and my joys.... It will be a strange and vigorous, a proud and magnificent life...." But Angelique's eyes were raised to his again; and they were so pure and so noble that he blushed in his turn. This was not the woman to whom such words could be addressed. He whispered: "Forgive me.... I am a contemptible wretch.... I have wrecked your life...." "No," she replied, softly. "On the contrary, you have shown me where my real life lies." He was about to ask her to explain. But she had opened the door and was pointing the way to him. Nothing more could be spoken between them. He went out without a word, bowing very low as he passed. * * * * * A month later, Angelique de Sarzeau-Vendome, Princesse de Bourbon-Conde, lawful wife of Arsene Lupin, took the veil and, under the name of Sister Marie-Auguste, buried herself within the walls of the Visitation Convent. On the day of the ceremony, the mother superior of the convent received a heavy sealed envelope containing a letter with the following words: "For Sister Marie-Auguste's poor." Enclosed with the letter were five hundred bank-notes of a thousand francs each. IX THE INVISIBLE PRISONER One day, at about four o'clock, as evening was drawing in, Farmer Goussot, with his four sons, returned from a day's shooting. They were stalwart men, all five of them, long of limb, broad-chested, with faces tanned by sun and wind. And all five displayed, planted on an enormous neck and shoulders, the same small head with the low forehead, thin lips, beaked nose and hard and repellent cast of countenance. They were feared and disliked by all around them. They were a money-grubbing, crafty family; and their word was not to be trusted.