Then the door of the car opened at last; and suddenly through the crowd, till then so gay, ran a shudder of distress and terror. “Ah, ahs!” of amazement could be heard, while even the hostess’s cheek paled. A striking, an extraordinary figure it was that alighted from the mysterious equipage. The costume, to be sure, was recognized by one and all—but who, who had had the hardihood to don it? In the dazzling illumination shed by the lights scattered everywhere about the front of the mansion, the newcomer’s figure stood out with extraordinary clearness. It was that of a man, still young; he was clad from head to foot in a complete suit of closely fitting black tights; his shoulders were wrapped in a long cloak, also black, even his face was hidden beneath a black cowl that prevented so much as a guess at the colour of his hair. A dreadful costume! a tragic figure! an emblem of fear! The name of this mysterious masquer passed quickly from lip to lip, set every heart beating fast and furiously, sounded a grim refrain to every sentence spoken: “Fantômas!... it is Fantômas!” But while his arrival was causing so great a sensation, while the company, taken by surprise, showed itself afraid, almost, panic-stricken almost, the unknown himself was advancing to greet the Grand Duchess Alexandra. Bowing low before his hostess with the manner of a finished gentleman, in a grave, but agreeable voice: “I was told, Madame la Duchesse,” he said, “that Fantômas attended every festivity. No sooner had I landed in France than they swore to me he was afraid of nothing. That is why I did not think it needful to warn you of my coming to your fête. That is why I believed myself justified in visiting you under this ... disguise.” The Grand Duchess’s voice trembled a little as she questioned him: “But to whom have I the pleasure to be speaking?” The masquer replied: “To Fantômas, madam!” “To Fantômas, of course!... but besides?” Clearly it would have been discourteous to carry on the secret further. Indeed, the unknown had not failed to note the half concealed fear, the very real distress, his arrival had produced among the grand duchess’s guests. To prolong this constraint would not have been becoming; the “Fantômas” therefore answered: “Very good, madam, as it is your pleasure to unmask me, I cannot deny your wish, and I put off my cowl ...”—and he lifted the silken folds concealing his features. Next instant a tempest of applause, a tornado of acclamation, from all present, greeted the hero of the hour. It was indeed a fine piece of daring, a splendid stroke of defiance, something quite Parisian and cynical, this grim disguise adopted by the man who wore it. In the half minute he stood there unmasked, he had been recognized. The masquer who had put on the outward semblance of Fantômas was no other than Fantômas’ declared enemy, no other than Tom Bob!