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The Perfume of the Lady in Black


* G


The Perfume of
| The Lady in Black
By GASTON LEROUX
Auhor of “The Mystery of the Yellow Room"
NEw York
BRENTA NO'S
1900


ºvº ſº ! . . ºf
tº
º * , , t º Lºvii
M. : 13, 99
Copyright, 1909, by
BRENTANO'S


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I WHICH BEGINs where MOST ROMANCES
END - - - - - -
II IN which THERE is quEstion of THE
CHANGING HUMOR'S OF JOSEPH ROU-
LETABILLE - - - -
III THE PERFUME . - - - -
IV EN RouTE - - - - -
V PANIC - - - - - -
VI THE FoRT of HERCULES . - e
WII WHICH TELLs of some PRECAUTIONs
TAKEN BY JOSEPH ROULETABILLE TO
IDEFEND THE FORT OF HERCULES
AGAINST THE ATTACKS OF AN EN EMY
VIII WHICH contains so ME PAGES FROM THE
HISTORY OF JEAN-ROUSSEL-LARSAN
PAGE
24
31
45
60
83
103
BALLMEYER . - - - -
IX IN which old Bob UNExPECTEDLY AR-
RIVES - - - - -
X THE Events of THE ELEveRTH of APRIL
XI THE ATTACK of THE squart E ToweR -
XII THE IMPossIBLE Body - - -
XIII IN which THE FEARs of Rou LETABILLE
ASSU ME ALARMING PROPORTIONS -
XIV THE sack of PotATo Es . - -
XV THE sighs of THE NIGHT . - -
XVI THE Discoverty of Al's rBALIA .
136
157
206
217
QQQ
248
266
274


CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
XVII OLD Bob's TERRIBLE Adventur E . . 288
XVIII How DEATH STALKED ABRoad AT Noon-
DAY . - - - - - 297
XIX IN which Rou LETABILLE or DERs THE
IRON DOORS TO BE CLOSED - . 311
XX IN which Rou LETABILLE GIVES A coR-
POREAL DEMONSTRATION OF THE POS-
SIBILITY of THE “BoDY Too MANY” . 320
EPILoGUE - - - - - - . 357


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing Page
Roule' abille had hidden himself in the shadow of a
Pillar . . . . .
He stood erect, wrapped in the rags of a long
coat which hung about his legs, bareheaded
and barefooted - - -
Tº e Plan of the Fort of Hercules -
1 :-e Fort of Hercules . - -
It made us nervous and restless to look at each
other, seated around the table, mute, leaning
forward, wearing our black spectacles, be-
hind which it was as impossible to read our
eyes as our thoughts . - - -
The Plan of the inhabited floor of the Square
Tower . - - - - -
IIe fled from us and rushed further into the
night, shrieking aloud, “The perfume of the
Lady in Black! The perfume of the Lady
in Black " - - - -
His eyes seemed glued to his drawing. They
never moved from the paper .
Rouletabille examined the barrel of Darzac's re-
volver and then compared the weapon with
the other which he held
14
167
183
200
242


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing Page
It was Bernier . It was Bernier who lay there,
the death rattle in his throat and a stream
of blood flowing from his breast . - 302
Ah! That profile standing out darkly from the
depths of the embrasure, lighted up by the
red glow of the setting sun - - . 332
Rouletabille advanced toward him: “Larsan,” he
said, “Larsan, do you give yourself up?”
But Larsan did not reply - - - 352


The Perfume of the Lady
in Black
CHAPTER I
WHICH BEGINS WHERE MOST ROMANCES END
The marriage of M. Robert Darzac and Mlle. Ma-
thilde Stangerson took place in Paris, at the Church of
St. Nicolas du Chardonnet, on April 6th, 1895, every-
thing connected with the occasion being conducted in
the quietest fashion possible. A little more than two
years had rolled by since the events which I have re-
corded in a previous volume—events so sensational that
it is not speaking too strongly to say that an even
longer lapse of time would not have sufficed to blot out
the memory of the famous “Mystery of the Yellow
Room.”
There was no doubt in the minds of those concerned
that, if the arrangements for the wedding had not been
made almost secretly, the little church would have been
thronged and surrounded by a curious crowd, eager to
gaze upon the principal personages of the drama which
had aroused an interest almost world wide and the cir-
cumstances of which were still present in the minds of
the sensation-loving public. But in this isolated little
corner of the city, in this almost unknown parish, it was
easy enough to maintain the utmost privacy. Only a
few friends of M. Darzac and Professor Stangerson,


10 THE PERFUME OF
on whose discretion they felt assured that they might
rely, had been invited. I had the honor to be one of the
number.
I reached the church early, and, naturally, my first
thought was to look for Joseph Rouletabille. I was
somewhat surprised at not seeing him, but, having no
doubt that he would arrive shortly, I entered the pew
already occupied by M. Henri-Robert and M. Andre
Hesse, who, in the quiet shades of the little chapel, ex-
changed in undertones reminiscences of the strange af-
fair at Versailles, which the approaching ceremony
brought to their memories. I listened without paying
much attention to what they were saying, glancing from
time to time carelessly around me.
A dreary place enough is the Church of St. Nicolas
du Chardonnet. With its cracked walls, the lizards
running from every corner and dirt—not the beautiful
dust of ages, but the common, ill-smelling, germ-laden
dust of to-day—everywhere, this church, so dark and
forbidding on the outside, is equally dismal within. The
sky, which seems rather to be withdrawn from than
above the edifice, sheds a miserly light which seems to
find the greatest difficulty in penetrating through the
dusty panes of unstained glass. Have you read Renan’s
“Memories of Childhood and Youth?” Push open the
door of St. Nicolas du Chardonnet and you will under-
stand how the author of the “Life of Jesus” longed to
die, when as a lad he was a pupil in the little seminary
of the Abbe Duplanloup, close by, and could only leave
the school to come to pray in this church. And it was
in this funereal darkness, in a scene which seemed to
have been painted only for mourning and for all the
rites consecrated to sorrow, that the marriage of Robert


THE LADY IN BLACK 11
Darzac and Mathilde Stangerson was to be solemnized.
I could not cast aside the feeling of foreboding that
came over me in these dreary surroundings.
Beside me, M. Henri-Robert and M. Andre Hesse
continued to chat, and my wandering attention was ar-
rested by a remark made by the former:
“I never felt quite easy about Robert and Mathilde,”
he said—“not even after the happy termination of the
affair at Versailles—until I knew that the information
of the death of Frederic Larsan had been officially con-
firmed. That man was a pitiless enemy.”
It will be remembered, perhaps, by readers of “The
Mystery of the Yellow Room,” that a few months after
the acquittal of the Professor in Sorbonne, there oc-
curred the terrible catastrophe of La Dordogne,
a transatlantic steamer, running between Havre and
New York. In the broiling heat of a summer night,
upon the coast of the New World, La Dordogne had
caught fire from an overheated boiler. Before help
could reach her, the steamer was utterly destroyed.
Scarcely thirty passengers were able to leap into the
life boats, and these were picked up the next day by a
merchant vessel, which conveyed them to the nearest
port. For days thereafter, the ocean cast up on the
beach hundreds of corpses. And among these, they
found Larsan.
The papers which were found carefully hidden in the
clothing worn by the dead man, proved beyond a doubt
his identity. Mathilde Stangerson was at last delivered
from this monster of a husband to whom, through the
facility of the American laws, she had given her hand
in secret, in the unthinking ardour of girlish romance.
This wretch, whose real name, according to court rec-


12 THE PERFUME OF
ords, was Ballmeyer, and who had married her under
the name of Jean Roussel, could no longer rise like a
dark shadow between Mathilde and the man whom she
had loved so long and so well, without daring to become
his bride. In “The Mystery of the Yellow Room,” I
have related all the details of this remarkable affair,
one of the strangest which has ever been known in the
annals of the Court of Assizes, and which, without
doubt, would have had a most tragic denouement, had
it not been for the extraordinary part played by a boy
reporter, scarcely eighteen years old, Joseph Roulet-
abille, who was the only one to discover that Frederic
Larsan, the celebrated Secret Service agent, was none
other than Ballmeyer himself. The accidental—one
might almost say “providential”—death of this villain,
had seemed to assure a happy termination to the ex-
traordinary story, and it must be confessed that it was
undoubtedly one of the chief factors in the rapid recov-
cry of Mathilde Stangerson, whose reason had been
almost overturned by the mysterious horrors at the
Glandier.
“You see, my dear fellow,” said M. Henri-Robert to
M. Andre Hesse, whose eyes were roving restlessly about
the church, “you see, in this world, one can always find
the bright side. See how beautifully everything has
turned out—even the troubles of Mlle. Stangerson. But
why are you constantly looking around you? What
are you looking for? Do you expect anyone?”
“Yes,” replied M. Hesse. “I expect Frederic Larsan.”
M. Henri-Robert laughed—a decorous little laugh,
in deference to the sanctity of the surroundings. But I
felt no inclination to join in his mirth. I was an hun-
dred leagues from foreseeing the terrible experience


THE LADY IN BLACK 13
which was even then approaching us; but when I recall
that moment and seek to blot out of my mind all that
has happened since—all those events which I intend to
relate in the course of this narrative, letting the cir-
cumstances come before the reader as they came be-
fore us during their development—I recollect once more
the curious unrest which thrilled me at the mention of
Larsan’s name.
“What's the matter, Sainclair?” whispered M. Henri-
Robert, who must have noticed something odd in my
expression. “You know that Hesse was only joking.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” I answered. And
I looked attentively around me, as M. Andre Hesse had
done. And, indeed, we had believed Larsan dead so
often when he was known as Ballmeyer, that it seemed
quite possible that he might be once more brought to
life in the guise of Larsan.
“Here comes Rouletabille,” remarked M. Henri-Rob-
ert. “I’ll wager that he isn’t worrying about any-
thing.”
“But how pale he is ſ” exclaimed M. Andre Hesse in
an undertone.
The young reporter joined us and pressed our hands
in an absent-minded manner.
“Good morning, Sainclair. Good morning, gentle-
men. I am not late, I hope?”
It seemed to me that his voice trembled. He left our
pew immediately and withdrew to a dark corner, where
I beheld him kneel down like a child. He hid his face,
which was indeed very pale, in his hands, and prayed. I
had never guessed that Rouletabille was of a religious
turn of mind, and his fervent devotion astonished me.
When he raised his head, his eyes were filled with tears.


14 THE PERFUME OF
He did not even try to hide them. He paid no attention
to anything or anyone around him. He was lost com-
pletely in his prayers, and, one might imagine, in his
grief. -
But what could be the occasion of his sorrow? Was
he not happy at the prospect of the union so ardently
desired by everyone? Had not the good fortune of
Mathilde Stangerson and Robert Darzac been in a
great measure brought about by his efforts? After
all, it was perhaps from joy, that the lad wept. He
rose from his knees, and was hidden behind a pillar. I
made no endeavor to join him, for I could see that he
was anxious to be alone.
And the next moment, Mathilde Stangerson made her
entrance into the church upon the arm of her father,
Robert Darzac walking behind them. Ah, the drama
of the Glandier had been a sorrowful one for these
three' But, strange as it may seem, Mathilde Stanger-
son appeared only the more beautiful, for all that she
had passed through. True, she was no longer the
beautiful statue, the living marble, the ancient goddess,
the cold Pagan divinity, who, at the official functions
at which her father’s position had forced her to appear,
had excited a flutter of admiration whenever she was
seen. It seemed, on the contrary, that fate, in making
her expiate for so many long years an imprudence com-
mitted in early youth, had cast her into the depths of
madness and despair, only to tear away the mask of
stone, which hid from sight the tender, delicate spirit.
And it was this spirit which shone forth on her wedding
day, in the sweetest and most charming smile, playing
on her curved lips, hiding in her eyes, filled with pensive
happiness, and leaving its impress on her forehead,


Rouletabille had hidden himself in the shadow of a |iliar.





THE LADY IN BLACK 15
polished like ivory, where one might read the love of all
that was beautiful and all that was good.
As to her gown, I must acknowledge that I remember
nothing at all about it, and am unable even to say of
what color it was. But what I do remember, is the
strange expression which came over her visage when she
looked through the rows of faces in the pews without
secming to discover the one she sought. In a moment
she had regained her composure, and was mistress of
herself once more. She had seen Rouletabille behind
his pillar. She smiled at him and my companions and
I smiled in our turn.
“She has the eyes of a mad woman ſ”
I turned around quickly to see who had uttered the
heartless words. It was a poor fellow whom Robert
Darzac, out of the kindness of his heart, had made his
assistant in the laboratory at the Sorbonne. The man
was named Brignolles, and was a distant cousin of the
bridegroom. We knew of no other relative of M. Dar-
zac whose family came originally from the Midi. Long
ago he had lost both father and mother; he had neither
brother nor sister, and seemed to have broken off all
intercourse with his native province, from which he had
brought an eager desire for success, an exceptional
ability to work, a strong intellect, and a natural need
for affection, which had satisfied itself in his relations
with Professor Stangerson and his daughter. He had
also as a legacy from Provence, his native place, a soft
voice and slight accent, which had often brought a smile
to the lips of his pupils at the Sorbonne, who, neverthe-
less, loved it as they might have loved a strain of music,
which made the necessary dryness of their studies a little
less arid.


16 THE PERFUME OF
One beautiful morning, in the preceding spring, and
consequently a year after the occurrences in the yellow
room, Robert Darzac had presented Brignolles to his
pupils. The new assistant had come direct from Aix,
where he had been a tutor in the natural sciences, and
where he had committed some fault of discipline which
had caused his dismissal. But he had remembered that
he was related to M. Darzac, the famous chemist, had
taken the train to Paris, and had told such a piteous
tale to the fiancé of Mlle. Stangerson, that Darzac, out
of pity, had found means to associate his cousin with
him in his work. At that time, the health of Robert
Darzac had been far from flourishing. He was suffer-
ing from the reaction following the strong emotions
which had nearly weighed him down at the Glandier and
at the Court of Assizes; but one might have thought
that the recovery, now assured, of Mathilde, and the
prospect of their marriage would have had a happy
influence both upon the mental and physical condition
of the professor. We, however, remarked on the con-
trary, that from the day that Brignolles came to him
—Brignolles, whose friendship should have been a
precious solace, the weakness of M. Darzac seemed to
increase. However, we were obliged to acknowledge
that Brignolles was not to blame for that, for two
unfortunate and unforeseen accidents had occurred in
the course of some experiments, which would have
seemed, on the face of them, not at all dangerous. The
first resulted from the unexpected explosion of a Ges-
sler tube, which might have severely injured M. Darzac,
but which only injured Brignolles, whose hands were
badly scarred. The second, which might have been
extremely grave, happened through the explosion of a


THE LADY IN BLACK 17
tiny lamp against which M. Darzac was leaning. Hap-
pily, he was not hurt, but his eyebrows were scorched,
and for some time after his sight was slightly impaired,
and he was unable to stand much sunlight.
Since the Glandier mysteries, I had been in such a
state of mind that I often found myself attaching im-
portance to the most simple happenings. At the time
of the second accident I was present, having come to
seek M. Darzac at the Sorbonne. I myself led our
friend to a druggist and then to a doctor, and I
(rather dryly, I own) begged Brignolles, when he
wished to accompany us, to remain at his post. On the
way, M. Darzac asked why I had wounded the poor
fellow’s feelings. I told him that I did not care for
Brignolles’ society, for the abstract reason that I did
not like his manners, and for the concrete reason, on
this special occasion, that I believed him to be responsi-
ble for the accident. M. Darzac demanded why I
thought so, and I did not know how to answer, and he
began to laugh—a laugh that was quickly silenced,
however, when the doctor told him that he might easily
have been made entirely blind, and that he might con-
sider himself very lucky in having gotten off so well.
My suspicions of Brignolles were, doubtless, ridicu-
lous, and no more accidents happened. All the same, I
was so strongly prejudiced against the young man
that, at the bottom of my heart, I blamed him for the
slow improvement in M. Darzac's physical condition.
At the beginning of the winter Darzac had such a bad
cough that I entreated him to ask for leave of absence
and to take a trip to the Midi–a prayer in which all
his friends joined. The physicians advised San Remo.
He went thither, and a week later he wrote us that he


THE LADY IN BLACK 19
away on a long honeymoon trip far from Paris—and
from Brignolles.
Upon his return from San Remo, M. Darzac had
asked me:
“Well, how are you getting on with poor Brignolles?
Have you decided that you were wrong about him?”
“Indeed, I have not,” was my response.
And Darzac turned away, laughing at me, and utter-
ing one of the Provencal jests which he affected when
circumstances allowed him to be gay, and which found
on his lips a new freshness since his visit to the Midi had
accustomed him again to the accents of his chilhood.
We knew that he was happy. But we had formed no
real idea of how happy he was—for between the time
of his return and the wedding day we had had few
chances to see him—until we beheld him walking up the
aisle of the church, his face fairly transformed. His
slight erect figure bore itself as proudly as though he
were an Emperor. Happiness had made him another
being.
“Anyone could guess that he was a bridegroom."
tittered Brignolles.
I left the neighborhood of the man who was so re-
pulsive to me, and stepped behind poor M. Stangerson,
who stood through the entire ceremony with his arms
crossed on his breast, seeing nothing and hearing noth-
ing. I was obliged to touch him on the shoulder when
all was over to arouse him from his dream.
As they passed into the sacristy, M. Andre Hesse
heaved a deep sigh.
“I can breathe again,” he murmured.
“Why couldn't you breathe before, my friend?” asked
M. Henri-Robert.


20 THE PERFUME OF
And M. Andre Hesse confessed that he had feared up
to the last moment that the dead man would reappear.
“I can’t help it,” was the only response he would
make when his friend rallied him. “I cannot bring my-
self to the idea that Frederic Larsan will stay dead for
good.”
And now we all—a dozen or so persons—were gath-
ered in the sacristy. The witnesses signed the register,
and the rest of us congratulated the newly wedded pair.
The sacristy was yet more dismal than the church, and
I might have thought that it was on account of the
darkness that I could not perceive Joseph Rouletabille,
if the room had not been so small. But, assuredly, he
was not there. Mathilde had already asked for him
twice, and M. Darzac requested me to go and look for
him. I did so, but returned to the vestry without him.
He had disappeared from the church.
“How strange it is " exclaimed M. Darzac. “I can’t
understand it. Are you sure that you looked every-
where? He may be in some corner dreaming.”
“I looked everywhere, and I called his name,” I told
him.
But M. Darzac was still not satisfied. He wanted to
look through the church for himself. His search was
better rewarded than mine, for he learned from a beg-
gar, who was sitting in the porch with a tambourine,
that Rouletabille had left the church a few minutes
before and had been driven away in a hack. When the
bridegroom brought this news to his wife, she appeared
to be both pained and anxious. She called me to her
side and said:
“My dear M. Sainclair, you know that we are to take
the train in two hours. Will you hunt up our little


THE LADY IN BLACK 21
friend and bring him to me, and tell him that his strange
behaviour is grieving me very much?”
“Count upon me,” I said.
And I began a wild goose chase after Rouletabille.
But I appeared at the station without him. Neither
at his home, nor at the office of his paper, nor at the
Cafe du Barreau, where the necessities of his work often
called him at this hour of the day, could I lay my hand
on him. None of his comrades could tell me where I
might chance to find him. I leave you to think how un-
willingly I turned my steps in the direction of the rail-
road station. M. Darzac was greatly disturbed, but as
he had to look after the comfort of his fellow travellers
(for Professor Stangerson, who was on his way to
Mentone, was to accompany his daughter and her hus-
band to Dijon, changing cars there, while the Darzacs
continued their trip to Culoz and Mt. Cenis), he asked
me to break the bad news to his bride. I performed
the commission, adding that Rouletabille would, without
doubt, present himself before the train started. At
these words, Mathilde began to cry softly, and shook
her head:
“No–no!” she whispered. “It is all over. He will
never come again.”
And she stepped into the railway carriage.
It was at this point that the insufferable Brignolles,
seeing the emotion of the newly-made bride, whispered
again to M. Andre Hesse, “Look! Look! Hasn’t she
the eyes of a maniac * Ah, Robert has done wrong. It
would have been better for him to wait.” M. Hesse
gave him a disdainful glance, and bade him be silent.
I can still see Brignolles as he spoke those words, and
can recall as vividly as though it were yesterday the


22 THE PERFUME OF
feeling of horror with which he inspired me. There
was no longer any doubt in my mind that he was an
evil and a jealous man, and that he would never forgive
his relative for having placed him in a position which
might be considered subordinate. He had a yellow face
and long features that looked as if they had been drawn
down from forehead to chin. Everything about him
seemed to diffuse bitterness and everything about
him was long. He had a long figure, long arms, long
legs and a long head. However, to this general rule of
length, there were exceptions—the feet and the hands.
He had extremities small and almost beautiful.
After having been so rudely silenced for his malicious
words by the young lawyer, Brignolles immediately
took offense and left the station, after having paid his
respects to the bride and bridegroom. At least, I be-
lieve that he left the station, for I did not see him again.
There was three minutes yet before the departure of
the train. We still hoped that Rouletabille would ap-
pear, and we looked across the quay, thinking once or
twice that we saw the form of our young friend ap-
proaching, among the hurrying throng of travellers.
How could it be that he would not advance, as we were
so used to seeing him, in his quick, boyish fashion, rush-
ing through the crowd, paying no heed to the cries and
protestations that his method of pushing his way
usually evoked while he seemed to be hurrying faster
than any one else? What could he be doing that
detained him?
Already the doors were closed. The bell on the engine
began to sound its first slow strokes, and the calls of
hack drivers began to arise: “Carriage, Monsieur?
Carriage?” And then the quick last word which gave


THE LADY IN BLACK 23
the signal for the departure. But no Rouletabille. We
were all so grieved, and, moreover, so surprised, that we
remained on the platform, looking at Mme. Darzac,
without thinking to wish her a pleasant journey. Pro-
fessor Stangerson’s daughter cast a long glance upon
the quay, and, at the moment that the speed of the
train began to accelerate, certain now that she was not
to see her “little friend” again, she threw me an en-
velope from the car window.
“For him,” she said.
And almost as though moved by an irresistible im-
pulse, her face wearing an expression of something that
resembled terror, she added in a tone so strange that I
could not help recalling the horrible speeches of Brig-
nolles:
“Au revoir, my friends—or adieu.”


CHAPTER II
IN WIHICH THERE IS QUESTION OF THE CHANGING HUMORS
OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLE
In returning alone from the station I could not help
feeling some surprise at the singular sensation of sad-
ness which oppressed me, and of the cause of which I
had not the least idea. Since the affair at Versailles,
with the details of which my existence had become so
strangely intermingled, I had enjoyed the closest in-
timacy with Professor Stangerson, his daughter, and
Robert Darzac. I ought to have been completely happy
on the day of this wedding, which seemed in every way
so satisfactory. I wondered whether the unexplained
absence of the young reporter did not account in some
measure for my strange depression. Rouletabille had
been treated by the Stangersons and by M. Darzac as
their deliverer. And especially since Mathilde had left
the sanitarium, in which, for several months, her shat-
tered nervous system had needed and received the most
assiduous care—since the daughter of the famous pro-
fessor had been able to understand the extraordinary
part which the boy had played in the drama that, with-
out his help, would inevitably have ended in the bitter-
est grief for all those whom she loved—since she had
read by the light of her restored reason the short-hand
reports of the trial, at which Rouletabille appeared at
the last moment like some hero of a miracle—she
had surrounded the youngster with an affection little


THE LADY IN BLACK 25
less than maternal. She interested herself in everything
which concerned him; she begged for his confidence:
she wanted to know more about him than I knew, and,
perhaps, more even than he knew himself. She had
shown an unobtrusive but strong curiosity in regard
to the mystery of his birth, of which all of us were
ignorant, and on which the young man had kept silence
with a sort of savage pride. Although he fully realized
the tender friendship which the poor soul felt for him,
Rouletabille maintained his reserve and in his dealings
with her affected a formal politeness which astonished
me, coming from the boy whom I had known so exuber-
ant, so whole-hearted, so strong in his likes and dis-
likes. More than once I had mentioned the matter to
him, and he had answered me in an evasive manner, lay-
ing great stress, however, upon his sentiments of devo-
tion for “a lady whom he esteemed beyond anyone in
the world, and for whom he would have been ready to
sacrifice his all, if fate or fortune had given him any-
thing to sacrifice for anyone.” He would take strange
whims at such times. For instance, after having made,
in my presence, a promise to take a holiday and remain
all day with the Stangersons, who had rented for the
summer (for they did not wish to live at the Glandier
again) a pretty little place at Chennevieres, on the
borders of the Marne, and after having shown an almost
childish joy at the prospect, he suddenly and without
any reason refused to accompany me. And I was
obliged to set out alone, leaving him in his little room,
in the corner of the Boulevard St. Michel and the Rue
Monsieur-le-Prince. I wished as I departed that he
might experience as much pain as I knew that he would
cause Mlle. Stangerson. One Sunday, she, vexed at


26 THE PERFU M E OF
the lad's behavior, made up her mind to go with me
to his den in the Latin Quarter, and surprise him.
When we reached his lodgings, Rouletabille, who had
answered our knock with an energetic “Come in,” sat
working at a little table. He arose as we entered, and
turned so pale that we believed that he was about to
fall in a faint.
“Good heavens !” cried Mlle. Stangerson, hastening
toward him. But he was quicker than she, and before
she reached the table on which he leaned, he had thrown
a cover over the papers which were spread over the
surface, hiding them entirely.
Mathilde had, of course, noticed the action. She
paused in amazement.
“We are disturbing you,” she said.
“Oh, not at all,” replied Rouletabille. “I have fin-
ished my work. I will show it to you sometime. It is
a masterpiece—a piece in five acts, for which I am not
able to find the denouement.”
And he smiled. Soon he was again entirely master
of himself, and made us a hundred droll speeches, thank-
ing us for having come to cheer him in his solitude. He
insisted on inviting us to dinner, and we three ate our
evening meal in a Latin Quarter restaurant—Foyot's.
It was a happy evening. Rouletabille telephoned for
Robert Darzac, who joined us at dessert. At this time
M. Darzac was not ill, and the amazing Brignolles had
not yet made his appearance in Paris. We played like
children. That summer night was so beautiful in the
solitude of the Luxembourg'
Before bidding adieu to Mlle. Stangerson, Roulet-
abille begged her pardon for the strange humor which
he evinced at times, and accused himself of being at bot-


THE LADY IN BLACK 97
tom a very disagreeable person. Mathilde kissed him
and Robert Darzac put his arm affectionately around
the lad’s shoulders. And Rouletabille was so moved
that he never uttered a word while I walked with him to
his door; but at the moment of our parting, he pressed
my hand more tenderly than he had ever done before.
Poor little fellow ! Ah, if I had known How I re-
proach myself in the light of the present for having
judged him with too little patience!
Thus, sad at heart, assailed by premonitions which I
tried in vain to drive away, I returned from the railway
station at Lyons, pondering over the numerous fanta-
sies, the strange caprices of Rouletabille during the last
two years. But nothing that entered my mind could
have warned me of what had happened, or still less have
explained it to me. Where was Rouletabille? I went
to his rooms in the Boulevard St. Michel, telling my-
self that if I did not find him there, I could, at least,
leave Mme. Darzac's letter. What was my astonish-
ment when I entered the building to see my own servant
carrying my bag. I asked him to tell me what he was
doing and why, and he replied that he did not know—
that I must ask M. Rouletabille.
The boy had been, as it turned out, while I had been
seeking him everywhere (except, naturally, in my own
house), in my apartments in the Rue de Rivoli. He
had ordered my servant to take him to my rooms, and
had made the man fill a valise with everything necessary
for a trip of three or four days. Then he had directed
the man to bring the bag in about an hour to the hotel
in the “Boul” Mich.”
I made one bound up the stairs to my friend's bed
chamber, where I found him packing in a tiny hand


28 THE PERFUME OF
satchel an assortment of toilet articles, a change of
linen and a night shirt. Until this task was ended, I
could obtain no satisfaction from Rouletabille, for in
regard to the little affairs of everyday life, he was
extremely particular, and, despite the modesty of his
means, succeeded in living very well, having a horror
of everything which could be called bohemian. He
finally deigned to announce to me that “we were going
to take our Easter vacation,” and that, since I had
nothing to do, and the Epoch had granted him a three
days’ holiday, we couldn’t do better than to go and
take a short rest at the seaside. I made no reply, so
angry was I at this high-handed method, and all the
more because I had not the least desire to contemplate
the beauties of the ocean upon one of the abominable
days of early spring, which for two or three weeks every
year makes us regret the winter. But my silence did
not disturb Rouletabille in the least, and taking my
valise in one hand, his satchel in the other, he hustled
me down the stairs and pushed me into a hack which
awaited us before the door of the hotel. Half an hour
later, we found ourselves in a first-class carriage of the
Northern Railway, which was carrying us toward Tre-
pot by way of Amiens. As we entered the station, he
said:
“Why don’t you give me the letter that you have for
me?”
I gazed at him in amazement. He had guessed that
Mme. Darzac would be greatly grieved at not seeing
him before her departure, and would write to him. He
had been positively malicious. I answered:
“Because you don’t deserve it.”
And I gave him a good scolding, to which he inter-
posed no defense. He did not even try to excuse him-


THE LADY IN BLACK 29
self, and that made me angrier than ever. Finally, I
handed him the letter. He took it, looked at it and in-
haled its fragrance. As I sat looking at him curiously,
he frowned, trying, as I could see, to repress some
strong feeling. But he could no longer hide it from
me when he turned toward the window, his forehead
against the glass, and became absorbed in a deep study
of the landscape. His face betrayed the fact that he
was suffering profoundly.
“Well?” I said. “Aren't you going to read the let-
ter?”
“No,” he replied. “Not here. When we are yonder.”
We arrived at Trepot in the blackest night that I
remember, after six hours of an interminable trip and
in wretched weather. The wind from the sea chilled us
to the bone and swept over the deserted quay with
weird sounds of lamentation. We met only a watch-
man, wrapped in his cloak and hood, who paced the
banks of the canal. Not a cab, of course. A few gas
jets, trembling in their glass globes, reflected their light
in the mud puddles formed by the falling rain. We
heard in the distance the clicking noise of the little
wooden shoes of some Trepot woman who was out late.
That we did not fall into a huge watering trough was
due to the fact that we were warned by the hoofs of a
stray horse, which passed that way to drink. I walked
behind Rouletabille, who made his way with difficulty
in this damp obscurity. However, he appeared to know
the place, for we finally arrived at the door of a queer
little inn, which remained open during the early spring
for the fishermen. Rouletabille demanded supper and
a fire, for we were half starved and half frozen.
“Ah, now, my friend,” I said, when we were settled
after a fashion. “Will you condescend to explain to


CHAPTER III
THE PERFU M E
“Well!” I cried, leaping out of bed. “It doesn’t
surprise me!”
“You never believed that he was dead?” demanded
Rouletabille, in a tone filled with an emotion that I
could not explain to myself, for it seemed greater even
than was warranted by the situation, admitting that the
terms of M. Darzac's telegram were to be taken liter-
ally.
“I never felt quite sure of it,” I answered. “It was
too useful for him to pass for dead to permit him to
hesitate at the sacrifice of a few papers, however im-
portant those were which were found upon the victim
of the Dordogne disaster. But what is the matter with
you, my boy? You look as though you were going to
faint. Are you ill?” /
Rouletabille had let himself sink into a chair. It was
in a voice which trembled like that of an old man that
he confided to me that, even while the marriage ceremony
of our friends was going on, he had become possessed
with a strong conviction that Larsan was not dead.
But after the ceremony was at an end, he had felt more
secure. It seemed to him that Larsan would never have
permitted Mathilde Stangerson to speak the vows that
gave her to Robert Darzac if he were really alive.
Larsan would only have had to show his face to stop
the marriage; and, however dangerous to himself such


32 THE PERFUME OF
an act might have been, he would not, the young re-
porter believed, have hesitated to deliver himself up to
the danger, knowing as he did the strong religious con-
victions of Professor Stangerson's daughter, and know-
ing, too, that she would never have consented to enter
into an alliance with another man while her first husband
was alive, even had she been freed from the latter by
human laws. In vain had everyone who loved her at-
tempted to persuade her that her first marriage was
void, according to French statute. She persisted in de-
claring that the words pronounced by the priest had
made her the wife of the miserable wretch who had
victimized her, and that she must remain his wife so
long as they both should live.
Wiping the perspiration from his forehead, Roulet-
abille remarked: -
“Sainclair, can you ever forget Larsan's eyes? Do
you remember, “The Presbytery has not lost its charm
or the garden its brightness?’”
I pressed the boy’s hand; it was burning hot. I tried
to calm him, but he paid no attention to anything I
said.
“And it was after the wedding—just a few hours
after the wedding, that he chose to appear !” he cried.
“There isn’t anything else to think, is there, Sainclair?
You took M. Darzac's wire just as I did? It could
mean nothing else except that that man has come
back?”
“I should think not—but M. Darzac may be mis-
taken.”
“Oh, M. Darzac is not a child to be frightened at
bogies. But we must hope—we must hope, mustn't we,
Sainclair, that he is mistaken? Oh, it isn't possible


THE LADY IN BLACK 33
that such a fearful thing can be true. Oh, Sainclair,
it would be too terrible!”
I had never seen Rouletabille so deeply agitated, even
at the time of the most terrible events at the Glandier.
He arose from his chair and walked up and down the
room, casting aside any object which came in his way
and repeating over and over: “No, no! It’s too terri-
ble—too terrible!”
I told him that it was not sensible to put himself in
such a state merely upon the receipt of a telegram
which might mean nothing at all, or might be the result
of some delusion. And there, too, I added, that it was
not at this time, when we needed all our strength and
fortitude, that we ought to give way to imaginary
fears which were particularly inexcusable in a lad of
his practical temperament.
“Inexcusable! I am glad you think so, Sainclair.”
“But, my dear boy, you frighten me. What is there
you know that you have not told me?”
“I am going to tell you. The situation is horrible.
Why didn’t that villain die?”
“And, after all, how do you know that he is not
dead?”
“Look here, Sainclair—Don’t talk—Be quiet,
please—You see, if he is alive, I wish to God that I
were dead ſ”
“You are crazy. It is if he is alive that you have
all the more reason to live to defend that poor woman.”
“Ah, that is true! That is true! Thanks, old fel-
low ! You have said the only thing that makes me want
to live. To defend her I will not think of myself any
longer—never again.”
And Rouletabille smiled—a smile which almost


34 THE PERFUME OF
frightened me. I threw my arm around him and begged
him to tell me why he was so terrified, why he spoke of
his own death and why he smiled so strangely.
Rouletabille laid his hand on my shoulder, and I
went on :
“Tell your friend what it is, Rouletabille. Speak
out. Relieve your mind. Tell me the secret that is
killing you. I would tell you anything.”
Rouletabille looked down and steadily into my eyes.
Then he said:
“You shall know all, Sainclair. You shall know as
much as I do, and when you do, you will be as un-
happy as I am, for you are kind and you are fond
of me.”
Then he straightened back his shoulders as though
he had already cast off a burden and pointed in the
direction of the railway.
“We shall leave here in an hour,” he said. “There is
no direct train from Eu to Paris in the winter: we shall
not reach Paris until 7 o'clock. But that will give us
plenty of time to pack our trunks and take the train
that leaves the Lyons station at nine o'clock for Mar-
scilles and Mentone.”
He did not ask my opinion on the course which he
had laid out. He was taking me to Mentone, just as he
had brought me to Trepot. He was well aware that
in the present crisis I could refuse him nothing. Be-
sides, he was in such a state of mental strain that even
if he had wished it, I should scarcely have left him. And
it was not hard for me to accompany him, for we were
just beginning our long vacations, and my affairs were
so arranged that I felt entirely at liberty.
“Then we are going to Eur’” I inquired.


THE LADY IN BLACK 35
“Yes: we will take the train from there. It will
scarcely take half an hour to drive over.”
“We shall have spent only a little time in this part
of the country,” I remarked.
“Enough, I hope—enough for me to find what I am
looking for.”
I thought of the perfume of the Lady in Black, but I
kept silence. Had he not said that he was going to tell
me everything? He led me out to the jetty. The wind
was still blowing a gale, and we were almost taken off
our feet. Rouletabille stood for an instant as if lost
in thought, closing his eyes as if in a dream.
“It was here,” he said, “that I last saw her.”
He looked down at the stone bench beside which we
were standing.
“We were sitting there. She held me to her heart.
I was a very little fellow, even for nine years old. She
told me to stay there—on this bench—and then she
went away, and I never saw her again. It was night—
a soft summer evening—the evening of the distribution
of prizes. She had not assisted at the distribution, but
I knew that she would come that night—that night full
of stars and so clear that I hoped every moment that I
would be able to distinguish her face. But she covered
it with her veil and breathed a heavy sigh. And then
she went away. And I have never seen her since.”
“And you, my friend?”
“I?”
“Yes, what happened to you? Did you sit on the
bench for very long?”
“I would have—but the coachman came to look for
me and I went in,”
“Where?”


36 THE PERFUME OF
“Into the school.”
“Is there a boarding school at Trepot?”
“No, but there is one at Eu–I went to the school
at Eu.”
He motioned me to follow him.
“We will go there,” he said. “I can’t talk here.
There is too much of a storm.”
# # # # # # # #
In another half hour we were at Eu. At the foot of
the Rue des Marroniers our carriage rolled over the
pavements of the big, cold, empty place, as the coach-
man announced his arrival by cracking his whip,
filling the dead town with the noise of the snapping
leather.
Soon we heard the sound of a bell—that of the school,
Rouletabille told me—and then everything was quiet
again. We alighted and the horse and carriage stood
motionless upon the street. The driver had gone into
a saloon. We entered the cool shades of a high Gothic
church which faced upon the square. Rouletabille cast
a glance at the castle—a red brick structure, crowned
with an immense Louis XIII roof–a mournful facade
which seemed to weep over the glory of departed princes.
The young reporter gazed sorrowfully at the square
battlements of the City Hall, which extended toward us
the hostile lance of its soiled and weather-beaten flag:
at the Cafe de Paris; at the silent houses; at the shops
and the library. Was it there that the boy had bought
those first new books for which the Lady in Black had
paid?
“Nothing has changed.”
An old dog, colorless and shaggy, upon the library


THE LADY IN BLACK 37
steps, stretched himself lazily on his frozen paws.
“Cham! Cham!” called Rouletabille. “Oh, I remem-
ber him well. It is Cham—it is my old Cham.”
And he called him again, “Cham! Cham!”
The dog got upon his feet, turned toward us, listen-
ing to the voice that called him. He took a few steps,
wagged his tail, and stretched himself out in the sun
again.”
“He doesn’t remember me,” said Rouletabille sadly.
He drew me into a little street which had a steep
down grade, and was paved with sharp pebbles. As
we went down the hill he took my hand and I could feel
the fever in his. We stopped again in front of a tiny
temple of the Jesuit style, which raised in front of us
its porch, ornamented with semicircles of stone, the
“reversed consoles” which are the characteristic features
of an architecture which contributed nothing to the
glory of the Seventeenth Century. After having pushed
open a little low door, Rouletabille bade me enter, and
we found ourselves inside a beautiful mortuary chapel,
upon the stone floor of which were kneeling, beside their
empty tombs, magnificent marble statues of Catherine
of Cleves and Guise le Balafre.
“The college chapel,” whispered Rouletabille.
There was no person in the chapel. We crossed the
room hastily. On the left wall, Rouletabille tapped
very gently a kind of drum, which gave out a queer,
muffled sound.
“We are in luck!” he said. “Everything is going
well. We are inside the college and the concierge
has not seen me. He would surely have remembered
ine.
“What harm would that have done?”


38 THE PERFUME OF
Just at that moment a man with bare head and a
bunch of keys at his side passed through the room and
Rouletabille drew me into the shadow.
“It is Pere Simon. Ah, how old he has grown He
is almost bald. Listen: this is the hour when he goes
to superintend the study hour of the younger boys.
Everyone is in the class room at this time. Oh, we are
very lucky There is only Mere Simon in the lodge–
that is, if she is not dead. At any rate, she can’t see
us from here. But wait—here is Pere Simon back
again!”
Why was Rouletabille so anxious to hide himself?
Decidedly, I knew very little of the lad whom I believed
that I knew so well. Every hour that I had spent with
him of late had brought me some new surprise. While
we were waiting for Pere Simon to leave us a clear field
once more, Rouletabille and I managed to slip out of
the chapel without being seen, and hid ourselves in the
corner of a tiny garden, laid out in the middle of a
stone court, behind the shrubbery of which we could,
leaning over, contemplate at our leisure the grounds
and buildings of the school. Rouletabille hung on to
my arm as though he were afraid of falling. “Good
Heavens !” he murmured, in a voice broken with emotion.
“How things are changed ' They have torn down the
old study where I found the knife and the leather hang-
ings where the money was hidden have, doubtless, been
destroyed. But the chapel walls are just the same.
Look, Sainclair: lean over the hedge. That door that
opens in the rear of the chapel is the door of the infant
class room. But never, never did I leave that class
room so gladly, even in my happiest play hours, as when
Pere Simon came to fetch me to the parlor where the


THE LADY IN BLACK 39
Lady in Black was waiting for me. Ah—suppose that
they have destroyed the parlor!”
And he cast a quick look toward the building behind
him.
“No-no: it is all right—beside the mortuary. There
is the same door at the right through which she came.
We shall go there as soon as Pere Simon is out of the
way.”
And he set his teeth.
“I believe that I am going crazy!” he said with a
short laugh. “But I can’t help my feelings. They are
stronger than I. To think that I am going to see the
parlor—where she waited for me! I had been living
only in the hope of seeing her, and after she had gone,
although I had promised to be good and sensible, I fell
into such a despondent state that after each of her
visits, they feared for my health. They were only able
to save me from utter prostration by telling me that if
I fell ill they would not let me see her any more. So
from one visit to another, I had her memory and her
perfume to comfort me. Never having seen her dear
face distinctly, and being so weak that I was ready to
swoon with joy every time she pressed me to her heart,
I lived less with her image than with the heavenly odor.
Often on the days after she had come and gone, I would
escape from my comrades during the recreation hours
and steal to the parlor, and when I found it empty, I
would draw deep breaths of the air which she had
breathed and remain there like a little devotee, and
leave with a heart filled with the sense of her presence.
The perfume which she always used and which was in-
dissolubly associated in my mind with her, was the most
delicate, the most subtle, and the sweetest odor I have


40 THE PERFUME OF
ever known, and I never breathed it again in all the
years which followed until the day I spoke of it to you,
Sainclair. You remember—the day we first went to the
Glandier?”
“You mean the day that you met Mathilde Stanger-
son º’”
“That is what I mean,” responded the lad in a trem-
bling voice.
(Ah, if I had known at that moment that Professor
Stangerson's daughter, as the result of her first mar-
riage in America, had had a child, a son, who would
have been, if he had lived, the same age as Rouletabille,
perhaps I would have at last comprehended his emotion
and grief, and the strange reluctance which he showed to
pronounce the name of Mathilde Stangerson there at
the school, to which, in the past, had come so often the
Lady in Black 1)
There was a long silence, which I finally broke.
“And you have never known why the Lady in Black
did not return ?”
“Oh ſ* cried Rouletabille. “I am sure that she did
return. It was I who was not here.”
“Who took you away?”
“No one: I ran away.”
“Why? To look for her?”
“No-no! To flee from her—to flee from her, I tell
you, Sainclair. But she came back—I know that she
came back.”
“She may have been broken hearted at not finding
you.”
Rouletabille raised his arms toward the sky and
shook his head.
“I don’t know—how can I know? Ah, what an un-


THE LADY IN BLACK 41
happy wretch I am! But, hush, Sainclair! Here comes
Pere Simon l Now, he's gone again. Quick—-to the
parlor!”
We were there in three seconds. It was a common-
place room enough, rather large, with cheap white cur-
tains in front of the shadeless windows. It was fur-
nished with six leather chairs placed against the wall,
a mantel mirror, and a clock. The whole appearance of
the place was sombre.
As we entered the room, Rouletabille uncovered his
head with an appearance of respect and reverence which
one rarely assumes except in a sacred place. His face
became flushed, he advanced with short steps, rolling
his travelling cap in his hands as if he were embar-
rassed. He turned to me and said in low tones—far
lower than he used in the chapel:
“Oh, Sainclair, this is it—the parlor. Feel how my
hands burn. My face is flushed, is it not? I was al-
ways flushed when I came here, knowing that I should
find her. I used to run. I felt smothered—I do now.
I was not able to wait. Oh, my heart beats just as it
used when I was a little lad! I would come to the door–
right here—and then I would pause, bashful and shame-
faced. But I would see her dark shadow in the corner :
she would take me in her arms and hold me there in
silence, and before we knew it, we were both weeping, as
we clung together. How dear those meetings were.
She was my mother, Sainclair. Oh, she never told me
so: on the contrary, she used to say that my mother
was dead, and that she had been her friend. But she
told me to call her Mamma—and when she wept as I
kissed her, I knew that she really was my mother. See–
she always sat there in the dark corner, and she came


42 THE PERFUME OF
always at nightfall, when the parlor had not yet been
lit up for the evening. And every time she came, she
would place on the window sill a big, white package,
tied with pink cord. It was a fruit cake. I have loved
fruit cake ever since, Sainclair!”
The poor lad could no longer contain himself. He
rested his arms on the mantel and wept like a little child.
When he was able to control himself a little, he raised
his head and looked at me with a sad smile. And then
he sank into a chair as though he were tired out. I had
not had the heart to say one word to him during his
reminiscences. I knew well that he was not talking
with me, but with his memories.
I saw him draw from his breast the letter which he
had placed there in the train, and tear it open with
trembling fingers. He read it slowly. Suddenly his
hand fell, and he uttered a groan. His flushed face
grew pallid—so pallid that it seemed as though every
drop of blood had left his heart. I stepped toward him,
but he waved me away and closed his eyes. He looked
almost as though he were sleeping. I walked across the
room, moving as softly as one does in the chamber of
death. I looked up at the wall, where hung a heavy
wooden crucifix. How long did I stand gazing on the
cross? I have no idea. Nor do I know what we said
to someone belonging to the house, who came into the
parlor. I was pondering with all my strength of con-
centration on the strange and mysterious destiny of my
friend—on this mysterious woman who might or might
not have been his mother. Rouletabille had been so
young in those school days. He longed so for a mother,
that he might have imagined that he had found one in
his visitor. Rouletabille—what other name did we know


THE LADY IN BLACK 43
him by ? Joseph Josephin. It was without doubt under
that name that he had pursued his early studies here.
Joseph Josephin, the queer appellation of which the
editor of the Epoch had said to him, “It is no name at
all !” And now, what was he about to do here? Seek
the trace of a perfume? Revive a memory—an illusion?
I turned as I heard him stir. He was standing erect and
seemed quite calm. His features had taken on the
serenity which comes from assurance of victory.
“We must go now, Sainclair. Come, my friend.”
And he left the parlor without even looking back.
I followed him.
In the deserted street, which we regained without
meeting anyone, I stopped him by asking anxiously:
“Well—did you find the perfume of the Lady in
Black?”
He must have seen that all my heart was in the
question and that I was filled with an ardent desire
that this visit to the scenes of his childhood might have
brought a little peace to his soul.
“Yes,” he said, very gravely. “Yes, Sainclair, I
found it.”
And he handed me the letter from Professor Stanger-
son's daughter.
I looked at him, doubting the evidence of my own
senses—not understanding, because I knew nothing.
Then he took my two hands and looked into my eyes.
“I am going to confide a secret to you, Sainclair–
the secret of my life, and perhaps some day the secret
of my death. Let what will come, it must die with you
and me. Mathilde Stangerson had a child—a son.
He is dead—is dead to everyone except to the two of
us who stand here.”


44 THE PERFUME OF
I recoiled, struck with horror under such a revela-
tion. Rouletabille the son of Mathilde Stangerson'
And then suddenly I received a still more violent shock.
In that case, Rouletabille must be the son of Larsan.
Oh, I understood now, all the wretchedness of the
boy. I understood why he had said this morning:
“Why did he not die? If he is living, I wish to God
that I were dead ſ”
Rouletabille must have read my thoughts in my eyes,
and he simply made a gesture which seemed to say,
“And now you understand, Sainclair.” Then he finished
his sentence aloud. The word which he spoke was
“Silence 1”
When we reached Paris we separated, to meet again
at the train. There, Rouletabille handed me a new
dispatch, which had come from Valence, and which was
signed by Professor Stangerson. It said, “M. Darzac
tells me that you have a few days’ leave. We should
all be very glad if you could come and spend them with
us. We will wait for you at Arthur Rance's place,
Rochers Rouges—he will be delighted to present you
to his wife. My daughter will be pleased to sce you.
She joins me in kindest greetings.”
Just as the train was starting, a concierge from
Rouletabille's hotel came rushing up and handed us a
third dispatch. This one was sent from Mentone, and
signed by Mathilde. It contained two words: “Res-
cue us.”


CHAPTER IV
EN ROUTE
Now I knew all. As we continued on our journey,
Rouletabille related to me the remarkable and adven-
turous story of his childhood, and I knew, also, why he
dreaded nothing so much as that Mme. Darzac should
penetrate the mystery which separated them. I dared
say nothing more—give my friend no advice. Ah, the
poor unfortunate lad! When he read the words “Res-
cue us,” he carried the dispatch to his lips, and then,
pressing my hand, he said: “If I arrive too late, I can
avenge her, at least.” I have never heard anything
more filled with resolution than the cold determination
of his tone. From time to time a quick movement be-
trayed the passion of his soul, but for the most part he
was calm—terribly calm. What resolution had he taken
in the silence of the parlor, when he sat motionless and
with closed eyes in the shadow of the corner where he
had used to see the Lady in Black?
While we journeyed toward Lyons, and Rouletabille
lay dreaming, stretched out fully dressed in his berth,
I will tell you how and why the child that he had been
ran away from school at Eu, and what had happened to
him.
Rouletabille had fled from the school like a thief.
There was no need to seek for another expression, be-
cause he had been accused of stealing. This was how
it happened.


46 THE PERFUME OF
At the age of nine, he had already an extraordinarily
precocious intelligence, and could arrive easily at the
solution of the most perplexing problems. By logical
deductions of an almost amazing kind, he astonished his
professor of mathematics by his philosophical method of
work. He had never been able to learn his multiplica-
tion tables, and always counted upon his fingers. He
would usually get the answers to the problems himself,
leaving the working out to be done by his fellow pupils,
as one will leave an irksome task to a servant. But
first, he would show them exactly how the example ought
to be done. Although as yet ignorant of the rudiments
of algebra, he had invented for his own personal use a
system of algebra carried on with queer signs, looking
like hieroglyphics, by the aid of which he marked all the
steps of his mathematical reasoning, and thus he was
able to write down the general formulae so that he alone
could interpret them. His professor used proudly to
compare him to Pascal, discovering for himself without
knowledge of geometry, the first propositions of Euclid.
He applied his admirable faculties of reasoning to his
daily life, as well as to his studies, using the rules both
materially and morally. For example, an act had been
committed in the school—I have forgotten whether it
was of cheating or talebearing—by one of ten persons
whom he knew, and he picked out the right one with a
divination which seemed almost supernatural, simply
by using the powers of reasoning and deduction, which
he had practiced to such an extent. So much for the
moral aspect of his strange gift, and as for the material,
nothing seemed more simple to him than to find any
lost or hidden object—or even a stolen one. It was in
the detection of thefts especially that he displayed a


THE LADY IN BLACK 47
wonderful resourcefulness, as if nature, in her wondrous
fitting together of the parts that make an equal whole,
after having created the father a thief of the worst
kind, had caused the son to be born the evil genius
of thieves.
This strange aptitude, after having won for the boy
a sort of fame in the school, on account of his detection
of several attempts at pilfering, was destined one day
to be fatal to him. He found in this abnormal fashion
a small sum of money which had been stolen from the
superintendent, who refused to believe that the dis-
covery was due only to the lad’s intelligence and clear-
ness of insight. This hypothesis, indeed, appeared im-
possible to almost everyone who knew of the matter,
and, thanks to an unfortunate coincidence of time and
place, the affair finished up by having Rouletabille
himself accused of being the thief. They tried to make
him acknowledge his fault; he defended himself with
such indignation and anger that it drew upon him a
severe punishment. The principal held an investigation
and a trial, at which Joseph Josephin was accused by
some of his youthful comrades in that spirit of false-
hood which children sometimes possess. Some of them
complained of having had books, pencils, and tablets
stolen at different times, and declared that they be-
lieved that Joseph had taken them. The fact that the
boy seemed to have no relatives, and that no one knew
where he came from, made him particularly likely, in
that little world, to be suspected of crime. When the
boys spoke of him, it was as “that thief.” The con-
tempt in which he was held preyed upon him, for he was
not a strong child at best, and he was plunged in de-
spair. He almost prayed to die. The principal, who


48 THE PERFUME OF
was really the most kind hearted of men, was persuaded
that he had a vicious little creature to deal with, be-
cause he was unable to produce an impression on the
child, and make him comprehend the horror of what he
had done. Finally, he told the lad that if he did not
confess his guilt, it had been decided not to keep him
in the school any longer, and that a letter would be
written to the lady who interested herself in him—
Mme. Darbel was the name which she had given—to
tell her to come after him.
The child made no reply and allowed himself to be
taken to his little room, where he had been kept a pris-
oner. Upon the morrow he had disappeared. He had
run away. He had felt that the principal, to whose
care he had been entrusted during the earliest years of
his childhood (for in all his little life he could remember
no other home than the school), and who had always
been so kind to him, was no longer his friend, since he
believed him guilty of theft. And he could see no reason
why the Lady in Black would not believe it, too—that
he was a thief. To appear as a thief in the sight of the
Lady in Black He would far rather have died.
And he made his escape from the place by climbing
over the wall of the garden at night. He rushed to the
canal, sobbing, and, with a prayer, uttered as much to
the Lady in Black as to God Himself, threw himself in
the water. Happily, in his despair, the poor child had
forgotten that he knew how to swim.
If I have reported this passage in the life of Roulet-
abille at some length, it is because it seems to me that
it is all important to the thorough comprehension of his
future. At that time, of course, he was ignorant that
he was the son of Larsan. Rouletabille, even as a child


THE LADY IN BLACK 49
of nine years, could not without agony harbor the
idea that the Lady in Black might believe him to be
a thief, and thus, when the time came that he imagined—
an imagination too well founded, alas!—that he was
bound by ties of blood to Larsan, what infinite misery
he experienced His mother, in hearing of the crime
of which he had been accused, must have felt that the
criminal instincts of the father were coming to light in
the son, and, perhaps—thought more cruel than death
itself—she may have rejoiced in believing him dead.
For everyone believed him dead. They found his
footsteps leading to the canal, and they fished out his
cap. How had he lived after leaving the school? In a
most singular fashion. After swimming to dry land
and making up his mind to fly the country, the lad,
while they were searching for him everywhere in the
canal and out of it, devised a most original plan for
travelling to a distance without being disturbed. He
had not read that most interesting tale, The Stolen
Letter. His own invention served him. He reasoned
the thing out, as he always did.
He knew—for he had often heard them told by the
heroes themselves—many stories of little rascals who
had run away from their parents in search of adven-
tures, hiding themselves by day in the fields and the
wood, and travelling by night—only to find themselves
speedily captured by the gendarmes, or forced to return
home because they had no money and no food, and dared
not ask for anything to eat along the road which they
followed, and which was too well guarded to admit of
their escape if they applied for aid. Our little Roulet-
abille slept at night like everyone else, and travelled
in broad daylight, without hiding himself. But, after


50 THE PERFUME OF
having dried his garments (the warm weather was
coming on, and he did not suffer from cold), he tore
them to tatters. He made rags of them, which barely
covered him, and begged in the open streets, dirty and
unkempt, holding out his hands and declaring to pass-
ers-by that if he did not bring home any money his
parents would beat him. And everyone took him for
some gypsy child, hordes of which constantly roamed
through the locality. Soon came the time of wild straw-
berries. He gathered the fruit and sold it in little
baskets of leaves. And he assured me, in telling the
story, that if it had not been for the terrible thought
that the Lady in Black must believe that he was a thief,
that time would have becn the happiest of his life. His
astuteness and natural courage stood him well in stead
through these wanderings, which lasted for several
months. Where was he going? To Marseilles. This
was his plan:
He had seen in his illustrated geography views of
the Midi, and he had never looked at those pictures
without breathing a sigh and wishing that he might
some day visit that enchanted country. Through his
gypsy-like manner of living, he had made the acquaint-
ance of a little caravan load of Romanies, who were
following the same route as himself, and who were jour-
neying to Ste. Marie’s of the Sea to render homage to
a new king of their tribe. The lad had an opportunity
to render them some small service, and finding him a
pleasant, well-mannered little fellow, these people, not
being in the habit of asking everyone whom they met
for his history, desired to know nothing more about
him. They believed that, on account of ill treatment,
the child had run away from some troop of wandering


THE LADY IN BLACK 51
mountebanks, and they invited him to travel with them.
Thus he arrived in the Midi.
In the neighborhood of Arles, he separated himself
from his travelling companions, and at last came to
Marseilles. There was his paradise! Eternal summer
—and the port.
The port was the favorite resort of all the gamins
of the locality, and this fact was the greatest safeguard
for Rouletabille. He roamed over the docks as he chose,
and served himself according to the measure of his
needs, which were not great. For example, he made of
himself an “orange fisher.” It was at the time that he
exercised this lucrative calling that, one beautiful morn-
ing upon the quay, he made the acquaintance of M.
Gaston Leroux, a journalist from Paris, and this ac-
quaintance was destined to have such an influence upon
the future of Rouletabille that I do not consider it out
of place to transcribe here in full the article in which
the editor of Le Matin recorded that first memorable
interview.
THE LITTLE OR ANG F. FISHER.
As the sun, piercing through the cloudless heavens, struck with its
ardent rays the golden robe of Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde, I descended
toward the quay. The scene which met my eyes was one which was
worth going far to see. Townfolk, sailors and workmen were moving
about, the former idly looking on, while the others tugged at the pulleys
and drew up the cables of their vessels. The great merchant vessels
glided like huge beasts of burden between the tower of St. Jean and the
fort of St. Nicholas, caressing the sparkling waters of the Old Port in
their onward motion. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, the smaller
barks seemed to hold out their arms to each other. to throw aside their
veils of mist and to dance upon the water. Beside them, tired with
the long journey, worn out from ploughing ior so many days and nights


52 THE PERFUME OF
over unknown seas, the heavy laden East Indiamen rested peacefully,
lifting their great, motionless sails in rags toward the skies.
My eyes, sweeping swiftly over the scene through the forest of masts
and sails paused at the tower which commemorated the fact that it was
twenty-five centuries since the children of Ancient Phoenicia first cast
anchor upon this happy shore, and that they had come by the water ways
of Ionia. Then my attention returned to the border of the quay, and I
perceived the little orange fisher.
He was standing erect, clad in the rags of a man's coat which hung
down almost to his feet, bareheaded and barefooted, with blonde curly
locks and black eyes, and I should think that he was about nine years
old. A string passed around his shoulder supported a big sailcloth sack.
His left hand rested on his waist and his right hand held a stick three
times as tall as himself, which was surmounted by a little wooden hook.
The child stood motionless and lost in thought. When I asked him
what he was doing there, he told me that he was an orange fisher.
He seemed very proud of being an orange fisher and did not ask me for
a penny, as the little vagabonds of the neighborhood are accustomed to
demand toll of every bystander. I spoke to him again, but this time he
made no answer, for he was too intent on watching the water. On one
side of us was the beautiful steamer Fides, in from Castellmare and on
the other a three masted schooner from Genoa. Further off were two
ships loaded with fruits which had just arrived from Baleares that morn-
ing, and I saw that they were spilling a part of their cargo. Oranges
were bobbing up and down upon the water and the light current sent
them in our direction. My “fisher” leaped into a little canoe, came
quickly to the vessel, and, armed with his stick and hook, waited. Then
he began his gathering. The hook on his stick brought him one orange,
then a second, a third and a fourth. They disappeared in the sack.
The boy gathered a fifth, jumped upon the quay and tore open the golden
fruit. He plunged his little teeth in the pulp and devoured it in an
instant.
“You have a good appetite,” I told him.
* “Monsieur,” he replied, flushing slightly as he spoke, “I don't care
for any food but fruit.”
“That is a very good diet,” I replied as gravely as he had spoken.
“But what do you do when there are no oranges?”
“I pick up coal.”
And his little hand, diving into the sack, brought out an enormous
piece of coal.


| He stºo l erect, w
º
lººd in th lºs it a lºng cºat ww
- -
| rºll a
-
-
und lºt ºf ºtºl.





THE LADY IN BLACK 53
The orange juice had rolled down his chin to his coat. The coat had
a pocket. The little fellow took a clean handkerchief from this pocket
and carefully wiped both chin and coat. Then he proudly put the
handkerchief back.
“What is your father's work?” I asked.
“He is poor.”
“Yes, but what does he do?”
The orange fisher shrugged his shoulders.
“He doesn't do anything, he is poor.”
My inquiries into his family affairs did not seem to please him. He
turned away from the quay and I followed him. We came in a moment
to the “shelter,” a little square of sea which holds the small pleasure
yachts—the neat little boats all polished wood and brass, the neat little
sailors in their irreproachable toilettes. My ragamuffin looked at them
with the eye of a connoisseur and seemed to find a keen enjoyment in
the spectacle. A new yacht had just been launched and her immacu-
late sail looked like a white veil against the blue sky.
“Isn't it pretty P" exclaimed my little companion.
The next moment he fell over a board covered with fresh tar and
when he picked himself up, he looked with dismay at the stain on his
coat which seemed to be his proudest possession. What a disaster!
He looked as if he could have burst into tears. But quick as thought
he drew out his handkerchief and rubbed and rubbed the spot, then he
looked at me piteously and said:
“Monsieur, are there any other stains? Did I get anything on my
back?”
I assured him that he had not, and with an expression of satisfaction,
he put the handkerchief back in his pocket once more.
A few steps further on, upon the walk which stretches in front of the
red and yellow, and blue houses, the windows of which are brave with
wares of many kinds, we found an oyster stand. Upon the little tables
were displayed piles of oysters in their shells, and flasks of vinegar.
When we passed by the oyster stand, as the fish appeared fresh and
appetizing, I said to the orange fisher.
“If you cared for anything to eat except fruit, I might ask you to have
some oysters with me.”
His black eyes glistened and we sat down together to eat our oysters.
The merchant opened them for us while we waited. He started to
bring us vinegar, but my companion stopped him with an imperious


54 THE PERFUME OF
gesture. He opened his bag carefully and triumphantly produced a
lemon. The lemon, having been in close contact with the bit of coal,
might have passed for black itself. But my guest took out his hand-
kerchief and wiped it off. Then he cut the fruit and offered me half,
but I like oysters without other flavor, so I declined with thanks.
After our luncheon we went back to the quay. The orange fisher
asked me for a cigarette and lighted it with a match which he had in
another pocket of his coat.
Then, the cigarette between his lips, puffing rings toward the sky
like a man, the little creature threw himself down on the ground and
with his eyes fixed upon the statue of Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde, took
the very pose of the boy who is the most beautiful ornament of the Brus-
sels tower. He did not lose a line of the attitude, and seemed very proud
of the fact and apparently desired to play the part exactly.
Upon the following day Joseph Josephin met M.
Gaston Leroux once more upon the quay, and the man
handed him a newspaper which he carried in his hand.
The boy read the article pointed out to him, and the
journalist gave him a bright new 100-sous piece. Rou-
letabille made no difficulties about accepting it, and
seemed to even find the gift a natural one. “I take
your money,” he said to Gaston Leroux, “because we
are collaborators.” With his hundred sous he bought
himself a fine new bootblack's box and installed himself
in business opposite the Bregaillon. For two years
he polished the boots of those who came to eat the tradi-
tional bouillabaisse at this hostelry. When he was not
at work, he would sit on his box and read. With the
feeling of ownership which his box and his business had
brought him, ambition had entered his mind. He had
received too good an education and had been too well
instructed in rudimentary things not to understand
that if he did not himself finish what others had begun
for him, he would be deprived of the best chance


THE LADY IN BLACK 55
which he had of making for himself a place in the world.
His customers grew interested in the little bootblack,
who always had on his box some work of history or
mathematics, and a harness maker became so attached
to him that he took him into his shop. -
Soon Rouletabille was promoted to the dignity of
working in leather, and was able to save. At the age
of sixteen years, having a little money in his pocket, he
took the train for Paris. What did he intend to do
there? To look for the Lady in Black.
Not one day had passed without his having thought
of the mysterious visitor to the parlor of the boarding
school, and, although no one had ever told him that she
lived in Paris, he was persuaded that no other city in
the world was worthy to contain a lady who wore so
sweet a perfume. And then his little schoolmates, who
had been able to see her form when she glided out of
the parlor, had often said: “See the Parisienne is here
again today!” It would have been difficult to exactly
define the ideas in Rouletabille’s head, and perhaps he
himself scarcely knew what they were. His longing was
merely to see the Lady in Black—to watch her rever-
ently—at a distance, as a devotee watches the image
of a saint. Would he dare to speak to her? The im-
portance of the accusation of theft which had been
brought against him had only grown greater in Rou-
letabille’s imagination as time had gone by, and he be-
lieved that it would always be a barrier between himself
and the Lady in Black, which he had not the right to
try to throw down. Perhaps even—but, come what
might, he longed to see her. That was the only thing
of which he was sure.
As soon as he reached the capital, he looked up M.


56 THE PERFUME OF
Gaston Leroux, and recalled himself to the latter’s
memory, telling him that, although he felt no particular
liking for the life, which he considered rather a lazy
one for a man who liked to be up and doing, he had
decided to become a journalist. And he fairly demanded
that his old acquaintance should at once give him a trial
as a reporter.
Leroux tried to turn the youth from his project.
At last, tired of his persistent requests, the editor said:
“Well, my lad, since you have nothing special to do
just now, go and find the left foot of the body in the
Rue Oberkampf.”
And with these words, M. Leroux turned away, leav-
ing poor Rouletabille standing there with half a dozen
young reporters tittering around him. But the boy
was not daunted in the least. He searched through the
files of the paper and found out that the Epoch was
offering a large reward to the person who would bring
to its office the foot which was missing from the muti-
lated body of a woman, which had been found in the Rue
Oberkampf.
The rest we know. In “The Mystery of the Yellow
Room,” I have told how Rouletabille succeeded on this
occasion, and in what manner there revealed itself to
him his own singular calling—that of always beginning
to reason a matter out from the point where others had
finished.
I have told, too, by what chance he was led one
evening to the Elysee, where he inhaled as he passed
by the perfume of the Lady in Black. He realized then
that it was Mlle. Stangerson who had been his visitor
at the school, and for whom he had been seeking so long.
What more need I add: Why speak of the sensations


THE LADY IN BLACK 57
which his knowledge as to the wearer of the perfume
aroused in the heart of Rouletabille during the events
at the Glandier, and, above all, after his trip to Amer-
ica? They may be easily guessed. How simple a thing
now to understand his hesitations and his whims! The
proofs brought by him from Cincinnati in regard to
the child of the woman who had been Jean Roussel's
wife had been sufficiently explicit to awaken in his mind
a suspicion that he himself might be that child, but not
enough so to render him certain of the fact. However,
his instinct drew him so strongly to the professor’s
daughter that he could scarcely resist his longing to
throw himself into her arms and press her to his heart
and cry out to her: “You are my mother! you are my
mother ſ”
And he fled from her presence just as he had fled
from the vestry on the day of her wedding, in order
that there should not escape from him any sign of the
secret tenderness that had burned in his breast through
so many long years. For horrible thoughts dwelt in
his mind. Suppose he were to make himself known to
her, and she were to repulse him—cast him off—turn
from him in horror—from him, the little thief of the
boarding school—the son of Roussel—Ballmeyer—the
heir of the crimes of Larsan Suppose she were to order
him to get out of her sight, never to come near her
again, nor to breathe the same air which brought back
to him, whenever he came near her, the perfume of the
Lady in Black Ah, how he had fought, on account of
these frightful visions, to restrain himself from yielding
to the almost overwhelming impulse to ask each time
that he came near her, “Is it you? Are you the Lady
in Black?” As to her, she had seemed fond of him from


58 THE PERFUME OF
the first, but, doubtless, that was because of the Glan-
dier affair. If she were really the Lady in Black, she
must believe that the child whom he had been was dead.
And if it were not she-if by some fatality which set
at naught both his instincts and his powers of reason-
ing, it were not she Could he, through any impru-
dence, risk having her discover that he had fled from the
school at Eu under ban as a thief? No, no—not that!
She had often said to him:
“Where were you brought up, my boy? What school
did you attend when you were a child?” And he had re-
plied: “I was in school at Bordeaux.”
He might as well have answered, “At Pekin.”
However, this torture could not last always, he told
himself. If it were she, he would know how to say
things to her that must open her heart. Anything
would be better than to be sure that she was not the
Lady in Black, but some stranger who had never held
him to her heart. But he must be certain—certain
beyond any doubt, and he knew how to place himself
in the presence of his memories of the Lady in Black,
just as a dog is sure of finding its master. The simile
which presented itself quite naturally to his imagination
was simply that of “following the scent.” And this
led us, under the circumstances which I have narrated,
to Trepot and to Eu. However, it is by no means cer-
tain that decisive results would have been gained from
this expedition—at least in the eyes of a third person,
like myself—had it not been for the influence of the
odor—if the letter from Mathilde, which I had handed
to Rouletabille in the train, had not suddenly, with its
faint, sweet perfume, brought to us directly the evi-
dence which we were seeking. I have never read this


THE LADY IN BLACK 59
letter. It is a document so sacred in the eyes of my
friend, that other eyes will never behold it, but I know
that the gentle reproaches which it contained for the
boy's rudeness and lack of confidence in the writer, had
been so tender that Rouletabille could no longer de-
ceive himself, even if the daughter of Professor Stanger-
son had not concluded the note with a final sentence,
through which throbbed the heart of a despairing
mother, and which said that “the interest which she felt
in him arose less from the services he had rendered her,
than because of the memories which she had of a little
boy, the son of a friend, whom she had loved very
dearly, and who had killed himself “like a little man with
a broken heart’ at the age of nine years, and whom
Rouletabille greatly resembled.”


CHAPTER V
PANIC
Dijon—Macon—Lyons—certainly the boy could not
be sleeping all this time. I called him softly and he did
not reply, but I would have wagered my hand that he
was not sleeping. What was he planning? How quiet
he was ' What could it be that had given him such a
strange calmness? I seemed to see him again as he had
been in the parlor, suddenly standing erect as he said:
“Let us go on!” in that voice so composed and tranquil
and resolute. Go on to whom? Toward what was he
resolved to go? Toward Her, evidently, who was in
danger, and who could be rescued only by him—toward
her who was his mother and who did not know it.
“It is a secret which must remain between you and
me! That child is dead to the whole world, except to
us two ''
That was his decision, taken almost in a single mo-
ment, never to reveal himself to her. And the poor
child had come to seek the certainty that she was
indeed the Lady in Black, only to have the right to
speak to her In the very moment that the assurance
which he sought was his, he had determined to forget
it; he condemned himself to endless silence. Poor little
hero soul, which had understood that the Lady in Black,
who had such dire need of his help, would have shrunk
from a safety bought by the warfare of a son against
his father Where might not such warfare lead? To


THE LADY IN BLACK 61
what bloody conflict? Everything must be expected,
no matter how terrible, and Rouletabille must have his
hands free to fight to the death for the Lady in Black.
The boy was so quiet that I could not even hear him
breathing. I leaned over him; his eyes were open.
“Do you know what I have been thinking of ** he
said. “Of the dispatch that came to us from Bourg
and was signed ‘Darzac,” and the other dispatch which
came from Valence and was signed ‘Stangerson.’”
“And the more I think of them, the stranger they
seem to me. At Bourg, M. and Mme. Darzac were not
with M. Stangerson, who left them at Dijon. Besides,
the dispatch says: “We are going to rejoin M. Stan-
gerson.” But the Stangerson dispatch proves that M.
Stangerson, who had continued on his journey toward
Marseilles, is again with the Darzacs. The Darzacs
might have rejoined M. Stargerson on the way to Mar-
seilles; but if that were so, the Professor must have
stopped on the road. Why was this? He did not ex-
pect to do so. At the train, he said: “To-morrow at
ten o’clock, I shall be at Mentone.” Look at the hour
that the dispatch was sent from Valence, and then
we’ll look in the time table and find out the hour at
which M. Stangerson would have passed through Wa-
lence if he had not stopped upon the journey.”
We consulted the time table. M. Stangerson should
have passed through Valence at 12:44 o’clock in the
morning, and the dispatch was sent at 12:47 o'clock.
It had, therefore, been sent by M. Stangerson while
he was continuing on the trip which he had planned.
At that moment he must have been with M. and Mme.
Darzac. Still poring over the time table, we en-
deavored to solve the mystery of this re-encounter.


62 THE PERFUME OF
M. Stangerson had left the Darzacs at Dijon, where
the whole party had arrived at twenty-seven minutes
after six o'clock in the evening. The Professor had then
taken the train which leaves Dijon at eight minutes
past seven, and had arrived at Lyons at four minutes
after ten and at Valence at forty-seven minutes after
midnight. During the same time the Darzacs, leaving
Dijon at seven o’clock, continued on their way to Mo-
dane, and, by way of Saint-Amour, reached Bourg at
three minutes past nine in the evening, on the train
which was scheduled to leave at eight minutes past nine.
M. Darzac's dispatch was sent from Bourg, and had
left the telegraph office at the station at 9:28. The
Darzacs, therefore, must have left their train at Bourg,
and remained there. Or, it might have happened that
the train was late. In any case, we must seek the reason
for M. Darzac's telegram somewhere between Dijon
and Bourg, after the departure of M. Stangerson.
One might even go further, and say ‘between Louhans
and Bourg,” for the train stops at Louhans, and if
anything had happened before he reached there, at eight
o'clock, it is altogether likely that M. Darzac would
have sent his message from that station.
Finally, seeking the correspondence between Bourg
and Lyons, we reasoned that M. Darzac must have sent
his wire from Bourg one minute before leaving for
Lyons by the 9:29 train. But this train reached Lyons
at 10:23 o'clock, while M. Stangerson’s train reached
Lyons at 10:24. After changing their plans and leaving
the train at Bourg, M. and Mme. Darzac must have
rejoined M. Stangerson at Lyons, which they reached
one minute before him. Now, what had upset their
plans? We could only think of the most terrible


THE LADY IN BLACK 63
hypotheses, every one of which, alas! had as its basis
the reappearance of Larsan. The fact which gave the
greatest color to this idea was the desire expressed by
each of our friends, not to frighten anyone. M. Darzac
in his message, Mme. Darzac in hers, had not endeav-
ored to conceal the gravity of the situation. As to M.
Stangerson, we asked ourselves whether he had been
made aware of the new developments, whatever they
might be.
Having thus approximately settled the question of
time and distance, Rouletabille invited me to profit by
the luxurious accommodations which the International
Sleeping Car company places at the disposal of those
who wish to sleep while on a journey, and he himself
set me the example by making as careful a night toilet
as he would have done in his own room at his hotel. A
quarter of an hour later he was snoring, but I believed
the snores to be feigned. At any rate, I could not sleep.
At Avignon Rouletabille jumped up from his cot,
hastily donned his trousers and coat, and rushed out
to the refreshment rooms to get a cup of chocolate. I
was not hungry. From Avignon to Marseilles, in our
anxiety and suspense, neither of us desired to talk,
and the journey was continued almost in silence, but
at the sight of the city in which he had led such a
chequered existence, Rouletabille, doubtless to keep
from showing the emotion which he felt, and to lighten
the heaviness of both our hearts as we drew near our
journey’s end, began to tell funny stories, in the narra-
tion of which, however, he did not seem to find the least
amusement. I scarcely heard what he was saying. And
at last we reached Toulon.
What a trip ! And it might have been so beautiful!


64 THE PERFUME OF
Ordinarily, it is always with an almost boyish enthu-
siasm that I come within sight of this marvellous coun-
try, with its azure shores, like a bit of dreamland or a
corner of paradise after the horrible departure from
Paris in the snow and rain and darkness and dampness
and dirt. With what joy that night, had things been
otherwise, would I have set my foot upon the quay,
sure of finding the glorious friend who would be waiting
for me in the morning at the end of those two iron
rails—the wonderful southern sun
When we left Toulon, our impatience became extreme.
And at Cannes, we were scarcely surprised at all to see
M. Darzac upon the platform of the station, anxiously
looking for us. He could scarcely have received the
dispatch which Rouletabille had sent him from Dijon,
announcing the hour at which we would reach Mentone.
Having arrived there with Mme. Darzac and M. Stan-
gerson the day before, at ten o’clock in the morning, he
must have left Mentone almost at once, and have come to
meet us at Cannes, for we could understand from his
dispatch that he had something to say to us in confi-
dence. His face looked worn and sad. Somehow, it
frightened us only to look at him.
“Trouble?” questioned Rouletabille, briefly.
“No, not yet,” was the reply.
“God be praised" exclaimed Rouletabille, having a
deep sigh. “We have come in time!”
M. Darzac said simply:
“I thank you for coming.”
And he pressed both our hands in silence, following
us into our compartment, in which we locked ourselves,
taking care to draw the curtains and so isolate our-
selves completely. When we were comfortably settled,


*
s’
THE LADY IN BLACK 65
and the train had begun to move on, our friend spoke
again. His voice trembled so that he could scarcely
utter the words.
“Well,” he said: “he is not dead.”
“We suspected it!” interrupted Rouletabille. “But
are you sure?”
“I have seen him as surely as I have seen you.”
“And has Mme. Darzac seen him?”
“Alas, yes! But it is necessary that we should use
every means to make her believe that it was an illusion.
I could not bear it if she were to lose her mind again,
poor, innocent, wretched girl! Ah, my friends, what
a fatality pursues us! What has this man come back
to do to us? What does he want now **
I looked at Rouletabille. His face was even more
full of grief than that of M. Darzac. The blow which
he feared had fallen. He leaned back against the
cushions as though he were going to faint. There was
a brief pause, and then M. Darzac spoke again:
“Listen This man must disappear—he must be
gotten rid of ! We must go to him and ask what it is
that he wants. If it is money, he may take all that I
have. If he will not go, I shall kill him. It is very
simple—after all, I think that would be the simplest
way. Don’t you think so, too?”
We could not answer. It was too pitiful. Roulet-
abille, overcoming his own feelings by a visible effort,
engaged M. Darzac in conversation, endeavoring to
calm him, and asking him to tell us what had happened
since his departure from Paris.
And he told us that the event which had changed the
face of his existence had taken place at Bourg, just as
we had thought. Two compartments of the sleeping car


66 THE PERFUME OF
had been reserved by M. Darzac, and these compart-
ments were joined by a little dressing room. In one
had been placed the travelling bag with the toilet arti-
cles of Mme. Darzac, and in the other the smaller pack-
ages. It was in the latter compartment that the Dar-
zacs and Professor Stangerson had travelled from Paris
to Dijon, where the three had left the train, and had
dined at the buffet. They had arrived at 6:27 o’clock,
exactly on time, and M. Stangerson had left Dijon at
eight minutes after seven, and the Darzacs at just seven
o'clock.
The Professor had bidden adieu to his daughter and
his son-in-law upon the platform of the station after
dinner. M. and Mme. Darzac had returned to their
compartment—the one in which the small parcels had
been deposited—and remained at the window, chatting
with the Professor until the train started. As it
steamed out of the station, the newly wedded pair looked
back and waved their hands to M. Stangerson, who was
still standing upon the platform, throwing kisses at
them from the distance.
From Dijon to Bourg neither M. nor Mme. Darzac
had occasion to enter the adjacent compartment, where
Mme. Darzac's night bag had been placed. The door
of this compartment, opening upon the vestibule, had
been closed at Paris, as soon as the baggage had been
brought there. But the door had not been locked, either
upon the outside with a key by the porter, nor on the
inside with the bolt by the Darzacs. The curtain of the
glass door had been drawn over the pane from the in-
side by M. Darzac in such a way that no one could
look into the compartment from the corridor. But the
curtain between the two compartments had not been


THE LADY IN BLACK 67
drawn. All of these circumstances were brought out
by the questions asked by Rouletabille of M. Darzac,
and, although I could not understand his reasons for
going into such minute detail, I give the facts in order
to make the condition under which the journey of the
Darzacs to Bourg and of M. Stangerson to Dijon was
accomplished.
When they reached Bourg our travellers learned that,
on account of an accident on the line at Culoz, the train
would be delayed for an hour and a half. M. and Mme.
Darzac alighted and took a stroll on the platform.
M. Darzac, while talking with his wife, mentioned the
fact that he had forgotten to write some important
letters before leaving Paris. Both entered the buffet,
and M. Darzac asked for writing materials. Mathilde
sat beside him for a few moments and then remarked
that she would take a little walk through the station
while he finished his letters.
“Very well,” replied M. Darzac. “As soon as I have
finished, I will join you.”
From that point, I will quote M. Darzac's own
words:
“I had finished writing,” he said. “And I arose to
go and look for Mathilde, when I saw her approaching
the buffet, pallid and trembling. As soon as she per-
ceived me, she uttered a shriek and threw herself into
my arms. ‘Oh, my God!’ she cried. ‘Oh, my God!” It
seemed impossible for her to utter any other words.
She was shaking from head to foot. I tried to calm her.
I assured her that she had nothing to fear when I was
with her, and I strove as gently and patiently as I could
to draw from her the cause of her sudden terror. I
made her sit down, for her limbs seemed too weak to


68 THE PERFUME OF
support her, and I begged her to take some restorative,
but she told me that she could not even swallow a drop of
water. Her teeth chattered as though she had an ague.
At length she was able to speak, and she told me, in-
terrupting herself at almost every other word, and
looking about her as though she expected to encounter
something which she dreaded, that she had started to
walk about the station, as she had said she intended
to do, but that she had not dared to go far, lest I
should finish my writing and look for her. Then she
went through the station and out upon the platform.
She decided to come back to the buffet, when she noticed
through the lighted windows of the cars, the sleeping
car porters, who were making up the bed in a berth
near our own. She remembered immediately that her
night travelling bag, in which she had put her jewels,
was standing unlocked, and she decided to go and lock
it up without delay, not because she suspected the hon-
esty of the employees, but through a natural instinct
of prudence on a journey. She entered the car, walked
down the corridor and came to the glass door of the
compartment which had been reserved for her, and
which neither of us had entered since leaving Paris.
She opened the door and instantly uttered a cry of
horror. No one heard her, for there was no one in that
part of the car, and a train which passed at that mo-
ment drowned the sound of her voice with the clamor of
the locomotive. What had happened to alarm her?
The most terrible, ghastly, monstrous thing that the
imagination could devise.
“Within the compartment, the little door opening
upon the dressing cabinet was half drawn toward the
interior of the section, cutting off diagonally the view


70 THE PERFUME OF
was a reality. I tried to remind her of how seldom she
had seen Larsan while the events at the Glandier were
going on—which was true—and to persuade her that
she could not be certain that it was his face which she
had beheld, and not that of some one who might re-
semble him. She replied that she remembered Larsan’s
face perfectly—that it had appeared before her twice
under such circumstances as would impress it indelibly
upon her memory, even if she were to live for a cen-
tury—once during the strange scene in the gallery, and
again at the moment when they came into her sick
room to place me under arrest. And then, now that she
knew who Larsan was, it was not only the features
of the Secret Service agent that she had recognized,
but the dreaded countenance of the man who had not
ceased pursuing her for so many years.
“She cried out that she could swear on her life and
on mine that she had seen Ballmeyer—that Ballmeyer
was alive—alive in the glass, with the smooth face of
Larsan and his high, bald forehead. She clung to me,
crouching upon the ground like a helpless wild animal,
as though she feared a separation yet more terrible
than the others. She drew me from the buffet where,
fortunately, we had been entirely alone, out upon the
platform, and then, suddenly she released my arm, and
hiding her face in her hands, rushed into the superin-
tendent’s office. The man was as alarmed as myself
when he saw the poor soul, and I could only repeat
under my breath to myself, “She is going mad again
She will lose her reason "
“I explained to the superintendent that my wife had
been frightened at something she fancied that she had
seen while alone in our compartment, and I begged him


72 THE PERFUME OF
me to accede to her desire to rejoin her father as soon
as possible. I could see no other means of calming her,
and, far from making any objection to the new project,
I immediately entered into her plans. Besides, now that
I had seen Larsan with my own eyes—yes, with my own
eyes—I knew well that the long honeymoon trip which
we had planned must be given up, and, my dear boy,”
went on M. Darzac, turning to Rouletabille, “I became
possessed with the idea that we were running the risk
of some mysterious and fantastic danger, from which
you alone could rescue us, if it were not already too
late. Mathilde was grateful to me for the readiness
with which I fell in with her wish to join her father, and
she thanked me fervently, when I told her that in a few
minutes we would be on board the 9:29 train, which
reaches Lyons at about ten o’clock, and when we con-
sulted the time table, we discovered that we would over-
take M. Stangerson himself at that point. Mathilde
showed as much gratitude toward me as though I were
personally responsible for this lucky chance. She had
regained her composure to a certain extent when the
nine o’clock train arrived in the station, but at the mo-
ment that we boarded the train, as we rapidly crossed
the platform and passed beneath the gas jet where I
had seen Larsan, I felt her arm trembling in my own.
I looked around, but could not see any sign of our
enemy. I asked her whether she had seen anything,
and she made no reply. Her agitation secmed to in-
crease, however, and she begged me not to take her into
a private car, but to enter a car the berths of which
were already two-thirds filled with passengers. Under
pretext of making some inquiries about the baggage, I
left her for an instant, and went to the telegraph office,


THE LADY IN BLACK 73
where I sent the telegram to you. I said nothing to
Mathilde of this dispatch, because I continued to assure
her that her eyes must have deceived her, and because
on no account did I wish her to believe that I placed
any faith in such a resurrection. When my wife opened
her travelling bag, she found that no one had touched
her jewels.
“The few words which we exchanged concerning the
secret were in relation to the necessity for concealing
it from M. Stangerson, to whom it might have dealt a
mortal blow. I will pass over his amazement when he
beheld us upon the platform of the station at Lyons.
Mathilde explained to him that on account of a serious
accident, which had closed the line at Culoz, we had
decided, since a change of plans had to be made, that
we would join him, and to spend a few days with him
at the home of Arthur Rance and his young wife, as we
had before been entreated to do by this faithful friend
of ours.”
At this time, it might be well for me to interrupt M.
Darzac's narrative to recall to the memory of the
reader of “The Mystery of the Yellow Room” the fact
that M. Arthur William Rance had for many years
cherished a hopeless devotion for Mlle. Stangerson, but
had at last overcome it, and married a beautiful Ameri-
can girl, who knew nothing of the mysterious adventures
of the Professor's daughter.
After the affair at the Glandier, and while Mlle.
Stangerson was still a patient in a private asylum near
Paris, where the treatment restored her to health and
reason, we heard one fine day that M. Arthur William
Rance was about to wed the nicce of an old professor of
geology at the Academy of Science in Philadelphia.


74 THE PERFUME OF
Those who had known of his luckless passion for Ma-
thilde, and had gauged its depths by the excess with
which it was displayed (for it had seemed at one time
to rob the man of sense and reason and turn him into a
maniac)—such persons, I say, believed that Rance was
marrying in desperation, and prophesied little happi-
ness for the union. Stories were told that the match—
which was a good one for Arthur Rance, for Miss Edith
Prescott was rich—had been brought about in a rather
singular fashion. But these are stories which I may
tell at some future time. You will learn then by what
chain of circumstances the Rances had been led to locate
at Rochers Rouges in the old castle, on the peninsula
of Hercules, of which they had become the owners the
preceding autumn.
But at present I must give place to M. Darzac, who
continued his story, as follows:
“When we had given these explanations to M. Stan-
gerson, my wife and I saw that he seemed to understand
very little of what we had said, and that, instead of
being glad to have us with him again, he appeared very
mournful. Mathilde tried in vain to seem happy. Her
father saw that something had happened since we had
left him which we were concealing from him. Mathilde
began to talk of the ceremony of the morning, and in
that way the conversation came around to you, my
young friend”—and again M. Darzac addressed him-
self to Rouletabille—“and I took the occasion to say to
M. Stangerson that since your vacation was just be-
ginning at the time that we were all going to Mentone,
you might be pleased with an invitation that would
give you the chance of spending your holiday in our
society. There was, I said, plenty of room at Rochers


THE LADY IN BLACK 75
Rouges, and I was certain that M. Arthur Rance and
his bride would extend to you a cordial welcome. While
I was speaking, Mathilde looked gratefully at me and
pressed my hand tenderly with an effusion which showed
me what gladness she was experiencing at the proposi-
tion. Thus it happened that when we reached Valence,
I had M. Stangerson write the dispatch which you must
have received. All night long we did not sleep. While
her father rested in his compartments next to ours, Ma-
thilde opened my travelling bag and took out my re-
volver. She requested me to put it in my overcoat
pocket, saying: “If he should attack us, you must de-
fend yourself.” Ah, what a night we passed We kept
silence, each attempting to deceive the other into the
belief that we were resting, our eyes closed, with the
light burning full force, for we did not dare to sit in
the darkness. The doors of our compartment were
locked and bolted, but yet, every moment, we dreaded to
see his face appear. When we heard a step in the cor-
ridor, our hearts beat wildly. We seemed to recognize
it. And Mathilde had put a cover over the mirror, for
fear of glancing toward it and seeing the reflection of
that face again. “Had he followed us?’ ‘Could we
have been mistaken?” “Would we escape from him?”
“Had he gone on to Culoz on the train which we had
left?’ ‘Could we hope for any such good fortune?”
For my own part, I did not believe that we could. And
she-shel Ah, how my heart bled for her, wrapped in
a silence like that of death, sitting there in her corner.
I knew how she was weighed down by despair and
agony—how far more unhappy she was even than my-
self, because of the misery which it seemed to be her lot
to bring upon those whom she loved most dearly. I


THE LADY IN BLACK 77
mented him upon his appearance, saying that the air
of the country seemed to agree with him perfectly.
We have seen how the apparition of Larsan in the
station at Bourg had overthrown all the plans of M.
and Mme. Darzac, and had completely overwhelmed
them both with grief and consternation, and had made
them turn to the Rances’ home as to a refuge, cast-
ing them, figuratively speaking, into the arms of these
people who were not especially congenial to them, but
whom they believed to be honest, loyal and willing to
protect them. We know that M. Stangerson, to whom
nothing had been told of what had occurred, was be-
ginning to suspect something, and we know that all
three of the party had called Rouletabille to their aid.
It was a veritable panic. And, so far as M. Darzac
was concerned, the terror which he felt was increased
by news brought to us by M. Arthur Rance when he
met us at Nice. But before this there had occurred a
little incident which I cannot pass by in silence. As soon
as we reached the Nice station, I had jumped from the
train and hurried into the telegraph office to ask
whether there was any message for me. A dispatch
was handed to me, and, without opening it, I went back
to M. Darzac and Rouletabille.
“Read this ſ” I said to the young reporter.
Rouletabille opened the envelope and read:
“Brignolles has not been away from Paris since April
6th. This is an absolute certainty.”
Rouletabille looked at me for a moment and then said:
“Well, what does this amount to, now that you have
it? What did you suspect, anyway?”
“It was at Dijon,” I rejoined, vexed at the attitude
of the lad toward the affair, “that the idea came to me


THE LADY IN BLACK 79
new form, and lurking unknown among us. Dear
Heaven' Larsan had so often proved his talent—I
may even say his genius—in this respect, that I felt
that he was quite capable of defying us now, and of
mingling with us while we thought that he was a stran-
ger—or, perhaps, even a friend.
I was soon to change my ideas, however, and to be-
lieve that this time Ballmeyer had altered his usual
tactics, and the unexpected arrival of M. Arthur Rance
was to go far in leading me to this opinion. Instead of
hiding himself, the bandit was showing himself openly—
at least, to some of us—with an audacity that stag-
gered belief. After all, what had he to fear in this part
of the country? He was well aware that neither M.
Darzac nor his wife would be likely to denounce him,
nor, consequently, would their friends do so. His bold
revelation of his presence seemed to have but one end
in view—that of ruining the happiness of the couple
who had believed that his death had opened the way for
their marriage. But an objection arose to that conjec-
ture. Why should he have chosen such a means of ven-
geance? Would it not have been a better plan to let
himself be seen before the marriage had taken place?
He would certainly have prevented it by so doing. Yes,
but in that case, he would have found it necessary to
appear in his own person in Paris. But when had any
thought of danger or risk been able to deter Larsan
from an undertaking upon which he had determined?
Who dared affirm that he knew of one such case?
But now let me tell you of the news brought by Ar-
thur Rance when he joined the three of us on the train
at Nice. Rance, of course, knew nothing of what had
happened at Bourg, nothing of the appearing of Lar-


80 THE PERFUME OF
san to Mme. Darzac on the train and to her husband
in the station, but he brought alarming tidings. If we
had retained the slightest hope that we had lost Larsan
on the road to Culoz, Rance’s words obliterated it, for
he, too, had seen the man whom we so feared, face to
face. And he had come to warn us, before we reached
his home, so that we might decide upon some plan of
action.
“When we were about to return home after having
taken you to the station,” said Rance to Darzac.; “after
the train had pulled out, your wife, M. Stangerson and
myself thought that we would leave the carriage for a
little while and take a stroll on the promenade walk.
M. Stangerson gave his arm to his daughter. I was at
the right of M. Stangerson, who, therefore, was walk-
ing between the two of us. Suddenly, as we paused for
a moment near a sort of public garden to let a tramcar
pass, I brushed against a man who said to me, “I beg
your pardon, sir.” The sound of the voice made me
tremble and I knew as well beforehand as I did when I
raised my head that it was Larsan. The voice was the
voice I had heard at the Court of Assizes. He cast a
long, calm look upon the three of us. I do not know how
I was able to restrain the exclamation which rose to my
lips, how I kept from crying aloud his miserable name!
Happily M. Stangerson and Mme. Darzac had not seen
him and I hurried them rapidly away. I made them
walk around the garden and listen to the music in the
park and then we returned to where the carriage was
waiting. Upon the sidewalk in front of the station,
there was Larsan again! I do not know—I cannot un-
derstand how M. Stangerson and Mme. Darzac could
have helped but see him 25


THE LADY IN BLACK 81
“Are you sure that they did not see him?” interrupted
Robert Darzac.
“Absolutely sure. I feigned a sudden attack of ill-
ness. We got into the carriage and ordered the coach-
man to drive as fast as he could. The man was still
standing on the sidewalk, staring after us with his cold,
cruel eyes when we drove away.”
“And are you certain that my wife did not see him?”
repeated Darzac, who was growing more and more
agitated.
“Certain, I assure you.”
“But, Good God, M. Darzac” interposed Roulet-
abille. “How long do you think you can deceive your
wife as to the fact that Larsan has reappeared and that
she actually saw him? If you imagine that you can
keep her in ignorance for very long, you are greatly
mistaken.”
“But,” replied Darzac, “while we were ending our
journey, the idea that she had been the victim of a de-
lusion seemed to grow in her mind and by the time we
reached Garavan, she seemed to be quite calm.”
“At the time you reached Garavan,” said Roulet-
abille, quietly, “your wife sent me the telegram I am
going to ask you to read.”
And the reporter held out to M. Darzac the paper
which bore the two words, “Save us.”
M. Darzac read it with the blood seeming to die away
from his face as we looked at him.
“She will go mad again,” was all that he said.
That was what he dreaded—all of us—and, strangely
enough, when we arrived at the station of Mentone
Garavan and found M. Stangerson and Mme. Darzac
(who were awaiting us in spite of the promise which the


82 THE PERFUME OF
Professor had made to Arthur Rance not to leave
Rochers Rouges nor allow his daughter to do so until
we came, for reasons which their host said he would tell
them later, not being able to invent them on the spur of
the moment) it was with a phrase which seemed the echo
of our terror that Mme. Darzac greeted Rouletabille.
As soon as she perceived the young man, she rushed
toward him and it seemed to us that she was making
a great effort not to throw her arms around him. I saw
that her spirit was clinging to him as a shipwrecked
sailor grips at the hand which is stretched out to save
him from drowning. And I heard the words that she
whispered to him:
“I know that I am going mad!”
As to Rouletabille, I may have seen his face as pale
before, but I had never seen it look like that of a man
stricken with his death blow.


CHAPTER VI
THE FORT OF HERCULES
When he alights at the Garavan station, whatever
may be the season of the year in which he visits that en-
chanted country, the traveler might almost fancy him-
self in the Garden of Hesperides whose golden apples
excited the desire of the conqueror of the Nemacan lion.
I might not perhaps, however, have recalled to mind the
son of Jupiter and Alcmene merely because of the nu-
merous lemon and orange trees which in the balmy air let
their ripened fruit hang heavily on their boughs if every-
thing about the scene had not spoken of his mytholog-
ical glories and his fabled promenade upon these fair
shores. You remember how the Phoenicians in trans-
porting their penates to the shadow of the rocks which
were one day to become the abode of the Grimaldi, gave
to the little port in which they anchored and to other
natural features all along the shore—a mountain, a
cape, and an islet—the name of Hercules whom they
looked upon as their god—the name which they have al-
ways retained. But I like to fancy that the Phoeni-
cians found the name here already, and indeed, if the
divinities, fatigued by the white dust of the roads of
Hellas, went to seek for a marvellous spot, warm and
perfumed, to rest after their strenuous adventures, they
could not have found a more beautiful scene. The gods,
to my mind, were the first tourists of the Riviera. The
Garden of the Hesperides was nowhere else and Iler-


84 THE PERFUME OF
cules had made the place ready for his Olympian com-
rades by destroying the evil dragon with an hundred
heads who wanted to keep the azure shore for himself,
all alone. And I am not at all certain that the bones of
the ancient elephant discovered a few years ago in the
neighborhood of Rochers Rouges were not those of the
dragon himself!
When, after alighting from the train, we came in
silence to the bank of the sea, our eyes were immediately
struck by a dazzling silhouette of a castle standing upon
the peninsula of Hercules, which the works accomplished
on the frontier have, alas, nearly destroyed. The ob-
lique rays of the sun which were falling upon the walls
and the old Square Tower made the reflection of the
tower glisten in the waters like a breastplate. The
tower seemed to stand guard like an old sentinel, over
the Bay of Garavan which lay before us like a blue lake
of fire. And as we advanced nearer, the tower gleam-
ing in the water seemed to grow longer. The sky be-
hind us leaned toward the crest of the mountains; the
promontories to the west were already wrapped in clouds
at the approach of night and by the time we crossed the
threshold of the actual structure the castle in the water
was only a menacing hade.
Upon the lower steps of the stairway which led up to
one of the towers, we beheld a slender, charming figure.
It was Arthur Rance’s wife, who had been the beautiful
and brilliant Edith Prescott. Certainly the Bride of
Lammermoor was not more pale on the day when the
black-eyed stranger from Ravenswood first crossed her
path, O Edith ! Ah, when one wishes to present a
romantic figure in a mediaeval frame, the figure of a
princess, lost in dreams, plaintive and melancholy, one


THE LADY IN BLACK 85
should not have such eyes, my lady! And your hair was
as black as the raven’s wing. Such coloring is not of
the kind which one is used to attribute to the angels.
Are you an angel, Edith? Is this gentle, plaintive little
manner natural or acquired? Is the sweet expression
that your face wears to-day an entirely truthful one?
Pardon that I ask you all these questions, Edith ; but
when I beheld you for the first time, after having been
entranced by the delicate harmony of your white figure,
standing motionless upon the stone stair, I followed the
quick, lowering glance of your dark eyes in the direc-
tion of the daughter of Professor Stangerson, and it
had a cruel look which accorded ill with the sweet tones
of your voice and the bright smile on your lips.
The voice of the young wife was her greatest charm
although the grace of her entire being was perfect. At
the introductions which were, of course, performed by
her husband, she greeted us in the simplest and sweetest
fashion imaginable—the fashion of the ideal hostess.
Rouletabille and myself made an effort to tell her that
we had intended to look for a stopping place in the vil-
lage instead of trespassing upon her hospitality. She
made a delicious little grimace, lifted her shoulders with
a gesture that was almost childish, said that our rooms
were all ready for us and changed the subject.
“Come, come ! You haven’t seen the château. You
must see it—all of you. Oh, I will show you la Louve’
another time. It is the only gloomy corner in the place.
It is horrible—so cold and dismal. It makes me shiver.
But, do you know I love to shiver! Oh, M. Rouletabille,
you’ll tell me stories that will make me shiver some day,
won’t you?”
And chattering thus, she glided in front of us in her


86 THE PERFUME OF
white gown. She walked like an actress. She made a
singularly pretty picture in this garden of the Orient,
between the threatening old tower and the carved stone
flowers of the ruined chapel. The vast court which we
were crossing was so completely covered on every side
with grass, shrubs and foliage plants, with cactus and
aloes, mountain laurel, wild roses and marguerites that
one might have sworn that an eternal spring had found
its habitation in this enclosure, formerly the drilling
ground of the château when the soldiers assembled in
time of war. This court, through the help of the winds
of heaven and the neglect of man had naturally become
a garden, a beautiful wild garden in which one saw that
the chatelaine had interfered as little as possible and
which she had in no way attempted to restore to the
beaten track. Behind all this verdure and this wealth
of bloom one could see the most exquisite sight which
could be imagined in dead architecture. Figure to your-
self the perfect arches of gothic brought up to the doors
of the old Roman chapel; the pillars twined with climb-
ing plants, rose geranium and vervain uniting their
sweet perfume and raising to the azure heavens their
broken arch, which nothing seems to support. There is
no longer a roof on the chapel. And there are no more
walls. There remains of it only the bit of lace work in
stone, which a miracle of equilibrium keeps suspended in
the air.
And at our left is the immense tower of the Twelfth
Century, which, Mme. Edith tells us, the natives call “la
Louve” and which nothing—neither time, nor man, nor
peace, nor war, nor cannon, nor tempest has ever been
able to destroy. It is just as it appeared in 1107, when
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THE I.ADY IN BLACK 87
able to make no headway in their attacks upon the châ-
teau of Hercules, just as it was seen by Salageri and
his corsairs of Genoa, when, after they had seized the
fort and the Square Tower and even the castle itself,
it resisted attack and its defenders held it until the
arrival of the troops of the Princes of Provence, who
delivered them. It was there that Mme. Edith had
chosen to have her own rooms.
But while she spoke to us in her sweet, clear voice, I
stopped looking at the objects around us to look at the
people. Arthur Rance was gazing at Mme. Darzac,
when my eyes fell upon them, and Rouletabille seemed
to be lost in thought, and far, far away from us all.
M. Darzac and M. Stangerson were talking in low tones.
The same thought was filling the minds of each one of
these people—both those who kept silence and those who,
if they spoke, were careful to say nothing which could
give a clue to the thoughts. We reached the postern.
“This is what we call the Gardener’s Tower,” said
Edith, childishly. “From this gate one may see all the
fort, and all the castle, both north and south. See"
And she stretched her arms wide to emphasize her
words.
“Every stone has its history. I'll tell them to you
some day, if you are good.”
“How gay Edith is "' murmured her husband. I
thought to myself that she was the only one who was
gay in the party.
We had passed through the postern and found our-
selves in another court. Opposite us was the old don-
jon. Its appearance was more than impressive. It was
high and square, and it was on account of its shape
that it was known as the Square Tower. And, as this


88 THE PERFUME OF
tower occupies the most important corner of the fortifi-
cation, it was also known as the Corner Tower. It
was the most extraordinary and the most important
part of this agglomeration of defensive works. The
walls were heavier and higher than those anywhere
else, and half way up they were still sealed with the
Roman cement with which Caesar's own columns had
welded together the stones.
“That tower yonder, in the opposite corner,” went
on Edith, “is the Tower of Charles the Bold, so called
because he was the Duke who furnished the plans when
it became necessary to transform the defenses of the
château, so as to make them resist the attacks of the
artillery. Don't you think I am very learned? Old
Bob has made this tower his study. It is too bad, for
we might have a magnificent dining hall there. But I
have never been able to refuse old Bob anything he
wanted. Old Bob,” she added, with a charming smile,
“is my uncle—that is the name he taught me to call
him by when I was a little thing. He is not here just
now. He went to Paris on the five o’clock train, but
he will be back to-morrow. He is going to compare
some of the anatomical specimens which he found at
Rochers Rouges with those in the Museum of Natural
History in Paris. Ah—here is an oubliette!”
And she showed us in the centre part of the second
court a small shaft, which she called, romantically, an
oublictte, and above which a eucalyptus tree, with its
white blossoms and its leafless limbs, leaned like a woman
over a fountain.
Since we had entered the second court, we understood
better—or at least I did, for Rouletabille, every mo-
ment more deeply lost in his own thoughts, seemed


THE LADY IN BLACK 89
neither to see nor to hear—the topographical plan of
the Fort of Hercules. As this plan is of the greatest
importance in the proper understanding of the incred-
ible events which were to occur so soon after our arrival
at Rochers Rouges, I shall place at once before the
eyes of the reader the general scheme of the buildings
as it was traced later by Rouletabille and myself.
The castle had been built in 1140 by the Seigneurs
of Mortola. In order to isolate it completely from the
land, they had not hesitated to make an island of the
peninsula by cutting away the narrow isthmus which
connected it with the mainland. Upon the mainland
itself, they had built a barricade in the form of a semi-
circular fortification, designed to protect the ap-
proaches to the drawbridge and the two entrance
towers. Not a trace of this fortification was left. And
the isthmus, in the course of the centuries, had again
resumed its old form, the drawbridge had been thrown
down and the trenches had filled up. The walls of the
Château of Hercules followed the outline of the penin-
sula, which was that of an irregular hexagon. The
walls were built upon the rocks, and the latter, in some
places, extended over the waters in such a manner that
a little ship might have taken shelter beneath them,
fearing no enemy, while it was protected by this natural
ceiling. This design of building was marvellously well
adapted for defense, and gave the inmates of the fort-
ress little reason to fear an attack, no matter from
what quarter it might come.
The fort was entered by way of the north gate, which
guarded the two towers, A and A', connected by a pas-
sageway. These towers which had suffered greatly
during the last sieges of the Genoese, had been repaired


90 THE PERFUME OF
to some slight extent some time afterward, and had,
shortly before we came to Rochers Rouges, been made
habitable by Mrs. Rance, who used them as servants’
quarters. The front of the tower A served as the keep-
er’s lodge. A little door opened in the side of the tower
upon the passageway, and enabled anyone looking out
to observe all those who came or went. A heavy double
door of oak, with bands of iron, was no longer in use,
its twin portals having stood for uncounted years open
against the inner walls of the two towers, on account
of the difficulty which had been experienced in man-
aging them; and the entrance to the castle was only
closed by a little gate, which anyone might open at
will. This entrance was the only one by which it was
possible to get into the château. As I have said, in
passing through this gate, one found himself in the first
court, closed in on all sides by the walls and the
towers. These walls were by no means as high as whent
they were built. The old high courtyards which con-
nected the towers had been razed to the ground and re-
placed by a sort of circular boulevard, from which one
mounted toward the first court by means of a little
terrace. The boulevards were still crowned by a para-
pct. For the changes which I have described took place
in the Fifteenth Century, at the time when every lord
of the manor was obliged to consider the possibility of
being obliged to meet an attack of artillery. As to the
towers B, B' and B", which had for a considerable time
longer preserved their uniformity and their first height,
and the pointed roofs of which had been replaced by a
platform designed to support the artillery, they had
later been razed to the height of the boulevard para-
pets, and their shape seemed almost like that of a half


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THE LADY IN BLACK 91
moon. These alterations had taken place in the Sev-
enteenth Century, at the time of the construction of a
modern castle, still known as the New Castle, although
it had been in ruins for years when we first saw it. The
New Castle on the plan is at C C'.
Upon the flat platform roofs of these old towers—
roofs which were surrounded by a parapet—palm trees
had been planted, which had thriven ill, swept as they
were by the sea winds and burned by the sun. When
one leaned over the circular parapet which surrounded
the whole domain, it seemed to him as though the châ-
teau were still as completely closed in as it was in the
days when the courtyards reached to the second stories
of the old towers. “La Louve,” as I have said, had not
been changed at all, but still reared its dark hulk
against the blue waters of the Mediterranean, a strange,
weird figure, looking thousands of years old. I have
spoken also of the ruins of the chapel. The ancient
commons (shown on the map by W), near the parapet
between B and B', had been transformed into the stables
and the kitchens.
I am describing now all the anterior portion of the
Château of Hercules. One could only penetrate into
the second enclosure through the postern (indicated
by H), which Mrs. Arthur Rance called “the tower of
the gardener,” and which was actually only a pavilion,
formerly defended by the tower B", and by another
tower situated at C, and which had entirely disappeared
at the time of the erection of the New Castle (shown
at C C'). A moat and a wall started from B" to abut
on I at the Tower of Charles the Bold, advancing at C
in the form of a spur to the midst of the first court, and
entirely isolating the court, which they completely


92 THE PERFUME OF
closed in. The moat still exists, wide and deep, but the
walls had been torn down all the length of the New
Castle and replaced by the walls of the castle itself.
A central door at D, now condemned, opened upon a
bridge, which had been thrown over the moat, and which
formerly permitted direct communication with the outer
court. But this bridge had been torn down or was
swallowed up in the waters, and as the windows of the
castle, rising high above the moat, were still guarded
by their heavy iron bars, one might readily believe that
the inner court still remained as impenetrable as when
it was entirely shut in by its enclosing walls at the
time when the New Castle did not exist.
The pavement of the inner court—the Court of
Charles the Bold, as the old guide books of the country
call it still—was a little higher than that of the outer
court. The rocks formed there a very high seat, a
natural pedestal of that colossal black column, the
Old Castle, standing square and erect, as though it had
been carved from a single block of stone, stretching its
awesome shadow over the blue waters. One could only
penetrate into the Old Castle (designated by F) by a
little door, K. The old inhabitants of the country
never spoke of it except as the Square Tower, to dis-
tinguish it from the Round Tower, or the Tower of
Charles the Bold, as they sometimes called the latter.
A parapet similar to the one which closed in the outer
court was built between the towers B", F and L, closing
the inner court as firmly as the outer.
We have seen that the Round Tower had been in
years past torn down to half its former height, as it had
been built by the Mortola, according to plans drawn by
Charles the Bold himself, to whom the Seigneur had


THE LADY IN BLACK 93
been of some service in the Helvetian war. This tower
had a number of tiny chambers above, and an immense
octagon chamber below. One descended into this cham-
ber by a steep and narrow stairway. The ceiling of
the octagon room was supported by four great cylin-
drical pillars, and from its walls opened three enormous
embrasures for three enormous cannons. It was of this
room that Mme. Edith had wished to make a dining
room, for it was in an admirable state of preservation,
on account of the thickness of the walls, and the light
could still penetrate through the great windows, which
had been enlarged and made square, although they,
too, were still guarded by barriers of iron. This tower
(shown on the map at L) was the spot chosen by Mme.
Edith’s uncle for a workshop, and the abiding place of
his collection. Its roof was a beautiful little garden,
to which the mistress of the domain had had trans-
ported fertile soil and wonderful plants and flowers.
I have marked upon the map in array all the portions
of the buildings which Mme. Edith had restored, im-
proved and put in shape for habitation.
Of the château of the Seventeenth Century, known
as the New Castle, they had only repaired two bed
chambers on the first floor and a little sitting room for
guests. It was to these that Rouletabille and myself
were assigned, while M. and Mme. Robert Darzac were
lodged in the Square Tower, of which I shall have to
give a more special description.
Two rooms, the windows of which opened upon the
balcony, were reserved in this Square Tower for “Old
Bob,” who slept there. M. Stangerson was upon the
first floor of “la Louve,” in the rear of the suite occu-
pied by the Rances,


94 THE PERFUME OF
Mme. Edith herself showed us to our rooms. She
made us cross over the sunken ceilings of ruined apart-
ments, over broken railings and tumble-down walls; but
here and there some mouldy hangings, a broken statue
or a ragged bit of tapestry, bore witness to the ancient
splendors of the New Castle, born of the fantasies of
some Mortola of the wonderful Seventeenth Century.
But when we reached them, our little rooms recalled to
us nothing of that magnificent past. They had been
swept and garnished with a care that was almost touch-
ing. Clean and hygienic, without carpets, hangings
or upholstered chairs, furnished in the simplest of mod-
ern styles, they pleased us very much. As I have al-
ready said, the two sleeping rooms were separated by a
little parlor.
As I tied my cravat, after dressing for dinner, I called
Rouletabille to ask him if he were ready. There was
no answer. I went into his room and discovered with
surprise that he had already gone out. I went to the
window of his room, which opened like my own upon the
court of Charles the Bold. The court was empty, in-
habited only by a large eucalyptus, the fragrance of
which mounted to my nostrils. Above the parapet of
the boulevard I saw the vast stretch of the silent waters.
The blue of the sea had grown dark at the fall of even-
ing, and the shades of night were visible on the horizon
of the Italian shore, reaching already to the pointe
d'Ospedaletti. Not a sound, not a breath on the land
or in the heavens! I have never yet noticed such a
silence and such a complete repose of nature except
at the moment which precedes the most violent storms
and the unchaining of the elements. But now I felt
that we had nothing of the sort to fear. The whole


96 THE PERFUME OF
into the sea. And I heard the voice of Mme. Darzac
say:
“Be careful. It is a gage of defiance which he has
thrown down. You shall not leave me this evening.”
And then came Rouletabille's voice answering:
“He must land upon the bank! Let me hurry to the
bank.”
“What will you do there?” moaned Mathilde.
“Whatever may be necessary.”
And then Mathilde spoke again, and her voice was
terrible to hear.
“I forbid you to touch that man"
And I heard no more.
I descended to the court, where I found Rouletabille
alone, seated upon the edge of the oubliette. I spoke
to him, but he did not answer. I felt no surprise, for
this had often happened of late. I went on into the
outer court, and I saw M. Darzac coming toward me,
evidently in the greatest excitement. Before I came
up to him, he called out:
“Did you see him?”
“Yes, I saw him,” I replied.
“And she-my wife—do you know whether she saw
him?”
“She saw him, too. She was with Rouletabille when
he passed. What bravado the creature showed"
Itobert Darzac was trembling like an aspen leaf from
the shock which he had just experienced. He told me
that as soon as he had caught sight of the boat and its
passenger, he had rushed like a madman to the shore,
but that before he had reached the Pointe de Garibaldi
the bark had disappeared as if by enchantment. But
even before he finished speaking, Darzac left me


THE LADY IN BLACK 97
and hurried away to seek Mathilde, dreading the
thought of the state of mind in which he felt that he
would find her. But he returned almost immediately,
gloomy and grieved. The door of his wife's apartment
was locked, and she had said to him that she wished to
be alone for awhile.
“And Rouletabille?” I asked.
“I have not seen him.”
We remained together upon the rampart gazing at
the night which had carried Larsan away. Robert
Darzac was infinitely sorrowful. In order to change
the direction of his thoughts, I asked him a few ques-
tions regarding the Rance household. Here is in sub-
stance the information which I succeeded in extracting
from him little by little:
After the trial at Versailles, Arthur Rance had re-
turned to Philadelphia, and there, one evening, at a
family dinner party, he had found himself seated beside
a charming young girl, who had interested him at once
by a display of interest in literature and art, the like
of which he had not often seen in his beautiful country-
women. She was not in the least like the quick, inde-
pendent and audacious type of young women who are
often found in America, nor was she of the “Fluffy
Ruffles” variety, so much in favor at present. Some-
what haughty in mien, yet gentle and melancholy, she
at once recalled to the young man the heroines of Wal-
ter Scott, who he soon learned was her favorite author.
From the first, she attracted him strongly. How could
this delicate little creature so quickly have impressed
Arthur Rance, who had been madly in love with the
majestic Mathilde? Of such are the mysteries of the
heart. Now, fortunately or unfortunately, as you pre-


98 THE PERFUME OF
fer, Arthur Rance had upon that evening so far for-
gotten himself as to drink considerably more wine than
was good for him. He never realized what his offense
had been, but he knew that he must have committed
some frightful blunder or breach of politeness, when
Miss Edith in a low voice and with heightened color,
requested him not to address her again. Upon the mor-
row, Arthur Rance went to call on the young lady and
entreated her pardon, swearing that he would never
permit wine to pass his lips again.
Arthur Rance had already known for some time Miss
Prescott's uncle, the fine old man who still bore among
his friends the nickname of “Old Bob,” which had been
given him in his college days, and who was as celebrated
for his adventures as an explorer as for his discoveries
as a geologist. He seemed as gentle as a sheep, but he
had hunted many a tiger through the pampas of South
America. He had spent half his life south of the Rio
Negro among the Patagonians, in seeking for the man
of the tertiary period—or, at least, for his fossils, not
as the antropological relic or some other pithecanthro-
pus, approaching in a greater or less extent the race of
monkeys, but as the real living man, stronger, more
powerful, than those who inhabit this planet in our own
day—the man, to speak clearly, who must have been
contemporaneous with the immense mammoths and
mastodons, which appeared upon the globe before the
quarternary epoch. He generally returned from these
expeditions with closely filled notebooks and a respect-
able collection of tibias and femurs, which may or may
not have belonged to the aboriginal man, and also with
a rich display of skins of wild beasts, which showed that
the spectacled old savant knew how to use more modern


THE LADY IN BLACK 99
arms than the stone ax and bow and arrow. As soon
as he was back in Philadelphia, he would dispose of his
treasures either in his private cabinets or in those of
the Museum, and, opening his notebooks, would resume
his lectures, amusing himself as he talked by making
the splinters from the long pencils, which he was always
sharpening but had never been seen to use, fly almost
into the eyes of the students on the front benches.
All these details were given me later by Arthur Rance
himself. He had been one of “Old Bob’s” pupils, but
had not seen him in many years until he made the ac-
quaintance of Miss Edith. If I have seemed to dwell
too minutely on such apparently unimportant things,
I have done so because, by quite a natural train of
events, we were to make “Old Bob's" acquaintance at
Rochers Rouges.
Miss Edith, upon the occasion when Arthur Rance
had been presented to her and had forgotten himself
on account of overindulgence in wine, had seemed some-
what more melancholy than she usually was, because
she had received disquieting news of her uncle. The
latter for four years back had been absent on a trip to
Patagonia. In his last letter, he had told his niece that
he was ill, and that he feared that he should not live to
see her again. One might be tempted to wonder why
so tender-hearted a niece, under such circumstances,
had not refrained from attending a dinner, no matter
how quiet, but Miss Edith, during her uncle’s many
absences from home, had so frequently received such
communications from him and had afterward seen him
return in such perfect health that she could scarcely
be blamed for not having remained at home to mourn
that evening. Three months later, however, laying


I00 THE PERFUME OF
received another letter, she suddenly resolved to go all
alone to South America and join her uncle. During
those three months important events had transpired.
Miss Edith had been touched by the remorse of Arthur
Rance, and when Miss Prescott departed for Patagonia,
no one was astonished to find that “Old Bob’s” old pupil
was going to accompany her. If the engagement was
not officially announced, it was because the pair pre-
ferred to wait for the consent of the geologist. Miss
Edith and Arthur Rance were met at St. Louis by the
young woman’s uncle. He was in excellent health and
in a charming humor. Rance, who had not seen him
in years, declared to him that he had grown younger—
the easiest of compliments to pay and the pleasantest
to receive. When his niece informed him of her en-
gagement to this fine young fellow, the uncle manifested
the greatest delight. The three returned to Philadel-
phia, where the wedding took place. Miss Edith had
never been in France, and Arthur determined that their
honeymoon should be spent there. And it was thus
that they found, as will be told a little later, a scientific
reason for locating in the neighborhood of Mentone, not
exactly in France, but an hundred meters from the
frontier, in Italy, at Rochers Rouges.
& & * * * * * &
The gong had sounded for dinner, and Arthur Rance
was coming to look for us, so we repaired to “la Louve,”
in the lower hall of which we were to dine. When we
were all assembled (save “Old Bob,” who, as has been
mentioned, was absent), Mme. Edith asked whether any
of us had noticed a little boat which had made the circle


THIE LADY IN BLACK 101
of the fortress, and in which a man was standing erect.
The man's strange attitude had struck her, she said.
No one replied, and she added:
“Oh, I know who it is, for I know the fisherman
who rowed the boat. He is a great friend of Old
B.,b.”
“Ah, then you know the fisherman, madame?” asked
Rouletabille.
“He comes to the castle sometimes to sell fish. The
people around the village have given him an odd name,
which I don't know how to say in their impossible
patois, but I can translate it. They call him, ‘the
hangman of the sea.’ A pretty name, isn't it?”


CHAPTER VII
WHICH TELLS OF SOME PRECAUTIONS TAKEN BY JOSEPH
ROU LETABILLE TO DEFEND THE FORT OF HERCULES
AGAINST THE ATTACK OF AN ENEMY
Rouletabille had not even the politeness to inquire
into the explanation of this amazing sobriquet. He
appeared to be plunged in the deepest meditation. A
strange dinner! a strange castle! strange guests' All
the graces and coquetries of Mme. Edith had no effect
in awakening us to any semblance of life. There were
two newly married pairs, four lovers, who ought to have
been radiant with the joy of life, and to have made the
hours pass gayly and happily. But the repast was one
of the most gloomy at which I have ever been present.
The spectre of Larsan hovered about our festivities,
and it seemed almost as though the man whom we knew
to be so near was actually among us.
It is as well to say here that Professor Stangerson,
since he had learned the cruel, the miserable truth, had
not for one moment been able to free himself from the
thought of it. I do not think that I am saying too
much in declaring that the first victim of the affair at
the Glandier, and the most unfortunate of all, was this
good old man. He had lost everything—his faith in
science, his love of work, and—more bitter than all the
rest—his belief in his daughter. His faith in her had
been his religion. She had been such an object of joy
and pride. He had thought of her for so many years


THE LADY IN BLACK 103
as a vestal virgin, seeking, with him, the unknown in
the world of higher things. He had been so marvel-
lously dazzled with the thought of her angelic purity,
and had believed that her reason for having remained
unmarried was that she was unwilling to resign herself
to any life which would withdraw her from science and
her father, to both of which she had dedicated her ex-
istence. And while he was thinking of her almost with
reverence, he discovered that the reason that his daugh-
ter refused to marry was because she was already the
wife of Ballmeyer. The day in which Mathilde had
decided to confess everything to her father, and to tell
him the story of the past, which must clear up the pres-
ent with a tragic light to the eyes of the professor,
already warned by the mysteries of the Glandier—the
day when, falling at his feet and embracing his knees,
she had told him the story of her youth, Professor
Stangerson had raised the form of his beloved child
from the ground and had pressed her to his heart; he
had placed a kiss of pardon on her brow: he had
mingled his tears with the sobs of her whose fault had
been so bitterly expiated, and he had sworn to her that
she had never been more precious than since he had
known how she had suffered. And by these words, she
was a little comforted. But he, when she left his pres-
ence, was another man—a man alone, all alone—-.
Professor Stangerson had lost his daughter and his
goddess.
He had experienced only indifference in regard to
her marriage to Robert Darzac, although the latter
had been the best beloved of his pupils. In vain Ma-
thilde, with the warmest tenderness, had endeavored to
rekindle the old feeling in the heart of her father. She


104 THE PERFUME OF
knew well that he had changed toward her, that his
glance never dwelt upon her in the old fond way, and
that his weary eyes were looking back into the past at
an image which he had only dreamed was her own. And
she knew, too, that when those eyes rested upon her—
upon her, Mathilde Darzac-it was to see at her side,
not the honored figure of a good man and tender hus-
band, but the shadow, eternally living, eternally in-
famous, of the other—the man who had stolen his
daughter. The Professor could work no longer. The
great secret of the dissolution of matter which he had
promised to reveal to mankind, had returned to the un-
known from which, for a moment, the scientist had
drawn it, and men will go on, repeating for centuries to
come the imbecile phrase, “From nothing, nothing.”
# # # # & # * #
The evening meal was rendered still more doleful by
the setting in which it was served—the sombre hall,
lighted by a gothic lamp, with old candelabra of
wrought iron, and the walls of the fortress adorned
with oriental tapestries, against which were ranged the
old suits of armor dating back to the first Saracen inva-
sion and the sieges of Dagobert.
I looked at the members of the party, and it seemed
to me that I was able to see reason enough for the
general sadness. M. and Mme. Darzac were seated
beside each other. The mistress of the house had evi-
dently not desired to separate a bridal pair, whose
union only dated back to yesterday. Of the two, I
must say that the more unhappy looking was, beyond
a doubt, our friend, Robert. He never spoke one word.
Mme. Darzac joined to some extent in the conversation,


THE LADY IN BLACK I05
exchanging now and then a few commonplaces with
Arthur Rance. Is it necessary for me to add that at
this time, after the scene between Rouletabille and Ma-
thilde, which I had witnessed from my window, I ex-
pected to see her in a most wretched state—almost
overcome by the vision of Larsan, which had surged up
in front of her eyes? But no : on the contrary, I dis-
covered a remarkable difference between the terrified
aspect with which she had approached us at the station,
for instance, and the easy, composed manner which was
hers, at present. One would have said that she had
been relieved by the sight of the apparition, and when
I expressed my opinion to Rouletabille later in the even-
ing, I discovered that he shared it, and he explained
the reason for Mathilde's change of manner in the sim-
plest possible fashion. The unhappy woman had
dreaded nothing so much as the thought that she was
going mad, and the certainty that she had not been the
victim of a mental delusion, cruel as that certainty was,
had served to make her a little more calm. She pre-
ferred to fight even against the living Larsan than
against a phantom. In the first interview which she
had had with Rouletabille in the Square Tower, while
I was dressing for dinner, she had, my young friend
told me, been completely possessed by the dread that
insanity was coming upon her. Rouletabille, in telling
me of this interview, acknowledged to me that he had
taken altogether different means to calm Mathilde from
those which Robert Darzac had employed—that is, he
made no effort to conceal from her that her eyes had
seen clearly and had seen Frederic Larsan. When she
was told that Robert Darzac had only denied the truth
to her because he feared for its effect upon her, and that


106 THE PERFUME OF
he had been the first to telegraph to Rouletabille to
come to their aid, she heaved a sigh so long and so
deep that it was almost a sob. She took Rouletabille's
hands in her own and covered them with kisses, just as
a mother kisses the hands of her little child. Evidently
she was instinctively drawn toward the youth by all the
mysterious forces of maternal affection, in spite of the
fact that she had every reason to believe that her child
had died years before. It was just at this point that
the two had first noticed through the window of the
tower the form of Frederic Larsan, standing erect in
the boat. At first, both had remained, stupefied, mo-
tionless and mute at the sight. Then a cry of rage
escaped from the agonized heart of Rouletabille, and
he longed to pursue the man and reckon with him, face
to face. I have told how Mathilde held him back,
clinging to him upon the parapet. In her mind, appar-
ently, horrible as was this resurrection of Larsan, it
was less horrible than the continual and supernatural
resurrection of a Larsan who had no existence save in
her own diseased brain. She no longer saw Larsan
everywhere around her. She saw him in the flesh, as
he was.
At one moment trembling with nervousness, the next
gentle and composed, now patient and in another in-
stant impatient, Mathilde, even while conversing with
Arthur Rance, showed for her husband the most charm-
ing and sweetest solicitude imaginable. She was at-
tentive to him at every moment, serving him herself,
and smiling gently at him as she did so, watching him
carefully, to be sure that he was not overtired and that
the light did not strike too near his eyes. Robert
thanked her for her cares, but seemed none the less


THE LADY IN BLACK 107
frightfully unhappy. And his demeanor compelled me
to recollect the fact that the resuscitation of Larsan
would undoubtedly recall to Mme. Darzac that before
she was Mme. Darzac, she had been Mme. Jean Rousse!
Ballmeyer Larsan before God and herself, and even,
so far as the transatlantic laws are concerned, before
men as well.
If the design of Larsan in showing himself had been
to deal a frightful blow to a happiness which had yet
scarcely begun, he had completely succeeded. And, per-
haps, as the historian of all parts of this strange affair,
I ought to mention the fact that Mathilde had given
Robert Darzac at once to understand that she did not
regard herself as his wife, since the man to whom she
had pledged herself in her early girlhood was still
living. I have said that Mathilde Stangerson had been
brought up in a very religious manner, not by her
father, who cared little for such things, but by her
female relatives, especially her old aunt in Cincinnati.
The scientific studies which she had pursued with her
father had in no wise impaired her faith, while the latter
had taken care never to speak against religion to his
daughter. She had preserved it, even in the deepest
researches into the professor's theory of the creation.
She said to him that no matter how plausibly he might
prove that everything came from nothingness, that is
to say, from the atmosphere, and returned to nothing-
ness in the end, it remained to prove that that nothing,
originating from nothing, had not been created by
God. And, as she was a good Catholic, she believed
that the Vicar of Christ on earth was the Pope. I might
have perhaps passed over these religious beliefs of
Mathilde in silence, if they had not had so strong an in-


108 THE PERFUME OF
fluence on the resolution which she had taken in regard
to her second husband, when she discovered that her
first husband was still alive. It had seemed to her that
Larsan’s death had been proven beyond the slightest
doubt, and she had gone to her new husband as a
widow with the approval of her confessor. And now
she learned that in the sight of Heaven, she was not a
widow, but a bigamist But, at all events, the catas-
trophe might not be irremediable, and she herself
proposed to poor M. Darzac that the case should be
propounded to the ecclesiastical courts of Rome for a
settlement as quickly as possible. Thus it was that M.
and Mme. Robert Darzac, forty-eight hours after their
marriage in the Church of St. Nicolas du Chardonnet,
were separated by a gulf over which one could not and
the other would not pass. The reader will comprehend
from this brief explanation the mournful demeanor of
Robert and the gentle sweetness displayed toward him
by Mathilde.
Without being entirely conversant with all these de-
tails on the evening of which I write, I nevertheless
suspected most of them. Leaving the Darzacs, my eyes
wandered to the neighbor of Mme. Darzac, M. Arthur
William Rance, and my thoughts were taking a new
turn, when they were suddenly arrested by the butler's
coming to say that Bernier, the concierge, requested
to speak to M. Rouletabille. My friend arose, excused
himself, and left the room.
“What!” I cried. “The Berniers are no longer at
the Glandier?”
Readers of “The Mystery of the Yellow Room” will
recall that these Berniers—the man and his wife—were
the concierges of M. Stangerson at Ste. Genevieve-des-


THE LADY IN BLACK 109
Bois. I have told in that work how Rouletabille had
had them set at liberty when they were accused of com-
plicity in the attempt made at the pavilion de la Che-
naie. Their gratitude to the young reporter on this
account had been of the greatest, and Rouletabille had
been ever since the object of their devotion. M. Stan-
gerson replied to my exclamation by informing me that
all the servants had left the Glandier at the time that
he himself had abandoned it. As the Rances had need
of concierges for the Fort of Hercules, the Professor
had been glad to send them his faithful domestics, of
whom he had never had reason to complain except for
one slight infraction of the game laws, which had turned
out most unfortunately for them. Now they were
lodged in one of the towers of the postern, where they
kept the gate, and from which they admitted those who
entered and dismissed those who wished to go out of the
fort.
Rouletabille had not appeared in the least astonished
when the butler announced that Bernier wished to say
a word to him, and from that fact, I drew the conclu-
sion that he must be already aware of his presence at
Rochers Rouges. So I discovered, without being very
greatly surprised at it, that Rouletabille had made
excellent use of the few minutes during which I believed
him to be in his room, and which I had given up to my
toilet and to chatting with M. Darzac.
The unexpected exit of Rouletabille sent a chill to my
heart and seemed to spread a general sensation of alarm
throughout the company. Every one of us who was in
the secret asked himself whether this summons had
not something to do with some important event con-
nected with the return of Larsan. Mme. Darzac was


110 THE PERFUME OF
very restless. And because Mathilde showed herself
to be disturbed and nervous, I fancied that M. Arthur
Rance thought that it behooved him to display some
little anxiety. And it may be as well to say at this
point that M. Arthur Rance and his wife were not
aware of the whole of the unfortunate story of Pro-
fessor Stangerson’s daughter. It had seemed useless
to inform them of the fact of Mathilde’s secret mar-
riage to Jean Roussel, afterward known as Larsan.
That was something which concerned only the family.
But they were fully aware—Arthur Rance from having
been mixed up in the Glandier business, and his wife
from what he had told her—of the way in which the
Secret Service agent had pursued the young woman who
was now Mme. Darzac. The crimes of Larsan were ex-
plained in the eyes of Arthur Rance by a mad passion
for Mathilde, and this was by no means surprising to
the young American who had been for so long in love
with her himself, and who perceived in all of Larsan's
acts merely the indications of an insane and hopeless
love. As to Mme. Edith, I soon found out why the events
which had transpired at the Glandier had not seemed
so simple to her when they were related to her as they
had to her husband. For her to share his opinions on
the subject, it would have been necessary for her to
have seen Mathilde with eyes as enthusiastic as those
of Arthur Rance, and, on the contrary, her thoughts
(which I had good opportunities to read without her
suspecting it) ran about in this way: “But what on
earth is there about this woman which could inspire
such an insane passion, lasting for years and years in
the heart of any man! Here is a woman for whose
sake a detective officer becomes a murderer; for whom


THE LADY IN BLACK 111
a temperate man becomes a drunkard, and for whom an
innocent man permits himself to be pronounced guilty
of a felony. What is there about her more than there
is about myself who owe my husband to the fact that
she refused him before he ever saw me? What is the
charm about her? She isn’t even young. And yet
even now my husband forgets all about me while he is
looking at her.” That is what I read in Edith’s eyes
as she watched her husband gazing at Mathilde. Ah,
those black eyes of the gentle, languid Mme. Edith !
I am congratulating myself upon the explanations
which I have made to the reader. It is as well that he
should know the sentiments which dwelt in the heart of
each one concerned at the moment when all were about
to have their own parts to play in the strange and
awful drama which was already drawing near in the
shadow which enveloped the Fort of Hercules. As yet,
I have said nothing of Old Bob nor of Prince Galitch,
but, never fear, their turn will come! I have taken as a
rule in the narration of this affair to paint things and
people as nearly as possible as they appeared to me in
the development of events. Thus the reader will pass
through all the phases of the tragedy as we ourselves
passed through them—anguish and peace, mysteries
and their unraveling, misunderstanding and comprehen-
sion. If the light breaks upon the mind of the reader
before the hour when it broke upon mine, so much the
better. As he will be conversant with the same circum-
stances, neither more nor less, which came under our
observation, he will prove to himself if he solves the
mystery before it is revealed to him, that he possesses
a brain worthy to rank with that of Rouletabille.
* * * * * * * *


112 THE PERFUME OF
We finished our repast without our young friend
having reappeared, and we arose from the table without
having mentioned to each other any of the thoughts
which troubled us. Mathilde immediately asked me
where I thought Rouletabille had gone. As she left
the dining room, and I walked with her as far as the
entrance to the fort; M. Darzac and Mme. Edith fol-
lowed us. M. Stangerson had bidden us good-night.
Arthur Rance, who had disappeared for a moment,
joined us while we were at the passageway. The night
was clear and the moon shone brightly. Someone had
lighted the lanterns in the archway, however, in spite
of the fact that their rays were not needed for seeing.
As we passed beneath the arch, we heard Rouletabille
speaking, as though he were encouraging those whom
he addressed.
“Come on 1 One more effort!” he cried, and the voice
which answered him was husky and panting, like that
of a sailor who was working with his fellows to bring
his bark into port. Finally, a great tumult filled our
ears. It was the two portals of the immense iron doors,
which were being closed for the first time in more than
an hundred years.
Mme. Edith looked astonished at the act of her guest,
and asked what had happened to the gate, which had
always served in place of the doors since she had been
mistress of the place. But Arthur Rance caught her
arm, and she seemed to understand that he was impress-
ing upon her that she must keep silence. But that did
not keep her from exclaiming in a not-too-well pleased
tone:
“Really! Anyone would think that we expected to
undergo a siege''


THE LADY IN BLACK 113
But Rouletabille beckoned our group into the garden
and announced to us in a jesting tone that if any of us
had any desire to make a trip to the village, we must
give it up for that evening, for the order had gone
forth and no one could leave the château or enter it.
Pere Jacques, he added, still pretending to jest, was
charged with the carrying out of the command, and
everyone knew that it was impossible to bribe the faith-
ful old servitor. It was then that I learned for the
first time that Pere Jacques, whom I had known so well
at the Glandier, had accompanied Professor Stangerson
on his visit and was acting as his valet. That night he
was sleeping in a tiny closet in “la Louve,” near his
master’s bed room, but Rouletabille had changed that,
and it was Pere Jacques who took the place of the
concierges in the tower marked A.
“But where are the Berniers?” cried Mme. Edith.
“They are installed in the Square Tower, in the room
on the left, near the entrance; they are to act as care-
takers of the Square Tower,” replied Rouletabille.
“But the Square Tower doesn’t need any caretak-
ers!” exclaimed Edith, whose vexation was plainly
visible.
“That, Madame,” returned the young reporter, “is
what we cannot be sure of.”
He made no further explanations, but he took M.
Arthur Rance to one side and informed him that he
ought to tell his wife about the reappearance of Lar-
san. If there was to be the slightest chance of hiding
the truth from M. Stangerson, it could scarcely be
accomplished without the aid and intelligence of
Mme. Edith. And, then, too, it would be as well,
henceforward, for all of those in the Fort of Iſcr-


114 THE PERFUME OF
cules to be prepared for everything, and surprised at
nothing!
The next act of Rouletabille was to make us walk
across the court and place ourselves at the postern of
the gardener. I have said that this postern (H) com-
manded the entrance to the inner court; but at that
point the moat had been filled up a long time ago.
Rouletabille, to our amazement, declared that the next
day he intended to have the moat dug out and to re-
place the drawbridge. For the present, he busied him-
self with ordering the postern to be closed more securely
by the servants of the château by means of a sort of
fortification built from the boards and bricks which had
been used in the repairs of the château, and which had
not yet been taken away by the workmen. Thus the châ-
teau was barricaded and Rouletabille laughed softly to
himself, for Mme. Edith, having been apprised by her
husband of the facts of the case, made no further ob-
jection, but contented herself with smiling a little con-
temptuously at the timidity of her guests, who were
transforming the old stronghold into an absolutely
impenetrable spot, because they were afraid of just
one man—one man, all alone. But Mme. Edith did not
know what manner of man this was. She had not lived
through the mysteries of the yellow room.
As to the others—Arthur Rance among them—they
found it perfectly natural and reasonable that Roulet-
abille should fortify the place against that which was
unknown and mysterious and invisible, and which plotted
in the night they knew not what against the Fort of
IIercules.
At the newly fortified postern, Rouletabille had sta-
tioned no one, for he rescrved that place that night for


THE LADY IN BLACK 115
himself. From there he could obtain a complete view
of both the inner and outer courts. It was a strategic
point which commanded a view of the whole château.
One could reach the apartment of the Darzacs only after
passing by Pere Jacques in A; by Rouletabille at H,
and by the Berniers, who guarded the Square Tower
at the door marked K. The young man had decided
that it would be better for those on guard not to retire
that night. As we passed by the “oubliette” in the Court
of Charles the Bold, I saw by the light of the moon that
someone had displaced the circular board which covered
it. I saw also on the margin a flask attached to a
cord. Rouletabille explained to me that he had wished
to know if this old oublictte (which was really nothing
but a well) corresponded with the sea, and that he had
found that the water was clear and sweet—a proof that
it had nothing to do with the Mediterranean.
The young man walked for a few steps with Mme.
Darzac, who immediately took leave of us and entered
the Square Tower. M. Darzac and Arthur Rance, at
the request of Rouletabille, remained with us. Some
words of excuse addressed to Mme. Edith made her
understand that she was being politely asked to retire,
and she bade us good-night with a nonchalant grace,
flinging the words, “Good-night, M. le Captain,” at
Rouletabille over her shoulder as she passed him.
When we were alone, we men, Rouletabille beckoned
us toward the postern into the little room of the gar-
dener, a dark, low-ceiled apartment, where we were
surprised to find how easily we could see anything that
passed near by without being seen ourselves. There,
Arthur Rance, Robert Darzac, Rouletabille and myself,
without even lighting a lamp, held our first council of


116 THE PERFUME OF
war. In truth, I know not what other name to give
to this reunion of frightened men, hidden behind the
stones of this old fortress.
“We may make our plans here in tranquillity,” began
Rouletabille. “No one can hear us, and we shall not be
surprised by anyone. If any person should attempt to
pass the first gate which Jacques is guarding without
the old man’s seeing him, we shall be immediately
warned by the sentinel whom I have stationed in the
very middle of the court, hidden in the ruins of the
chapel. I have placed your gardener, Mattoni, at that
point, M. Rance. I believe from what I have been told
that you can depend upon the man. Is not that your
opinion?”
I listened to Rouletabille with admiration. Mme.
Edith was right. He had indeed constituted himself a
captain, and he had not left one impregnable spot
without defense, and had neglected nothing in his cogi-
tations. I felt certain that he would never surrender,
no matter on what terms, and that he would prefer
death to capitulation, either for himself or for any
of the rest of us. What a brave little commander he
was And, indeed, it seemed to me that he displayed
more bravery in undertaking the defense of the Fort
of Hercules against Larsan than the Lords of Mortola
had shown in holding the castle against a thousand of
the enemy. For they had fought merely against shot
and shell and spears. And what had we to fight
against? The darkness. Where was our enemy?
Everywhere and nowhere. We were able neither to see
him, nor to know his whereabouts, nor to guess his
designs, nor to take the offensive ourselves, ignorant
as we were of where our blows might fall. There re-


THE LADY IN BLACK! 117
mained for us only to be on guard, to shut ourselves
in, to watch and to wait.
M. Arthur Rance assured Rouletabille that he could
answer for his gardener, Mattoni, and our young man
proceeded to explain to us in a general fashion the
situation. He lit his pipe, took three or four puffs,
and said:
“Well, here we are. Can we hope that Larsan, after
having so insolently flaunted himself before us, at our
very doors, in order to defy us, will confine himself to
such a platonic manifestation? Will he consider that
he has accomplished enough in bringing trouble, terror
and consternation among the members of the besieged
party in the garrison? And content with what he has
done, will he go away? I hardly think so. First, be-
cause such a thing would be foreign to his character—
for he loves a fight, and is never satisfied with a partial
success; and, secondly, because no one of us has the
power to drive him off. Consider that he can do any-
thing that he will to injure us, but that we can make
no move against him save to defend ourselves if he
strikes, provided we are able when it may suit him
to do so. We have, of course, no hope of any help from
outside. And he knows it well; that is what makes him
so bold and audacious. Whom can we call to our aid?”
“The authorities,” suggested Arthur Rance. He
spoke with some hesitation, for he felt that if this plan
had not been entertained by Rouletabille, there must
be some reason for it.
The young reporter looked at his host with an air of
pity, which was not entirely free from reproach. And
he said in a chilly tone, which showed plainly to Arthur
Rance how little value there was in his proposition:


118 THE PERFUME OF
“You ought to understand, Monsieur, that I did not
save Larsan from French justice at Versailles to deliver
him over to Italian justice at Rochers Rouges.”
M. Arthur Rance, who was, as I have said, ignorant
of the first marriage of Professor Stangerson’s daugh-
ter, could not understand, as did the rest of us, the
impossibility of revealing the existence of Larsan with-
out stirring up (especially after the ceremony at St.
Nicolas du Chardonnet) the worst of scandals and the
most dreadful of catastrophes: but certain inexplicable
incidents of the trial at Versailles had impressed him
sufficiently to make him realize that we dreaded above
all things to bring again to the public mind what some-
one had called “The Mystery of Mlle. Stangerson.”
He comprehended this on the evening of which I
speak better than he had ever done before, and knew
that Larsan must hold one of those terrible secrets on
which life and honor depend, and with which the magis-
trates of the world can have no concern.
M. Rance bowed to M. Robert Darzac without utter-
ing a word: but the salute signified the declaration that
M. Arthur Rance was ready to combat for the cause of
Mathilde, whatever it might be, as a noble chevalier,
who does not bother himself about the reason of the
battle in the moment when he dies for his lady. At
least, I thus interpreted his gesture, and I felt certain
that, in spite of his recent marriage, the American had
by no means forgotten his old love.
M. Darzac said:
“This man must disappear, but in silence, whether
we move him by our entreatics, or bribe him or kill him.
But the first condition of his disappearance is to keep
the fact that he has reappeared at all a secret. Above


THE LADY IN BLA CK 119
all—and I am speaking of the heartfelt wish of Mme.
Darzac as well as my own—M. Stangerson must never
know that we are menaced by the blows cf this monster.”
“Mme. Darzac's wishes are commands,” replied Rou-
letabille. “M. Stangerson shall know nothing.”
We went on to discuss the situation in regard to the
servants and to what one might expect from them.
Happily, Pere Jacques and the Berniers were already
partly in the secret and would be astonished at nothing.
Mattoni was devoted enough to render unquestioning
obedience to Mme. Edith. The others did not count.
Later there would be Walter, the servant of Old Bob,
but he had accompanied his master to Paris, and would
not return until he did.
Rouletabille arose, exchanged through the window a
signal with Bernier, who was standing erect upon the
threshold of the Square Tower. Then he came back to
us and sat down again.
“Larsan probably is not far off,” he said. “During
dinner I made a tour of observation around the place.
We possess at the North gate a natural means of
defense which is really marvellous, and which com-
pletely replaces the old fortifications of the château.
We have there fifty paces away, at the western shore,
the two frontier posts of the French and Italian reve-
nue officers, whose untiring vigilance may be of the
greatest assistance to us. Pere Bernier is on the most
friendly terms with these worthy people, and I am going
with him to talk to them. The Italian customs officer
speaks only Italian, but the French officer speaks both
languages, as well as the patois of the country, and it
is this man, whom Bernier tells me is called Michael, to
whom I look to be of the greatest use to us. Through


120 THE PERFUME OF
his means we have already learned that the two revenue
posts are much interested in the strange manoeuvres
of the little boat, which belongs to Tullio, the fisherman,
whom they call ‘the hangman of the sea.” Old Tullio
is one of the former acquaintances of the customs men.
He is the most skillful smuggler on the coast. He had
with him this evening in his boat an individual whom
the revenue officers had never seen. The boat, Tullio
and the passenger, all disappeared at the Pointe de
Garibaldi. I have been there with Pere Bernier, and
we found nothing, any more than M. Darzac, who
visited the spot before us. However, Larsan must have
landed. * * * I have a presentiment of the fact.
In any case, I am sure that Tullio’s little boat is an-
chored near the Pointe de Garabaldi.”
“You are sure of that?” cried M. Darzac.
“What reason have you for thinking so?” I de-
manded.
“Bah!” exclaimed Rouletabille. “It left the marks
of the keel in the sand on the bank, and when they
anchored, they let fall a little lantern, which I picked
up and which the revenue officers recognized as the one
used by Tullio when he fishes in the waters on calm
nights.”
“Larsan certainly landed !” repeated M. Darzac. “He
is at Rochers Rouges.”
“In any case, if the boat has been left at Rochers
Rouges, he has not come back here,” exclaimed Roulet-
abille. “The two revenue posts are situated upon the
narrow road which leads from Rochers Rouges to
France, and are placed in such a manner that no
one can pass by whether by day or by night without
being seen. You know besides that the Red Rocks from


THE LADY IN BLACK 191
which the village takes its name form a cul de sac, and
that a sentinel is on guard in front of these rocks every
hundred meters around the frontier. The sentinel
passes between the rocks and the sea. The rocks are
steep and form a terrace sixty meters high.”
“That is true,” said Arthur Rance, who had not re-
cently spoken, and who seemed greatly interested. “It
is not easy to scale the rocks.”
“He will have hidden himself in the grottoes,” said
Darzac. “There are some deep pockets in the ter-
race.”
“I thought of that,” said Rouletabille. “And I
went back alone to Rochers Rouges, after I left Pere
Bernier.”
“That was very imprudent " I said.
“It was very prudent,” corrected Rouletabille. “I
had some things to say to Larsan which I did not wish
a third party to hear. Well, I went back to Rochers
Rouges and called Larsan’s name through all the
caves.”
“You called him *** cried Arthur Rance.
“Yes, I shouted into the gathering night; I waved
my handkerchief as the soldiers wave their flag of truce.
But whether it was that he heard me and saw my white
flag or not, he did not answer.”
“Perhaps he was not there,” I suggested.
“Perhaps not: I don’t know. I heard a noise in the
grotto.”
“And you did not enter?” demanded Arthur Rance.
“No,” replied Rouletabille, quietly. “But you do
not think that it was because I was afraid of him, do
you?”
“Let us run ſ” we all cried in one breath, rising at
5


199 THE PERFUME OF
the same moment. “Let us go and finish up the business
immediately.”
“I don’t think that we shall ever have a better chance
of meeting Larsan,” said Arthur Rance. “We can do
what we like with him at the bottom of Rochers Rouges.”
Darzac and Arthur Rance were already starting off;
I waited to see what Rouletabille would say. He calmed
the two men with a gesture, and begged them to be
seated again.
“It is necessary to remember,” he said, “that Larsan
would have acted exactly as he has done if he had wished
to lure us to-night to the grotto of Rochers Rouges.
He has shown himself to us; he has landed almost under
our eyes at the Point of Garabaldi; he might as well
have shouted under our windows, “You know I am at
Rochers Rouges. I’ll wait for you there.” He would
have been neither more explicit or more eloquent.”
“You went to Rochers Rouges,” resumed Arthur
Rance, who I saw was deeply impressed with the argu-
ments of Rouletabille—“and he did not show himself.
He hid himself, meditating on some horrible crime to be
committed to-night. We must have him out of that
grotto.”
“Doubtless,” replied Rouletabille, “my promenade to
Rochers Rouges produced no result because I was all
alone—but if we all go, I can assure you that we shall
find some results on our return.”
“On our return?” echoed Darzac who did not under-
stand.
“Yes,” explained Rouletabille: “on our return to the
château, where we have left Mne. Darzac all alone—
and where, perhaps, we may not find her. Oh, of
course,” he added, as a general silence fell upon his


THE LADY IN BLACK 193
companions, “it is only a hypothesis. But at this time
we have no other means of reasoning than by hypothe-
sis.”
We looked at each other and this hypothesis over-
whelmed us. Evidently, without Rouletabille, we should
have committed a terrible blunder and perhaps have
been responsible for a terrible disaster.
Rouletabille arose and continued, thoughtfully:
“You see, to-night there is nothing that we can do
except to barricade ourselves. It is only a temporary
barricade, for I want the place put in an absolutely
unassailable state to-morrow. I have had the iron
doors closed and Pere Jacques is guarding them. I
have stationed Mattoni as sentinel at the chapel. I have
established a barrier under the postern, the only vul-
nerable point of the inner court, and I will guard that
myself. Pere Bernier will watch all night at the door
of the Square Tower, and Mere Bernier, who has a good
pair of eyes, and to whom I have given a spyglass, will
remain until morning on the platform of the tower.
Sainclair will station himself in the little palm leaf
pavilion upon the terrace of the Round Tower. From
the height of this terrace he will watch as I do all the
inner court and the boulevards and parapets. M.
Rance and M. Darzac will go into the garden and walk
until daylight, the one toward the boulevard on the
west, the other toward the boulevard on the east—the
two boulevards which are at the edge of the outer
court near the sea. The vigil will be hard to-night,
because we are not yet organized. To-morrow we shall
draw up a set of rules for our little garrison, and a list
of the trustworthy domestics upon whom we may de-
pend with security.


194 THE PERFUME OF
“If there is one on the place who could come under
the slightest suspicion, he must be dismissed at once.
You will bring here to this cell all the arms which you
can gather—rifles and revolvers. We will divide them
among those who do guard duty. The sentinel is to
draw upon every person who does not reply to “Who
goes there?’ and who is not recognized. There is no
need of a password, it would be useless. Let the coun-
tersign be to utter one’s name and to show one’s face.
Besides, it is only ourselves who have the right to pass.
Beginning to-morrow morning I will have raised at
the inner entrance of the North gate the grating which
until to-day formed its exterior entrance—the entrance
which is closed, henceforth, by the iron doors; and in
the daytime the commissaires can come as far as this
grating with their provisions. They will place their
wares in the little lodge in the tower where I have sta-
tioned Pere Jacques. At seven o’clock every night, the
iron doors will be closed. To-morrow morning M. Ar-
thur Rance will send for builders, masons and carpen-
ters. Every person on the place will be counted, and no
one allowed, under any pretext, to pass the door of the
second court. Before seven o’clock in the evening every-
one will be counted again, and the workpeople will be
allowed to go out. In this one day the men must com-
pletely finish their work, which will consist of making
a door for my postern, repairing a small breach in
the wall which joins the New Castle to the Tower of
Charles the Bold and another little break near the
Round Tower (B in the plan), which defends the north-
east corner of the outer court. After that, I shall be
tranquil, and Mme. Darzac, who is forbidden to leave
the château under the new order, having been placed in


THE LADY IN BLACK 195
security, I may attempt a sortie and enter seriously
into the search for the camp of Larsan. Come, M.
Rance, to arms' Bring me some weapons to pass
around this evening. I have loaned my own revolver to
Pere Bernier, who is keeping guard before the door of
Mme. Darzac's apartments.”
Anyone not knowing of the events at the Glandier
who had heard the words spoken by Rouletabille would
have considered both him who spoke and us who listened
to be beside ourselves. But, I repeat, if anyone had
lived, like myself, through that terrible and mysterious
time, he would have done what I did—loaded his revolver
and waited for dawn without uttering a word.


CHAPTER VIII
W H IC H CONTAINS SOME PAGES FROM THE HISTORY OF
J EAN RO USS EL-I, ARSAN BA LLMEYER
An hour later, we were all at our posts, passing
along the parapets in the moonlight, keeping close
watch upon the land, the sky and the water, and listen-
ing anxiously to the slightest sounds of the night—the
sighing of the sea and the voices of the birds which
began to sing at about three o'clock in the morning.
Mme. Edith, who said that she could not sleep, came
out and talked to Rouletabille at his postern. The lad
called me, placed me in charge of his postern and of
Mrs. Rance, and made his rounds. The fair Edith was
in the most charming humor. She looked as fresh as
a rose washed in dew, and she seemed to be greatly
amused at the wan countenance of her husband, to
whom she had brought out a glass of whisky.
“It’s the funniest thing I ever heard of,” she ex-
claimed, clapping her tiny hands. “All of you keeping
watch out here like this! How I wish I knew your
Larsan I’m sure I should adore him '''
I shuddered involuntarily at the words she uttered
so lightly. Beyond a doubt there do exist romantic
little creatures who fear nothing, and who in their
carelessness jest at fate. Ah! if the unhappy girl had
only realized what was to come!
I spent two delightful hours with Mme. Edith, during
the greater part of which I related to her some facts


THE LADY IN BLACK I 27
regarding the history of Ballmeyer. And since this
occasion presents itself, I will at this time relate to
the reader, in historical order—if I may use an expres-
sion which perfectly interprets my meaning—the char-
acteristics and circumstances in the career of Larsan-
Ballmeyer, some of which had been sufficient to make
it doubtful whether he still lived at the time that he
appeared to play so unexpected a part in “The Mys-
tery of the Yellow Room.” As this man’s powers will
be seen to extend in “The Perfume of the Lady in
Black” to heights which some may believe inaccessible,
I judge it to be my duty to prepare the mind of the
reader to admit in the end that I am only the tran-
scriber of an affair the like of which never has been
known before, and that I have invented nothing. And,
moreover, Rouletabille, in the event that I might have
the hardihood to add to such a wonderful and veracious
history any rhetorical ornaments or exaggerations,
would certainly contradict me and riddle my story as
with bullets. The great interests at stake are such
that the slightest exaggeration would assuredly entail
the most terrible consequences, so that I shall keep
strictly to the exact details of my narrative, even at
the risk of making it seem a little dry and methodical.
I will refer those who believe in actual records to the
stenographic reports of the trial at Versailles. M.
Andre-Hesse and M. Henri Robert, who appeared for
M. Robert Darzac, made admirable addresses, to which
the public may easily obtain access. And it must not
be forgotten that before destiny had brought Larsan-
Ballmeyer and Joseph Roº!etabille into contact, the
elegantly mannered bandit had given considerable trou-
ble to the authorities. We have only to open the files


198 THE PERFUME OF
of the Gazette les Tribuneaua and to read the account of
the day when Larsan was condemned by the Court of
Assizes to ten years at hard labor, to be assured on this
score. Then, one will understand that there is no need
of inventing anything about a man concerning whom
one can with truth relate such a history: and thus the
reader, knowing the sort of man that he is—that is to
say, his manner of working and his incredible audacity—
will refrain from smiling because Joseph Rouletabille
placed a drawbridge between Larsan-Ballmeyer and
Mathilde Darzac.
+ *k * # # # # +
M. Albert Bataille of le Figaro, who has published
an admirable work on “Criminal and Civil Causes,”
has devoted some interesting pages to Ballmeyer.
Ballmeyer had a happy childhood and youth. He
did not become a criminal as so many others have done
because driven to evil doing by the hard blows of pov-
erty and misery. The son of a rich broker in the Rue
Molay, he might have chosen any vocation that he de-
sired, but his preferred calling was to lay hands upon
the money of other people. At an early age, he decided
to become a swindler, just as another lad might have de-
cided to become an engineer. His debut was a stroke of
genius, and the history of it is almost incredible. Ball-
meyer stole a letter addressed to his father containing
a considerable sum of money. Then he took the train
for Lyons and from there wrote his parent as follows:
“Monsieur, I am an old soldier, retired and with a
medal of honor to show that I have served my country.
My son, a post office clerk, has stolen in the mails a letter
addressed to you and containing money, to pay a gamb-


THE LADY IN BLACK 199
ling debt. I have called the members of the family to-
gether. In a few days we shall be able to raise the
sum necessary to repay you. You are a father. Have
pity upon a father. Do not bring me down in sorrow
and shame to my grave.”
M. Ballmeyer willingly granted the petition. He is
still waiting for his first remittance—or, rather, he has
ceased to expect it, for the law apprised him ten years
ago of the identity of the culprit.
Ballmeyer, relates M. Albert Bataille, seems to have
received from nature all the gifts which go to make the
successful swindler: a wonderful diversity, the talent
of persuading new acquaintances to believe in him, the
careful attention to the smallest details, the genius for
completely disguising himself (he even took the pre-
caution along this line of having his linen marked with
different initials every time that he judged it expedient
to change his name). But his strongest characteristic
of all was his astonishing aptitude for evasion—for co-
quetting with fraud, for mocking at and defying jus-
tice. This was evinced in the malignant pleasure which
he took in speaking of himself at Parquet as among
those who might have been guilty, knowing how little
importance would be attached by the magistrate by the
clues which he gave.
This delight in jesting at the judges was apparent
in every act of his life.
While he was doing military duty, Ballmeyer stole
his companion’s box and accused the captain.
He committed a theft of forty thousand francs from
the Maison Furet, and immediately afterward de-
nounced M. Furet as having stolen it himself.
The Furet affair remained for a long time celebrated


130 THE PERFUME OF
among judicial records under the appellation of “the
coup of the telephone.” Science, applied as an aid to
knavery, has never given anything better.
Ballmeyer appropriated a draft for six thousand
livres sterling from the messenger of Messrs. Furet,
brothers, who were note brokers in the Rue Poissoniere,
and who allowed him desk room in their offices.
He went to the Rue Poissoniere, into the house of
M. Furet, and, imitating the voice of M. Edouard
Furet, asked over the telephone of M. Cohen, a banker,
whether he would be willing to discount the draft. M.
Cohen replied in the affirmative, and ten minutes later,
Ballmeyer, after having cut the telphone wire to pre-
vent further communication and possible explanations,
sent for the money by a companion named Rigaud,
whom he had known not long before in the African
battalion, where their common interests had made them
useful to each other.
Ballmeyer kept the lion’s share for himself: then he
rushed to the court to denounce Itigaud, and, as I have
said, M. Furet himself.
A dramatic scene took place when accuser and ac-
cused were confronted with each other in the cabinet
of M. Espierre, the judge of instruction who had charge
of the affair.
“You know, my dear Furet,” said Ballmeyer to the
amazed broker, “I am heart-broken at being obliged to
expose you, but you must tell the Justice the truth. It
is not an affair from which you need fear serious conse-
quences. Why don’t you confess? You needed forty
thousand francs to pay a little debt incurred at the
race track and you intended to pay back the sum. It
was you who telephoned?”


THE LADY IN BLACK 181
“I' I'” stammered M. Edouard Furet, almost breath-
less with rage and astonishment.
“You may as well confess,” said Ballmeyer. “No one
could mistake your voice.”
The bold thief was detected within eight days and
was caught; and the police furnished such a report upon
him that M. Cruppi, then attorney general, now Min-
ister of Commerce, presented to M. Furet the most
humble excuses of the Department of Justice. Rigaud
was also tried and condemned to twenty years at hard
labor.
One might go on relating this kind of stories about
Ballmeyer indefinitely. At that time, before he had
entered upon the darker and more horrible pages of his
career, he played a comedy—and what a comedy It
may be as well to give in detail the history of one of his
escapes. Nothing could be more immensely comical
than the adventure of the prisoner composing a long
memorial during his trial for the sole purpose of hang-
ing over the table of the judge, M. Villars, and of turn-
ing over the papers in order to obtain a glimpse of the
formula of orders of discharge.
When he was sent back to jail at Mazas, the fellow
wrote a letter signed “Villars,” in which, according to
the prescribed formula, M. Villars requested the super-
intendent of the prison to set the prisoner, Ballmeyer,
at liberty without delay. But he had no paper of the
kind used by the Judge for such matters.
However, so small a thing as that scarcely embar-
rassed Ballmeyer. He went back to the courthouse in
the morning, hiding the letter in his sleeve, protested
his innocence and feigning great indignation and anger.
He picked up the seal that lay on the table and


I39. THE PERFUME OF
gesticulated with it in expressing his wrath, and he
knocked the inkstand over on the blue trousers of
his guard. While the poor fellow, surrounded by the
inmates of the court-room, who condoled with him on
his ill luck, was sadly sponging off his “Number One,”
Ballmeyer profited by the general diversion to apply a
strong pressure of the stamp upon the order of dis-
charge, and then began loudly excusing himself to the
soldier.
The trick succeeded. The thief made his way out
amid the confusion, and, negligently tossing the signed
and sealed paper to the guards, remarked carelessly:
“What is M. Villars thinking of to order me to carry
his papers? Does he take me for his servant?”
Then he went back to his seat. The guards picked
up the paper, and one of them carried it to the warden
at Mazas, to whom it was addressed. It was the order
to set Ballmeyer at liberty without delay. The same
night, Ballmeyer was free.
This was his second escape. Arrested for the Furet
affair, he had gotten away once by throwing pepper
in the eyes of the guard who was taking him to the sta-
tion, and that same evening he was present in evening
dress at a first night at the Comedie Francaise. Prior
to this, at the time when he had been sentenced by court
martial to five years’ imprisonment because he had
robbed his companion, he had made his way out of the
Cherche Midi by having one of his comrades forge an
order of release for him. A variation of the same plan
had served him well once more.
But one would never finish if one tried to relate all
the amazing adventures of Ballmeyer.
Known at various times as the Count de Maupas,


THE LADY IN BLACK 133
Vicomte Drouet d’erion, Comte de Motteville, Comte
de Bonneville, and under many other aliases, as an ele-
gant man about town, setting the fashion, he fre-
quented the summer resorts and watering places—
Biarritz, Aix les Bains, Luchon, losing in play at the
club as much as ten thousand francs in one evening,
surrounded by pretty women, who envied each other
his attentions—for this fellow was extremely popular
with the fair sex. In his regiment, he had made a con-
quest—happily platonic—of the Colonel’s daughter.
Do you know the type now?
Well, it was with this man that Joseph Rouletabille
was going to fight.
I thought that morning that I had sufficiently in-
formed Mme. Edith in regard to the personality of the
bandit. She listened so silently that my attention was
finally drawn to the fact that she had not uttered a re-
mark in some time, and, bending down, I saw that she
was fast asleep. This circumstance should not have
given me a very good opinion of the little creature.
But, as I watched her sleeping face at my leisure, I
felt springing up in my soul feelings which I later en-
deavored in vain to chase away from my mind.
The night passed without any event. When the day
dawned, I saluted it with a deep sigh of relief. Never-
theless, Rouletabille did not permit me to retire until
eight o'clock in the morning, after he had settled on
how matters should go on through the day. He was
already in the midst of the workmen whom he had sum-
moned, and who were laboring actively in repairing the
breaches of the tower B. The work was done so ex-
peditiously and so promptly that the strong château
of Hercules was soon sealed as hermetically close as it


134 THE PERFUME OF
was possible for a building to be. Seated on a big
boulder in the bright sunlight, Rouletabille began to
draw upon his note book the plan which I have sub-
mitted to the reader, and he said to me while I, worn
out with my vigil, was making absurd efforts to keep
my eyes open :
“You see, Sainclair, these people believe that I am
fortifying the place to defend myself. Well, that is
merely a small part of the truth, for I am fortifying
the place because reason bids me do so. And, if I close
up the breaches, it is less in order that Larsan cannot
get in than for the sake of depriving my reason of any
chance of accusing me of carelessness. For instance, I
can never reason in a forest. How will you reason in a
forest ? There, reason flies away on every side. But
in a closed up château ! My friend, it is like a sealed
casket. If you are inside and are not insane, your rea-
soning powers must come back to you.”
“Yes, yes,” I murmured sleepily, nodding. “That’s
it—your reason will come back to you—”
“Well, well, never mind''' answored Rouletabille. “Go
to bed, old fellow. You are walking in your sleep now.”


CHAPTER IX
IN which “old Bob” UNExPECTEDLY ARRIVEs
When I heard a knock at my door about eleven
o'clock in the morning and the voice of Mere Bernier
told me that Rouletabille wanted me to get up, I threw
my window wide open and looked out in delight. The
bay was of an incomparable beauty, and the sea was so
transparent that the rays of the sun pierced through
it as they would have done through a mirror without
quicksilver, so that one could perceive the rocks, the
anemones and the moss in the sea bottom just as if the
waters had ceased to cover them and left them bared to
the eye. The harmonious curve of the bank on the
Mentone side enclosed the sea like a flowery frame. The
villas of Garavan, white and rose, looked like fresh
flowers which had blossomed over night. The penin-
sula of Hercules was a bouquet which floated upon the
waters and perfumed the old stones of the château.
Never had nature appeared to me more sweet, more
delightful, more exquisite, nor, above all, more worthy
of being loved. The screne air, the beautiful shore, the
balmy sea, the purple mountains, all this picture to
which my Northern senses were so little accustomed,
evoked in my mind the thought of some tender, caress-
ing human being. As these thoughts passed through
my mind, I noticed a man who was lashing the sea. Oh!
he gave it a box on the ear! I could have wept if I had
been a poet ! The miserable wretch appeared to be


136 THE PERFUME OF
furiously angry. I could not understand what had ex-
cited his wrath in this tranquil spot, but he evidently
felt that he had some serious cause for vexation, for he
never ceased his blows. He was armed with an enor-
mous cudgel, and, standing erect in a tiny boat, into
which a timid child might have feared to entrust its
weight, he administered to the sea, with the fiercest
splashings, such a castigation as provoked the mute
indignation of some strangers who were standing on
the shore. But as everyone under all circumstances
dreads to mix himself in what is none of his affairs,
these persons made no protest. What was it that
could have so deeply excited the savage? Perhaps it
might have been the very calm of the sea which, after
having been for a moment disturbed by the insult of
the madman, resumed its peaceful tranquillity.
At this point, I was interrupted by the voice of Rou-
letabille, who told me that breakfast was nearly ready.
Rouletabille appeared in the garb of a plasterer, his
clothing showing plainly that he had been working in
the fresh mortar. In one hand he held a foot rule and
in the other a file. I asked him whether he had seen the
man who was beating the water, and he told me that it
was Tullio who was frightening the fishes to drive them
into his nets. It was for this reason, I realized, that
Tullio had obtained the nickname of the “hangman of
the sea.”
Rouletabille went on to tell me that he had asked
Tullio that morning about the stranger whom he had
rowed about in his boat the night before, and whom
he had taken all around the peninsula of Hercules.
Tullio had replied that he had no knowledge whatever
of whom the man might be; that he was a crazy sort


THE LADY IN BLACK 1:37
of fellow whom he had taken in as a passenger at Men-
tone, and who had given him five francs to land him at
the point of Rochers Rouges.
I dressed myself quickly and joined Rouletabille, who
told me that we were to have a new guest at luncheon,
in the person of “Old Bob.” We waited for a few mo-
ments for him to come to the table, and then, as he did
not appear, we began our repast without him in the
flowery frame of the round terrace of Charles the Bold.
There was served to us a delicious bouillabaisse,
smoking hot, which seemed to have drawn the best of
their flavors from fishes of all species, and was tinted
by a little vino del Paese, and which, in the light and
brightness of the daytime, contributed as much as all
the precaution of Rouletabille toward making us feel
serene and secure. In truth, we felt not the slightest
fear of the dreaded Larsan under the beautiful sun-
shine of the brilliant heavens, whatever we may have
felt in the pale gleam of the moon and stars. Ah, how
forgetful and easily impressed human nature is ' I
am ashamed to say it, but we were feeling rather proud
(I speak for Arthur Rance and myself, and also for
Edith, whose romantic and languid nature was super-
ficial, as such are likely to be) of the fact that we could
smile and speak with scorn of our nocturnal vigils and
of our armed guard upon the boulevards of the cita-
del—when Old Bob made his appearance. And—let
me say it: let me say it here—it was not this apparition
which could have turned our thoughts toward anything
dark or gloomy. I have rarely seen anything more
droll than Old Bob walking in the blinding sun of the
springtime in the Midi, with a tall hat of black beaver;
his black trousers, his black spectacles, his white hair


138 THE PERFUME OF
and his rosy cheeks. Yes, yes, we sat there and laughed
in the tower of Charles the Bold. And Old Bob laughed
with us. For Old Bob was as gay as a child.
+ * # # # + º *
What was this old savant doing at the Château of
Hercules? Perhaps this is as good a time as any to ex-
plain. How could he have made up his mind to quit his
collections in America and his work and his drawings
and his museum in Philadelphia? For these reasons:
The reader will not have forgotten that M. Arthur
Rance was already looked upon in his own country as
the anthropologist of the future at the time when his un-
happy infatuation for Mlle. Stangerson had weaned
him away from his studies and made them almost dis-
tasteful to him. After his marriage to Miss Prescott,
who was deeply interested in such matters, he felt that
he could resume with pleasure his researches in the
science of Gall and Lavater. But at the self-same time
that they visited the azure shoros in the autumn which
preceded the events of this history, there was much
discussion in regard to the new discoveries which M.
Abbo had just made at Rochers Rouges. M.M. Julien,
Riviere, Girardin, Delesot had come to the spot to
work, and had succeeded in interesting the Institute
and the Minister of Public Instruction in their dis-
coveries. These discoveries soon created a profound
sensation, for they proved beyond the shadow of a
doubt that primeval man had lived in this spot before
the glacial epoch. Without doubt, the proof of the
existence of the man of the quarternary epoch had been
found long before; but this epoch, extending certainly
two hundred thousand years into the past, was inter-


THE LADY IN BLACK 139
esting in that it fixed the quarternary epoch in the
proper period. Learned men were always digging at
Rochers Rouges, and they came upon surprise after
surprise. However, the most beautiful of the grottoes—
the Barma Grande, as they called it in the country-
side—had remained intact, for it was the private prop-
erty of M. Abbo, who kept the “Restaurant of the
Grotto” not far away on the sea shore. M. Abbo was
determined to dig in his own grotto himself. But now,
public report (for the event had passed the bounds of
the scientific world and interested people generally)
said that in the Barma Grande there had been found
extraordinary human bones, skeletons remarkably pre-
served by the ferruginous earth, contemporaneous with
the mammoths of the beginning of the quarternary
epoch, or even of the end of the tertiary epoch.
Arthur Rance and his wife hastened to Mentone, and
while the husband passed his days in antiquarian re-
searches, going back two hundred thousand years, dig-
ging up with his own hands the humerus of the Barma
Grande and measuring the skulls of his ancestors, his
young wife seemed to experience an ever renewed pleas-
ure in rambling over the mediaeval ruins of an old fort-
ress which reared its massive silhouette above a little
peninsula, united to Rochers Rouges by a few crumbling
stones. The most romantic legends were attached to
this relic of the old Genoese wars; and it seemed to
Edith, pensively leaning from the highest terrace, in
the most beautiful scene in the world, that she was one
of those noble demoiselles of ancient times, whose ro-
mantic adventures she had so dearly loved to read in the
pages of her favorite romances. The castle was for
sale and the price was very reasonable. Arthur Rance


140 THE PERFUME OF
purchased it, and by doing so made his wife the hap-
piest of women. She sent for masons and furnishers,
and within three months she had succeeded in trans-
forming the old fortress into an exquisite nest of love—
an ideal abode for a young person who reveled in “The
Lady of the Lake,” or “The Bride of Lammermoor.”
When Arthur Rance had found himself standing be-
side the last skeleton discovered in the Barma Grande,
and knew that the elephus antiquus had come out of the
same bed of earth, he was beside himself with enthu-
siasm, and his first impulse had been to telegraph to
Old Bob and tell him that it might be that someone
had discovered, a few kilometers from Monte Carlo, the
relics which the old savant had been seeking for so many
years in the mountains of Patagonia. But the tele-
gram never reached its destination, for Old Bob, who
had previously promised to join his nephew and niece
after they had been married for awhile, had already
taken the steamer for Europe. Evidently report had
already brought to him the story of the treasures of
the Rochers Rouges. A few days after the cable had
been dispatched, he landed at Marseilles and arrived
at Mentone, where he became the companion of Arthur
Rance and his wife in the Château of Hercules, which
his very presence seemed to fill with life and gayety.
The gayety of Old Bob appeared to us a little theat-
rical, but that feeling arose without doubt from the
effects of our apprehensions of the evening before. The
Old Bob had the soul of a child; he was as much of a
coquette as an old woman (that is to say, that his co-
quetries frequently changed their object), and, having
once for all adopted a garb of the most severe—black
coat, black waistcoat, black trousers, white hair and


THE LADY IN BLACK I 41
rosy cheeks—there was constantly attached to him the
idea of complete harmony. It was in this professional
uniform that Old Bob had chased the tigers in the pam-
pas and this he wore at the present time while he dug in
the grottoes of Rochers Rouges in his search for the
missing bone of the elephus antiquus.
Mrs. Rance presented him to us, and he uttered a
few polite phrases, after which he opened his wide
mouth in a great hearty laugh. He was jubilant, and
we were soon to learn the reason why. He had brought
back from his visit to the Museum of Paris the certainty
that the skeleton of the Barma Grande was no more
ancient than the one which he had discovered in his last
expedition to Terra del Fuego. All the Institute was
of this opinion, and took for the basis of its reasonings
the fact that the bone of the spine of the elephus which
Old Bob had carried to Paris, and which the owner of
the Barma Grande had loaned him after having de-
clared to him that he had found it in the same bed of
earth as the famous skeleton—that this spinal bone
belonged, let us say, to an elephus of the middle of the
quarternary period. Ah, it would have done your heart
good to hear the joyous contempt with which Old Bob
spoke of the middle of the quarternary period. At the
very thought of a spinal bone of the middle of the
quarternary period, he laughed as heartily as though
some one had told him the finest joke in the world.
Could it be that in this day and age, a savant, worthy
of being dignified by the name, could find anything to
interest him in a skeleton of the middle of the quar-
ternary period' His own skeleton (or, to be more
exact, that which he had brought from Terra del
Fuego) dated from the commencement of this period,


149 THE PERFUME OF
and, in consequence, was older by two thousand
years—you hear? two thousand years—? And he was
sure, because of this shoulder blade having belonged to
the cave bear, the shoulder blade which he had found,
he, Old Bob, between the arms of his own skeleton. (He
said “my own skeleton” in his enthusiasm, making no
distinction between the living skeleton which he was
carrying about under his black coat, his black trousers,
his white hair and his rosy cheeks, and the prehistoric
skeleton of Terra del Fuego.)
“Therefore, my skeleton dates from the cave. But
that of Baousse-Raousse! Oh, no, no, my children at
furthest from the epoch of the mammoth, and yet—
no—no—from the rhinoceros with the cloven nostrils.
Therefore—One has nothing left to discover, ladies
and gentlemen, in the period of the rhinoceros with
the cleft nostrils.--I swear it, upon the honor of Old
Bob. My skeleton comes from the chelleenne epoch, as
you say in France. Well, what are you laughing at 2
I am not even sure that the elephus of Rochers Rouges
dates from the Mousterian epoch. And why not from
the Silurian epoch—or yet—or yet—from the Mag-
dalenian epoch? No, no—that’s too much. An elephus
antiquus from the Magdalenian epoch would be an im-
possibility. That elephus will drive me mad! Ah, I
shall die of joy. Poor Baousse-Raousse."
Mme. Edith had the unkindness to interrupt the
jubilations of her uncle by announcing to him that
Prince Gakitch, who had purchased the Grotto of Romeo
and Juliet at Rochers Rouges, must have made some
sensational discovery, for she had seen him, the very
morning of Old Bob's departure for Paris, passing by
the Fort of Hercules, carrying under his arm a little


THE LADY IN BLACK 143
box which he had touched as he went by, calling out to
her, “See, Mrs. Rance! I have found a treasure!”
She said that she had asked him what the treasure was,
but he had walked on laughing, with the remark that he
would have a surprise for Old Bob on his return. And
later, she had heard that Prince Galitch had declared
that he had discovered “the oldest skull in the history
of the human race.”
Mrs. Rance had scarcely pronounced these last words
when every vestige of gayety fled from Old Bob's face
and manner. His eyes shot fire and his voice was husky
with passion as he exclaimed:
“That is a lie—an infernal lie! The oldest skull in
the history of the human race is Old Bob's skull—do
you understand me?—it is Old Bob's skull.”
And he shouted out:
“Mattoni! Mattoni! Bring my trunk here at once!”
Almost as soon as the words were spoken, we saw
Mattoni crossing the Court of Charles the Bold with
Old Bob's trunk on his shoulder. He obeyed the pro-
fessor to the letter, and carried the trunk through the
room and up to his master. Old Bob took his bunch of
keys, got down on his knees and openad the box. From
this receptacle, which contained his clothing and piles
of clean linen, neatly folded, he took a hat box, and
from the hat box he drew out a skull, which he placed
in the middle of the table among our coffee cups.
“The oldest skull in the history of humanity ſ” he
echoed. “Here it is It is Old Bob's skull! Look at
it! Oh, I can tell you, Old Bob never goes anywhere
without his skull !”
And he took up the frightful object and began to
caress it, his eyes sparkling and his thick lips parting


144 THE PERFUME OF
once more in a broad smile. If you will represent to
yourself that Old Bob knew French only imperfectly
and pronounced it like English or Spanish (he spoke
Spanish like a native), you will see and hear the scene.
Rouletabille and I were unable longer to control our-
selves, and nearly split our sides with laughter—all
the more, because Old Bob every few moments would
interrupt himself in the midst of a peal of merriment
to demand of us what was the object of our mirth. His
wrath was almost as funny as his mirth, and even Mme.
Darzac could not refrain from laughter, for, in truth,
Old Bob, with his “oldest skull of the human race,” was
a droll sight to see. I must acknowledge, too, that a
skull two hundred thousand years old is not such an
unpleasant sight as one might expect it to be, espe-
cially when, like this one, it has all its teeth.
Suddenly Old Bob grew serious. He lifted the skull
in his right hand and placed the forefinger of the left
hand upon the forehead of his ancestor.
“When one looks at the skull from above, one no-
tices very clearly a pentagonal formation which is due
to the notable development of the parietal bumps and
the jutting out of the shell of the occipitals. The great
breadth of the face comes from the exaggerated devel-
opment of the zygomatic proportions. While in the
head of the troglodytes of the Baousse-Raousse, what
do we find?” -
I shall never know what it was that Old Bob found
in the head of the troglodytes, for I did not listen to
him, but I looked at him. And I had no further inclina-
tion for laughter. Old Bob seemed to me terrifying,
horrible, as false as the Father of Lies, with his coun-
terfeit gayety and his scientific jargon. My eyes re-


THE LADY IN BLACK 145
mained fixed upon him as if they were fascinated. It
seemed to me that I could see his hair move, just as a
wig might do. One thought—the thought of Larsan,
which never left me completely, seemed to expand until
it filled my entire brain. I felt as if I must speak it
out, when all at once, I felt an arm locked in mine, and
I saw Rouletabille looking at me with an expression
which I did not know how to read.
“What is the matter, Sainclair?” whispered the lad,
anxiously.
“My friend,” I returned in a tone as low as his own.
“I dare not tell you; you would make sport of me.”
He drew me away from the table and we walked toward
the west boulevard. After he had looked closely on every
side and made sure that no one was near us, he said:
“No, Sainclair, no: I won’t make sport of you, for
you are in the right in seeing him everywhere around us.
If he were not there a little while ago, he is perhaps there
now. Ah, he is stronger than the stones! He is
stronger than anything else in the world. I fear him
less within than without. And I should be very glad
if the stones which I have called to my aid in hindering
his entrance shall aid me to hold him inside. For, Sain-
clair, I feel that he is here!”
I pressed Rouletabille's hand, for, strange as it may
seem, I shared the same impression—I felt that the eyes
of Larsan were upon me—I could hear him breathe.
When and how this sensation had first come over me,
I was unable to say. But it seemed to me that it had
come with the appearance of Old Bob.
I said to Rouletabille, scarcely daring to put into
words what was in my mind:
“Old Bob?”


146 THE PERFUME OF
He did not answer. At the end of a few moments,
he said:
“Hold your left hand in your right for five min-
utes and then ask yourself: “Is it you, Larsan?’
And when you have replied to yourself, do not feel
too sure, for he may, perhaps, have lied to you, and
he may be in your own skin without your know-
ing it.”
With these words, Rouletabille left me alone in the
west boulevard. It was there that Pere Jacques came
to look for me. He brought me a telegram. Before
reading it, I congratulated him on his appearance, for
he showed no trace of the fact that, like all the rest of
us, he had passed a sleepless night; but he informed
me that the pleasure he experienced in seeing his “dear
Mlle. Mathilde” happy had made him ten years younger.
Then he tried to obtain from me some information in
regard to the motives for the strange vigil of the night
before, and the reason for the events which had occurred
at the château since Rouletabille’s arrival and for the
exceptional precautions which had been taken to pre-
vent the entrance of any stranger. He added that if
“that monster, Larsan,” were not dead, it would seem
as if we dreaded his return. I told him that this was
not the moment for explanations and reasoning, and
that, as he was a worthy man, he ought, like all
other soldiers, to observe the rules without seeking to
understand them or to discuss them. He saluted me
with a military gesture and started off, shaking his
head. The old man was evidently puzzled, and it did
not displease me at all that, since he had the watch of
the North Gate, he had thought of Larsan. He also
had narrowly escaped being one of Larsan's victims;


THE LADY IN BLACK 147
he had not forgotten the fact. It would make him a
better sentinel.
I was not in much of a hurry to open the dispatch
which Pere Jacques had brought me, and in this I was
wrong, for as soon as I cast my eyes over the words
which it contained, I realized that it was of the deepest
importance. My friend at Paris, whom I had requested
to keep an eye upon Brignolles, sent me word that the
said Brignolles had left Paris the evening before for
the Midi. He had taken the 10:35 train. My friend
informed me that he had reason to believe that Brig-
nolles had taken a ticket for Nice.
What should Brignolles be doing in Nice? That
was the question which I propounded to myself, and
which I have since so often regretted that a foolish
impulse of self-esteem kept me from putting to Roulet-
abille. The young reporter had made so much fun
of me when I showed him the first dispatch, which stated
that Brignolles had not quitted Paris, that I resolved
to tell him nothing about the one which announced his
departure. Since Brignolles amounted to so little, in
his opinion, I would not bother him with Brignolles.
And I kept Brignolles to myself, all alone and so well,
that when, assuming my most indifferent air, I rejoined
Rouletabille in the Court of Charles the Bold, I never
mentioned the subject.
Rouletabille was ready to fasten down with bars of
iron the heavy circularly cut oak board which closed
the opening to the “oublictte,” and he showed me that
even if the shaft communicated with the sea, it would
be impossible for anyone to succeed in an attempt to
introduce himself into the château by this means, for
the reason that he could not raise the board and would


148 THE PERFUME OF
be driven to give up his plan. His brow was dripping
with perspiration, his arms were bared, his collar thrown
off, a heavy hammer was in his hand. It seemed to me
that he was devoting considerable time and energy to a
comparatively simple task, and, like a fool who does not
see beyond the end of his own nose, I could not refrain
from telling him so. How could I have helped guessing
that the boy was voluntarily exerting himself beyond
necessity, and that he was delivering himself up to all
sorts of physical fatigue in order to efface the memory
of the grief which filled his poor heart? But no I
was only able to understand that, half an hour later,
when I came upon him lying beside the ruins of the
chapel, murmuring in his dreams the one word which
betrayed the sorrow of his heart—“Mother.” Roulet-
abille was dreaming of the Lady in Black He dreamed,
perhaps, that her arms were around him as in days gone
by, when he was a little fellow and came into the school
parlor, flushed and breathless with running. I waited
beside him for a moment, asking myself nervously if I
ought to leave him in there, or whether there was any
danger of anyone's else passing by and discovering his
secret. But, after having relieved his overcharged
heart with that one word, the lad left nothing more to
be heard except his heavy breathing. He was com-
pletely exhausted. I believe that it was the first time
that the boy had really slept since we had come from
Paris.
I profited by his slumbers to leave the château with-
out informing anyone of my intention, and soon, my
dispatch in my pocket, I took the train for Nice. On
the way, I chanced to read this item on the first page
of the Petit Nicois: “Professor Stangerson has arrived


TIIE LADY IN BLACK 149
at Garavan, where he will spend a few weeks with M.
Arthur Rance, the recent purchaser of the Fort of Her-
cules, who, aided by the beautiful Mme. Arthur Rance,
ill dispense the most gracious hospitality to his
friends in this fine old mediaval stronghold. As we go
to press, we learn that Professor Stangerson's daugh-
tº r, whose marriage to M. Robert Darzac has just
taken place in Paris, has also arrived at the Fort of
Hercules with her husband, the brilliant young pro-
fessor of la Sorbonne. These new guests descend upon
us from the North at the time when strangers usually
leave us. How wise they are There is no more beau-
tiful springtime in the world than that of the ‘azure
shore.’”
At Nice, hidden behind the blinds of a buffet, I
awaited the arrival of the train from Paris, by which
Brignolles was due to arrive. And the next moment
I saw him alighting from a car. Ah, how my heart beat,
for I knew that there must be some strange reason for
this journey of which he had not informed M. Darzac
beforehand. And I knew that the trip was a secret one,
when I saw that Brignolles was trying to avoid observa-
tion, was bending his had as he hurried along, gliding
rapidly as a pickpocket among the passengers, so that
he was soon lost to sight. But I was behind him. He
jumped into a closed hack and I hastily got into an-
other closed just as tightly. At the Place Massena he
left his carriage and turned toward the Jetee Prome-
nade, where he took another cab. I still follow, d him.
These manoeuvres - m d to me more and more ambigu-
ous. Finally, Briºnoll, sº carriage came out upon the
road de la Corniche, and I direct, d my coachman to
take the same way. The numerous windings of this


150 THE PERFUME OF
road, its accentuated curves, permitted me to see with-
out being seen. I had promised my coachman a large
tip if he helped me to keep in sight of my quarry, and
he did his very best. Finally, we reached the Beaulieu
railway station, where I was astonished to see Brig-
nolles’ carriage stop and the man himself get out, pay
the driver and enter the waiting room. He was going
to take the train. For what purpose? If I should at-
tempt to get into the same car as he, would he not be
certain to see me in this little station or on the almost
deserted platform? But I decided to try it anyway.
If he were to see me, I could get out of the difficulty by
feigning surprise at his presence, and by sticking to
him until I was sure of what he was going to do in this
part of the world. But luck was with me and Brig-
nolles did not see me. He got into a passenger coach
which was bound for the Italian frontier. I realized
that all his movements were bringing him nearer to the
Fort of Hercules. I got in the car behind his and
watched from my window all the travellers who got out
at every station.
Brignolles did not get off until we reached Mentone.
He certainly had some reason for reaching there by a
different train than the one from Paris, and at an hour
when there was little chance of his seeing any acquaint-
ances at the station. I saw him alight: he had turned
up the collar of his overcoat and pulled his hat down
over his eyes. He cast a stealthy glance around the
quay, and then, as if reassured, mingled with the other
passengers. Once outside the trainshed, he got into a
shabby old stage coach which was standing by the side-
walk. I watched him from the corner of the waiting
room. What was he doing here? And where was he


THE LADY IN BLACK 151
going in that rackety old vehicle? I inquired of an
employé, who told me that that carriage was the stage
to Sospel.
Sospel is a picturesque little city lost between the
last counterfores of the Alps, two hours and a half from
Mentone by coach. No railroad passes through there.
It is one of the most retired and quietest corners of
France, the most dreaded by revenue officers and by the
Alpine hunters. But the road which leads to it is one of
the most beautiful in the world, for, in order to reach
Sospel, it is necessary to wind through I do not know
how many mountain passes, to climb countless preci-
pices, and to follow, until one reaches Castillon, the
deep and narrow valley of Carei, as wild as a field in
Judaea, but covered with luxuriant herbage, bright
with beautiful flowers, fertile and beautiful with the
shimmering gold of its forests of olive trees, which de-
scend from the heights to the clear bed of the stream
by the terraces of a giant staircase formed by nature.
I had been at Sospel a few years previously with a party
of English tourists in an immense carriage, drawn by
eight horses, and I had brought from the trip a remem-
brance of vertigo which came over my mind in the
future every time the name was mentioned. Why was
Brignolles going to Sospel? I must find out. The
diligence was crowded and had already started on its
way with a loud noise of creaking springs and of shak-
ing window panes. I hired a carriage from the station
and in a few moments I, too, was climbing over the
rocks to the valley of Carei. How I regretted not hav-
ing spoken of my telegram to Rouletabille! The strange
behavior of Brignolles would have given him ideas,
useful and reasonable, while, for my part, I had not


152 THE PERFUME OF
the slightest idea of how to reason. I only knew how
to follow this Brignolles as a dog follows his master or a
policeman follows his quarry by the clues which he finds.
And yet, had I followed them well, these clues? It was
at the moment that I felt certain that nothing in the
world in regard to this man’s movements could be small
enough to escape me that I made a formidable discovery.
I had let the diligence keep a little way in advance, a
precaution which I deemed necessary, and I reached
Castillon ten minutes later than Brignolles. Castillon is
at the highest point of the road between Mentone and
Sospel. My driver asked my permission to let his
horse rest for a moment, and while he watered the beast,
I descended from the carriage, and, at the entrance of a
tunnel through which it was necessary to pass to reach
the opposite turn of the mountain, I beheld Brignolles
and Frederic Larsan'
I stood staring at them, my feet as helpless as
though they had taken root in the soil. I could not
utter a sound nor make a gesture. Upon my honor, I
was completely stupefied by the revelation. Then I
recovered my wits, and at the same time felt myself
overwhelmed by a feeling of horror for Brignolles, and
by a feeling of admiration for my own intuition in
regard to him. Ah, I had known from the start! I
had been the only one to guess that the companionship
of this devil of a Brignolles had been of the gravest
danger to Robert Darzac. If they would have listened
to me, the Professor of la Sarbonne would have gotten
rid of the creature's presence long ago. Brignolles,
the tool of Larsan—the accomplice of Larsan —what
a discovery ! Why, I had known all along that those
accidents in the laboratory had not happened by chance!


TIHE LADY IN BLACK 153
They would believe me now ! I had seen with my own
eyes Larsan and Brignolles, talking and consulting to-
gº ther at the entrance of the Castillon tunnel. I had
seen them—but where were they gone now? For I saw
them no longer. They must be in the tunnel. I
hastened my steps, leaving my coachman behind me,
and reached the tunnel in a few moments, drawing my
revolver from my pocket. My state of mind was be-
yond description. What would Rouletabille say when
I told him all about my adventure? It was I–I-who
had discovered Brignolles and Larsan.
But where were they? I walked through the dark
tunnel—no Larsan, no Brignolles' I looked down the
road which descends toward Sospel. Not a living crea-
ture! But upon my left, toward ancient Castillon, it
seemed to me that I could perceive two forms that
hastened. They disappeared. I ran after them. I ar-
rived at the ruins. I stopped. Who could say that
those two figures were not lying in wait for me behind
a wall?
The old Castillon was no longer inhabited, and for a
good reason. It had been entirely ruined—destroyed
by the earthquake of 1887. Nothing of it remain d
but a few piles of stone and a few mural windows, gently
covered with dust by time; some headless statues, a few
i-olated pillars which remained standing upright,
spired by the shock, and leaning sorrowfully toward
the earth, melancholy at having nothing to support.
What a silence there was all around me! With a
thousand precautions I searched through the ruins,
contemplating with horror the depth of the crº vices
which the earthquake of 1887 had opened in the rocks.
One of thºse in particular seemed to be a shaft without


154 THE PERFUME OF
a bottom, and as I leaned above it, hanging on to an
olive tree to keep from falling in, I was almost swept
into the abyss by a gust of wind. I felt the draught on
my face and recoiled with a cry. An eagle darted out
of the abyss, quick as a flash. He rose straight to the
sun, and then I saw him descend toward me, and de-
scribe some menacing circles above my head, uttering
savage shrieks, as though he reproached me for having
come to trouble him in his realm of solitude and of
death which the elements had given him.
Had I been the victim of an illusion? I could no
longer see my two shadows. Was I also the plaything
of my imagination, when I stooped and picked up from
the road a bit of letter paper which looked to me sin-
gularly like that which M. Robert Darzac used at
la Sarbonne?
Upon this bit of paper I deciphered two syllables
which I believed Brignolles had written. These sylla-
bles seemed to be the end of a word the beginning of
which was missing. All that it was possible to make
out was “bonnet.”
+ + + + + + + +
Two hours later I reëntered the Fort of Hercules
and told my story to Rouletabille, who placed the bit of
paper in his portfolio and entreated me to be as silent
as the grave in regard to my expedition.
Astonished at having produced so different an effect
from the one which I had anticipated at a discovery
which I believed so important, I stared at Rouletabille.
He turned his head away, but not quickly enough to
hide from me that his eyes were filled with tears.
“Rouletabille !” I exclaimed.


THE LADY IN BLACK 155
But again, he motioned me not to speak.
“Silence, Sainclair!”
I took his hand; it was burning with fever. And I
thought that this agitation could not come entirely
from his apprehensions in regard to Larsan. I re-
proached him with concealing from me what had passed
between him and the Lady in Black, but, as often hap-
pened, he made me no answer, and turned away, heaving
a deep sigh.
They had waited dinner for me. It was late. The
dinner was a dismal affair, in spite of the gayety of
Old Bob. We scarcely attempted to hide the deep
anxiety which froze our hearts. One would have said
that each one of us was resigned to the blow which was
threatening and that we had lost hope that it might
be averted. M. and Mme. Darzac ate nothing. Mme.
Edith kept looking at me with a strange expression.
At ten o’clock I went to take up my station at the tower
of the gardener, almost with relief. While I was in
the little room where we had consulted together the
night before, the Lady in Black and Rouletabille passed
beneath the arch. The glimmer of the lantern fell on
their faces. Mme. Darzac appeared to me to be in a
state of the greatest excitement. She was urging Rou-
letabille to something which I could not hear. The
conversation between them looked like an argument and
I caught only one word of Rouletabille, “Thief!”
The two entered the Court of the Bold. The Lady in
Black stretched her arm toward the young man, but
he did not see it, for he left her immediately and went
toward his own room. She remained standing alone
for a moment in the court, leaning against the trunk
of the eucalyptus tree in an attitude of unutterable


156 THE PERFUME OF
sadness, then, with slow steps, she entered the Square
Tower.
It was now the tenth of April. The attack of the
Square Tower occurred on the night between the elev-
enth and twelfth


CHAPTER X
The ev'ryts or T H E. H. L.F. W. F. NTH OF APRIL
This attack took place under circumstances so mys-
terious and so inexplicable, to all appearances, under
any reasonable hypothesis, that the reader will permit
me, in order to make him comprehend the issue more
fully, to dwell upon certain details in regard to the
manner in which we spent our time on the eleventh day
of April, 1895.
(1) The Morning.
The day, almost from the rising of the sun, was intol-
erably hot and the hours on guard were almost overpow-
ering. The sun was as torrid as in the heart of Africa
and it would have blinded us to keep watch over the wa-
ters which burned like a sheet of steel, brought to a white
heat, if we had not been furnished with eyeglasses of
*:::oked glass, without which it is difficult to pass the
- a son of departing winter in this part of the country.
At nine o'clock, I came down from my room and went
to the postern and entered the room which we had styled
“the hall of counsel” to relieve Roulet abille of his guard.
I had no time to say a single word to him before M.
Darzac appeared, following almost upon my heels, and
announcing that he had something very important to
communicate to us. We inquired anxiously the cause
of his agitation and he replied that he intended to


158 THE PERFUME OF
quit the Fort of Hercules at once, taking his wife with
him. This declaration left Rouletabille and myself
dumb with surprise. I was the first to speak and
endeavored to dissuade M. Darzac from even thinking
of such an imprudence. Rouletabille frigidly inquired
the reason for our friend's sudden resolution and the
latter replied by informing us of a scene which had
occurred during the previous evening at the château and
which revealed to us in how difficult a position the Dar-
zacs were placed by remaining at the Fort of Hercules.
The story may be summed up in a few words: Mme.
Edith had had a nervous attack. We understood the
reason at once for there was no doubt in the mind of
either Rouletabille or myself that Mrs. Rance's jealousy
of Mme. Darzac was increasing every hour and that
each act of courtesy performed by the husband toward
the former object of his admiration was positively in-
supportable to his wife. The sounds of the fit of hys-
terics to which she had treated M. Rance and the words
which she had spoken the night before had penetrated
even through the heavy walls of “la Louve,” and M.
Darzac, who was doing sentinel duty in the outer
court, had been unable to help hearing some of the
echoes of the young woman’s anger.
Rouletabille implored M. Darzac to endure the situ-
ation with fortitude, unpleasant as were the circum-
stances. He assured him that he agreed with his feel-
ing that the stay of himself and Mme. Darzac at the
Fort of Hercules must be made as brief as possible:
but he also assured him that the security of both de-
pended in great measure on their remaining in their
present quarters for the time being. A new struggle
had been begun between them on the one side and Lar-


THE LADY IN BLACK 159
san on the other. If they were to go away Larsan
would know on the moment how to overtake them and
in a time and place that they expected him the least.
Here, they were forewarned, they were upon their
guard, for they knew. Elsewhere, they would be at the
mercy of everything and every person that surrounded
them, for they would not have the ramparts of the Fort
of Hercules to defend them. Certainly, this situation
could not endure very long, but Rouletabille asked M.
Darzac to wait eight days longer—not a single one
more. “Eight days,” said Columbus long ago, “and I
will give you a new world.” “Give me eight days and I
will deliver Larsan into your hands,” was not what Rou-
letabille said, but it was what we knew that he was
thinking.
M. Darzac left us, shaking his head, doubtfully. He
was angrier than we had ever seen him. Rouletabille
remarked:
“Mme. Darzac will not leave us and M. Darzac will
stay if she does.”
And he started off on his rounds.
A few moments later, I caught sight of Mme. Edith.
She was charmingly dressed, with a simplicity which
suited her marvellously. She smiled at me coquettishly,
but her gayety seemed a little forced as she jested at
my “new trade.” I answered her, perhaps a little too
quickly, that she was uncharitable in her jests, because
she knew quite well that all the trouble which we were
taking and the careful watch which we were maintain-
ing might be the means, at any moment, of saving the
sweetest of women from untold misery and danger.
She looked at me mockingly and cried with a sharp
little laugh:


160 THE PERFUME OF
“Oh, surely. “The Lady in Black!” She has you
all under her spell.”
What a ringing laugh she had At another time,
rest assured, I would not have allowed anyone to speak
so lightly of “the Lady in Black,” but this morning I
had not the strength of mind to assert myself. On the
contrary, I laughed, too.
“Perhaps, there is a little truth in that speech,” I
returned.
“My husband is crazy about her I never would
have believed that he could be so romantic. But, then,”
she went on, with a droll little sigh, “I am romantic,
too !”
And she turned upon me that same curious look which
had disturbed me before.
“Ah ** That was all that I could find to answer.
“And, therefore,” she continued, “I take very great
pleasure in the conversation of Prince Galitch, who is
more romantic than all the rest of you put together.”
Whereupon I asked her who was this Prince Galitch
of whom I had heard so much but had not yet seen.
She told me that he was coming to luncheon—that she
had invited him on our accounts; and she gave me a
few particulars in regard to him from which I learned
that Prince Galitch was one of the richest landholders
in his own part of Russia—that portion called the
* Black Lands,” fertile above all others, and situated
between the forests of the North and the steppes of
the Midi.
Fallen heir, at the age of twenty, to one of the
greatest of Muscovite estates, he had increased his
patrimony by economical and intelligent management
of which no one would have believed a man so young


THE LADY IN BLACK 161
to be capable—especially one who had heretofore had
his hounds and his books as his principal objects in
life. He was called a hermit, a miser and a poet.
He had inherited from his father a high position at
court. He was a chamberlain to His Majesty and, on
account of the immense services rendered by the parent,
the Emperor was supposed to regard the son with a
great deal of affection. He was at once as gentle as
a woman and as strong as a Turk—in brief, a thorough
Russian gentleman.
I cannot tell why, but I felt a singular antipathy for
the Prince without ever having set eyes on him.
His relations with the Rances were those of friendly
neighborliness. Having purchased two years before the
magnificent property whose hanging gardens, flowery
terraces, and beautiful balconies had made it known
at Garavan as “the Garden of Babylon,” he had had
the opportunity to be of assistance to Edith when she
had begun to make the outer court of the Château of
Hercules into an exotic garden. He had presented her
with certain plants which had revived, in some corners
of the Fort of Hercules, a tropical vegetation hitherto
scarcely known except on the banks of the Tigris and
the Euphrates. M. Rance sometimes invited the Prince
to dinner, and always after one of these functions the
Prince would send to his hostess a wonderful palm tree
from Nineveh or a cactus, fabled to have belonged to
Semiramis. He declared that they cost him nothing.
He had too many; he was tired of them and he did
not want them among his roses. Edith said that she
was interested in the young Russian because he dedi-
cated such beautiful verses to her. After he had re-
peated them in Russian, he would translate them into


162 THE PERFUME OF
English and he had even composed them in English
for her and for her alone. Verses—the verses of a real
poet, dedicated to Mme. Edith ! This had so flattered
her that she had requested the poet to compose English
verses for her and translate them into Russian. This
“literary game” greatly amused Mme. Edith, but Ar-
thur Rance cared for it not at all. The young anthro-
pologist did not attempt to conceal that his feelings
toward Prince Galitch were not of the most friendly,
and I felt assured that the traits which the husband dis-
liked most heartily were those which the wife found most
attractive in the Russian, for M. Rance had no use for
“verse writing fellows,” nor did he care for those who
were quite so prudent in their expenditures. He could
not understand how a poet could be something very like
a miser. The Prince kept no carriage nor motor car.
He used the street cars and often did his own market-
ing, attended by his servant, Ivan, who carried a basket
for the provisions. And—so said Mrs. Edith, who had
heard these details from the cook—he haggled over
prices with the fishwife when there was only two sous
between what she asked and what he offered. Strangely
enough, this avariciousness did not seem in the least dis-
tasteful to Mme. Edith, who appeared to consider it a
mark of originality. And, she finished by saying, “No
one has ever set foot within his doors. He has never
even invited us to come and see his gardens.”
“Isn’t it beautifully fascinating?” demanded the
young woman when she had completed her description.
“Too beautifully fascinating !” I replied. “You will
see ''”
I do not know why this answer should have displeased
my hostess, but I could see that it did so. Mme. Edith


164 THE PERFUME OF
“The Tsar and his guard one day made the attempt
when, after having gathered the beautiful flowers,
they wished to wreath their brows and adorn their
swords with them.
“All those who had gathered the blossoms were smitten
with great ill or struck with sudden death.
“When time would have effaced these things from the
memory of the people, the memory of the punishment
is preserved, and in perpetuating it, the flowers are
still called the doom of the Tsars.
“Thus saying the lady of the lake departed slowly; the
lake opened for her the most profound of its depths;
but the eye seeks in vain for the fair unknown whose
face was born out of the mist and whose voice the
traveller never heard again.”
These were the words, translated into our language,
of the song which was sung by the soft yet resonant
voice while the piano played a weird accompaniment.
I opened the door and found myself face to face with a
young man who was standing. I heard the footsteps
of Mme. Rance behind me and the next moment she
was introducing me to Prince Galitch.
The Prince was of the type that one reads of in
romances, “handsome, pensive young man”; his clear
cut and rather stern profile might have given a some-
what severe expression to his face if his eyes, as mild
and clear as those of a child, and with an expression
of perfect candor, had not told an altogether different
story. They were framed in long black lashes so black
that they almost looked as though they had been
touched with a pencil; and when one had noticed this
peculiarity, one realized why it was that his countenance


THE LADY IN BLACK 165
looked so strange. His skin was fresh and rosy, almost
like that of a young girl. Such was my first impres-
sion of him but I felt the prejudice which I had experi-
enced before I saw him rise up in my heart again. But
it seemed to me, in spite of this, that he was too young
to be of any special importance.
I could find nothing to say to this beautiful youth
who chanted foreign poems. Mme. Edith smiled at my
embarassment, took my arm (which gave me great satis-
faction) and led me away to walk in the perfumed
gardens of the outer court while we waited for the
second bell for luncheon which was to be served to
us in the cabin of palm trees on the platform of the
Tower of the Bold.
(2) The Luncheon and What Followed—A Contagious
Terror Spreads Through Our Midst.
At noon we seated ourselves at the table on the ter-
race of Charles the Bold, the view from which was
incomparable. The palm leaves covered us with their
grateful shade, for the heat of the earth and the
heavens was so intense that our eyes would not have
been able to endure the glare if we had not taken the
precaution to put on the smoked spectacles of which
I have spoken before.
Those of us at the table were M. Stangerson, Ma-
thilde, Old Bob, M. Darzac, M. Arthur Rance, Edith,
Rouletabille, Prince Galitch and myself. Rouletabille,
turning his back to the sea, concerned himself very lit-
tle with his companions and had placed himself in such
a position that he could observe everything which trans-
pired along the entire length of the fort. The servants


166 THE PERFUME OF
were at their posts. Pere Jacques was at the entrance
gate, Mattoni at the postern of the gardener, and the
Berniers in the Square Tower before the door of the
apartments occupied by M. and Mme. Darzac.
The first part of the meal was rather silent. I looked
at the others. We were rather a solemn sight to con-
template around a table spread for good cheer—mute,
and turning upon each other our dark smoked glasses
behind which it was as impossible to see our eyes as to
read our thoughts.
l’rince Galitch was the first to make a remark. He
spoke politely to Rouletabille mentioning the fame
which the young reporter had won. This appeared to
embarrass the lad a little and he made a confused and
rather ungracious reply. The Prince did not seem to
feel rebuffed, but went on to explain that he was par-
ticularly interested in the exploits of my friend for the
reason that, as a subject of the Tsar, he knew that
liouletabille would shortly be sent to Russia. But the
reporter replied that nothing had yet been decided and
that he would prefer to say nothing on the subject
until he had received his directions from his paper;
whereupon, the Prince astonished us by drawing a
newspaper from his pocket. It was a journal of his
own country from which he translated to us a few
lines announcing the fact that Rouletabille was soon
to be in St. Petersburg. There was occurring in that
city, the Prince went on to read to us, a series of events
so strange and inexplicable in high governmental circles
that, upon the advice of the Chief of the Secret Service
at Paris, the Superintendent of Police had decided to
ask the Epoch to lend him the young reporter. Prince
Galitch had presented the affair so vividly that Rou-


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It made us nervous and restless to look at each other, seated around the table, mute, leuning for w url, w taſ ing
our black spectacles, behind which it was as impossible to read our eyes as our thoughts.


THE LADY IN BLACK 167
letabille blushed to the roots of his hair as he replied
dryly that he had never in the course of his short life
done detective work and that the Chief of the Secret
Service at Paris and the Superintendent of Police at
St. Petersburg were two idiots. The Prince showed his
fine teeth in a hearty laugh and it seemed to me that
his laughter was not pleasant but cruel and savage.
He seemed to be of Rouletabille’s opinion in regard to
the Government officers, and, as if to prove the fact,
he added:
“It sounds good to hear anyone talk like that, for
now one expects tasks of journalists which have nothing
in the world to do with their profession.”
Rouletabille made no reply and the subject was aban-
doned.
Mme. Edith arose from her chair, speaking ecstatic-
ally of the beauty of nature. But, in her opinion, she
declared, there was nothing more beautiful anywhere
near than the “Gardens of Babylon.” She added, mis-
chievously: “They seem so much more beautiful, be-
cause one may only see them from a distance!”
The attack was so direct that it seemed as though
the Prince must reply to it by an invitation. But he
said nothing. Mme. Edith looked vexed and a moment
later, said suddenly:
“I’m not going to deceive you any longer, Prince.
I have seen your gardens.”
“Indeed! And how was that?” inquired Galitch, not
losing his presence of mind for an instant.
“Yes, I have been there, and I'll tell you all about it.”
And she related while the Prince listened with an air
of cold imperturbability the story of her visit to the
“Gardens of Babylon.”


I68 THE PERFUME OF
She had come upon them, inadvertently, from the
rear, in climbing over a hillock which separated the
gardens from the mountains. She had wandered from
enchantment to enchantment, but without being in the
least astonished. When she had walked upon the sea-
shore, she had seen enough of the “Gardens of Babylon.”
to prepare her for the marvels, the secrets of which
she had so audaciously stolen. She had finally reached
the edge of a little pond, black as ink, upon the bank
of which she saw a great water lily and a little old
woman with a long, peaked chin. When they saw her
the water lily and the little old woman had fled away,
the latter so light on her feet in running that she fairly
skimmed over the ground. Mme. Edith had laughed
and had called after her:
“Madame ! Madame !”
But the little old woman had seemed only more ter-
rified and had disappeared with her lily behind the
barberry hedge. Mme. Edith had continued her stroll
but not quite so carelessly. Suddenly she had heard a
rustle in the bushes and the strange cry which is made
by wild birds when, surprised by the hunter, they escape
from the prison of verdure in which they have hidden
themselves. It was another little old woman, still more
shriveled and wrinkled than the first, but heavier of
build and who carried her cane like a battle axe. She
vanished—that is to say, Edith lost sight of her in a
turn of the path. And a third little old woman, lean-
ing on two canes appeared a little further on in the
mysterious garden: she escaped behind the trunk of a
giant eucalyptus tree and she went so much the faster
than she had done before, by running on her hands and
knees so rapidly that it was amazing that she did not


THE LADY IN BLACK 169
get all tangled up. Mme. Edith still went on. And
at last she came to the marble steps of the villa with
their climbing roses over head, but the three little old
women were standing guard on the highest step like
three rooks on a branch and they opened their threaten-
ing beaks from which escaped threatening sounds. It
was then Mme. Edith’s turn to flee.
The little woman had related her adventure in a man-
ner so charming and with such grace, borrowed as it
was from the fairy tales of childhood, that I was enrap-
tured and began to comprehend how certain women
who have nothing natural about them can supplant in
the heart of men those whose gifts are only those of
nature.
The Prince did not seem in the least embarrassed by
the little history. He said without a smile:
“Those are my three fairy godmothers. They have
never left me since the hour of my birth. I can neither
work nor live without them, I can only leave them when
they permit it and they watch over my verse making
with a fierce jealousy.”
The Prince had scarcely ceased giving us this fan-
tastic explanation of the presence of the three old
women in the “Gardens of Babylon” when Walter, Old
Bob's man servant, brought a dispatch to Rouletabille.
The latter asked permission to open it and read
aloud:
“Return as soon as possible. We are waiting for you
very anxiously. A magnificent assignment at St.
Petersburg.”
This dispatch was signed by the Editor in chief of
the Epoch.
“Well, what do you say to that, M. Rouletabille?”


170 THE PERFUME OF
demanded the Prince. “Will you admit now that I was
pretty well informed?”
The Lady in Black could not repress a sigh.
“I shall not go to St. Petersburg!” declared Rouleta-
bille.
“They will regret your decision at the Court,” said
the Prince. “I am certain of that, and, allow me to
say, young man, that you are missing a wonderful
opportunity.”
The term “young man” seemed extremely displeasing
to Rouletabille, who opened his lips as though to answer
the Prince, but closed them again, to my great surprise,
without uttering a word. Galitch went on :
“You would have found an adventure worthy of your
skill. One may hope for everything when one has been
strong enough to unmask a Larsan P’
The word fell into the midst of us like a bombshell
and, as if by a common impulse, we took refuge behind
our smoked glasses. The silence which followed was
horrible. We sat as motionless as statues. Larsan!
Why should this name which we ourselves had so often
pronounced within the last forty-eight hours and which
represented a danger with which we were commencing
to almost feel familiar—why, I say, should that name,
spoken at that precise moment, have produced an effect
upon us, which, speaking for myself, was like nothing
ever felt before? It seemed to me as though I had been
struck by a thunderbolt. An indefinable terror glided
through my body. I longed to flee but it seemed to
me that if I were to stand up my limbs would not be
able to support me. The unbroken silence on every
hand contributed to increase this indescribable state of
hypnosis. Why did no one speak? Where had old


THE LADY IN BLACK 171
Bob's gayety vanished? He had scarcely uttered a
word during the meal. And why did all the others sit
so silent and so motionless behind their dark glasses?
All at once, I turned my head and looked behind me.
Then I understood, more by instinct than anything else,
that I was the object of a common psychical attraction.
Someone was looking at me. Two eyes were fixed upon
me—weighing upon me. I could not see the eyes and
I did not know from where the glance fixed upon me
came, but it was there. I knew it—and it was his
glance. But there was no one behind me, nor at the
right, nor the left, nor in front, except the people who
were seated at the table, motionless, behind their dark
glasses. And then—then I knew that Larsan's eyes
were glaring at me from behind a pair of those glasses
—ah! the dark glasses—the dark glasses behind which
were hidden Larsan's eyes.
And then, all at once, the sensation passed. The
eyes, doubtless, were turned away from me. I drew a
long breath. Another sigh echoed my own. Was it
from the breast of Rouletabille—was it the Lady in
Black, who perhaps, had at the same time as myself
endured the weight of those piercing eyes?
Old Bob spoke:
“Prince, I do not believe that your last spinal bone
goes any further back than the middle of the quartern-
ary period.”
And all the black spectacles turned in his direction.
Rouletabille arose and made a sign to me. I has-
tened to the council room where he was waiting for
me. As soon as I appeared, he closed the door and
whispered:
“Well, did you fuel it, too?"


172 THE PERFUME OF
I felt smothered. I could scarcely articulate.
“He was there—at that table—unless we are going
mad.”
There was a pause and then I resumed, more calmly:
“You know, Rouletabille, that it is quite possible that
we are going mad. This phantasm of Larsan will land
us all in a madhouse yet! We have been shut up here
only two days and see the state we are in P’
Rouletabille interrupted me.
“No, no; I felt him. He is there. I could have
touched him " But where—but when 2 Since I came
into that room, I have known that it was not neces-
sary for me to go further. I will not fall into his
trap. I will not go and look for him outside the castle
even though I have seen him outside with my own eyes—
even though you saw him with yours.”
All in a moment he seemed to grow perfectly calm,
passed his hand across his eyebrows, lighted his pipe
and said, as he had so often said before, in happier
hours when his reasoning powers, which were yet igno-
rant of the ties which united him to the Lady in Black,
were not disturbed by the tumult of his heart:
“Let us reason it out !”
And he returned on the instant to that argument
which had already served us and which he repeated
again and again to himself (in order that, he said, he
should not be lured away by the outer appearance of
things): “Do not look for Larsan in that place where
he reveals himself; seek for him everywhere else where
he hides himself.”
This he followed up with the supplementary argu-
ment:
“He never shows himself where he seems to be except


THE LADY IN BLACK 173
to prevent us from seeing him where he really is.”
And he resumed:
“Ah! the outer appearance of things! Look here,
Sainclair! There are moments when, for the sake of
reasoning clearly, I want to get rid of my eyes! Let
us get rid of our eyes, Sainclair, for five minutes—just
five minutes, and, perhaps, we shall see more clearly.”
He seated himself, placed his pipe on the table, buried
his face in his hands and said:
“Now, I have no eyes. Tell me, Sainclair—who is
within these walls?”
“What do I see within these walls?” I echoed stu-
pidly.
“No, no! You have no eyes at all; you see nothing.
Enumerate them without seeing. Count them ALL.”
“There is, first of all, you and I,” I said, under-
standing, at last, what he wished to reach.
“Very well.”
“Neither you nor I,” I continued, “is Larsan.”
“why?”
“Why?” I echoed.
“Yes, why. Tell me. You must give a reason why
you believe so. I acknowledge that I am not Larsan;
I am sure of that, for I am Rouletabille; but, face to
face with Rouletabille, tell me why you cannot be Lar-
san?”
“Because you saw him
“Idiot!” exclaimed Rouletabille closing his eyes in
with his clasped hands more firmly than before. “I have
no eyes. I can’t see anything! If Jerry, the croupier
at Monte Carlo, had not seen the Comte de Maupas sit
down at his table, he would have sworn that the man
who picked up the cards was Ballmeyer. If Noblet at
53


174 THE PERFUME OF
the garrison had not found himself face to face one even-
ing at the Troyons, with a man whom he recognized as
the Wicomte Drouet d’Eslon, he would have sworn that
the man whom he came to arrest and whom he did not
arrest because he had seen him, was Ballmeyer. If In-
spector Giraud, who knew the Comte de Motteville as
well as you know me, had not seen him one afternoon at
the race course at Longchamps, chatting with two of his
friends—had not seen, I say, the Comte de Motteville,
he would have arrested Ballmeyer. Ah, you see, Sain-
clair!” ejaculated the lad in a voice shaken with sobs,
“my father was born before I was . One will have to
be very strong and very shrewd to capture my father!”
The words were uttered so despairingly that the little
force of reasoning I possessed vanished completely. I
threw out my hands before me, a gesture which Rouleta-
bille did not see, for he saw nothing.
“No-no! It isn’t necessary to see any of them "
he repeated. “Neither you, nor M. Stangerson, nor M.
Darzac, nor Arthur Rance, nor Old Bob, nor Prince
Galitch. But we must know some good reason why
each of these cannot be Larsan. Only when that is
accomplished shall I be able to breathe freely behind
these stone walls."
There was no freedom in my breathing. We could
hear, under the arch of the postern, the regular steps
of Mattoni as he kept guard.
“Well, how about the servants?” I asked, with an
effort. “Mattoni and the others?”
“I am absolutely certain that none of them was absent
from the Fort of Hercules when Larsan appeared to
Mme. Darzac and to M. Darzac at the railway sta-
tion at Bourg.”


THE LADY IN BLACK 175
“Own up, Rouletabille!” I cried. “That you don’t
trouble yourself about them because none of their eyes
were behind the black spectacles.”
Rouletabille tapped the ground impatiently with his
foot and said:
“Be quiet, please, Sainclair. You make me more
nervous than my mother.”
This phrase, uttered in vexation, struck me strangely.
I would have questioned Rouletabille in regard to the
state of mind of the Lady in Black, but he resumed,
meditatively:
“First, Sainclair is not Larsan, because Sainclair was
at Trepot with me while Larsan was at Bourg.
“Second: Professor Stangerson is not Larsan be-
cause he was on his way from Dijon to Lyons whil.
Larsan was at Bourg. As a fact, reaching Lyons one
minute before him, M. and Mme. Darzac saw him alight
from the train.”
“But all the others, if it is necessary to prove that
they were not at Bourg at that moment, might be Lar-
san, for all of them might have been at Bourg.
“First M. Darzac was there. Arthur Rance was
away from home during the two days which preceded
the arrival of the Professor and of M. Darzac. He
arrived at Mentone just in time to receive them (Mme.
Edith herself informed me in reply to a few careless
questions of mine that her husband had been absent
those two days on business). Old Bob made his jour-
ney to Paris. Prince Galitch was not seen at the
grottoes nor outside the Gardens of Babylon.
“First, let us take M. Darzac.”
“Rouletabille!” I cried. “That is a sacrilege.”
“I know it.”


176 THE PERFUME OF
“And it is a piece of the grossest stupidity.”
“I know that, too. But why?”
“Because,” I exclaimed, almost beside myself, “Lar-
san is a genius, we are aware; he might be able to
deceive a detective, a journalist, a reporter, and even
a Rouletabille—he might even deceive a friend, under
some circumstances, I admit. But he could never de-
ceive a daughter so far that she would take him for
her father. That ought to reassure you as to M. Stan-
gerson. Nor would he deceive a woman to the point
of taking him for her betrothed. And, my friend,
Mathilde Stangerson knew M. Darzac and threw her-
self into his arms at the railway station.”
“And she knew Larsan, too !” added Rouletabille cold-
ly. “Well, my dear fellow, your reasons are powerful
but as I do not know at present what form the genius
of my father has assumed as a disguise, I prefer rather
to bestow, for the sake of supposition, a personality on
M. Robert Darzac which I have never expected to fasten
upon him, in order to base my argument against the
possibility a little more solidly: If Robert Darzac
were Larsan, Larsan would not have appeared on sev-
eral occasions to Mathilde Stangerson, for it is the
apparition of Larsan that has created a gulf between
Mathilde Stangerson and Robert Darzac.”
“Pshaw ('' I cried. “Of what use are such vain rea-
sonings when one has only to open his eyes—open them,
Rouletabille ‘’’
He opened them.
“Upon whom?” he asked with a trace of bitterness in
his voice. “Upon Prince Galitch?”
“Why not? Do you like him, this prince from the
Black Lands who sings Lithuanian folk songs?”


178 THE PERFUME OF
And he put his hand on my shoulder for a moment
as I turned away. Through my clothing I felt that
his flesh was burning. He left the room and I remained
for a moment where I stood, lost in thought. In
thought of what? Of the fact that I had been wrong
in saying that Arthur Rance had not changed at all.
For one thing, now, he wore a slight moustache, some-
thing very rarely seen in an American of his type;
next, his hair had grown longer with a lock falling
over the forehead. And again, I had not seen him
in two years—and everyone changes in two years—and
again, Arthur Rance, who had used to drink heavily,
now tasted only water. But then, there was Edith—
what about Edith? Ah! was I going insane, I, too?
Why do I say, ‘I, too,” like—like the Lady in Black;
like—like Rouletabille. Did I believe that Rouletabille’s
brain was becoming slightly turned? Ah, the Lady in
Black had us all under her spell. Because the Lady
in Black lived in the perpetual fear of her memories,
here were we all trembling with the same horror as
she. Fear is as contagious as the cholera.
(3) How I Spent My Afternoon up to Five O'clock.
I profited by the fact that I was not on guard to
go to my room for a little rest; but I slept badly and
dreamed that Old Bob, M. Rance and Mme. Edith
had formed themselves into a band of brigands who
had sworn death to Rouletabille and myself. And
when I awakened under this pleasant impression and
saw the old towers and the old château with their
menacing walls rising before me, I came near think-


THE LADY IN BLACK 179
ing that my nightmare was real and I said to myself
half aloud: “It’s a fine place in which we have taken
refuge!” I put my head out of the window. Mrs.
Edith was walking in the Court of the Bold, chatting
carelessly with Rouletabille and twisting the stem of a
beautiful rose between her pretty fingers. I went down
immediately. But when I reached the court, I found
no one there. I followed Rouletabille whom I saw
on his way to make his inspection of the Square
Tower.
I found him quite calm and entirely master of him-
self—and also, entirely the master of his eyes, which
were not closed now but open wide and keenly on the
watch for anything that might turn up. Ah, it was
worth while to see the manner in which he looked at
everything around him! Nothing escaped him. And
the Square Tower, the abode of the Lady in Black, was
the object of his constant surveillance.
And at this point, it seems to me opportune, a few
hours before the moment at which that most mysterious
attack occurred, to present to the reader the interior
plan of the inhabited story of the Square Tower the
story which was on a level with the Court of Charles the
Bold.
When one entered the Square Tower by the only
door (K) one found himself in a large corridor which
had previously formed a part of the guard room. The
guard room had formerly taken up all the space at
O, O, O" and O" and was shut in by walls of stone
which still existed with their doors opening upon the
other rooms of the Old Castle. It was Mrs. Arthur
Rance who in this guard room had had wooden parti-
tions raised to make quite a large room which she


T80 THE PERFUME OF
wished to use for a bathroom. This room, also, was
now surrounded by the two passages at right angles
to each other. The door of the room which served as
the lodge of the Berniers was situated at S. It was
necessary to pass in front of this door to reach R,
where was the only door affording admission to the
apartment of the Darzacs. One or other of the Ber-
niers was always in the lodge. And no one save them-
selves had a right to enter it. From this lodge one
could easily see from a little window at Y, the door
V which opened off the suite of Old Bob. When M.
and Mme. Darzac were not in their apartment, the
only key which opened the door R was in the keeping
of the Berniers; and it was a special kind of key made
purposely for the room within the last twenty-four
hours in a place which no one but Rouletabille knew.
The young reporter had let no one into the secret.
Rouletabille would have wished that the watch which
he had had placed upon the rooms of the Darzacs might
have been kept also upon those of Old Bob, but the
latter had opposed such an idea with an earnestness so
comical that it was necessary to abandon it. Old Bob
swore that he would not be treated like a prisoner and
he said that on no account would he give up the privi-
lege of going and coming to his own rooms when he
saw fit without asking the keys from the lodge-keepers.
His door must remain unlocked so that he might go
as many times as he liked to his rooms, whether it might
be to his bed chamber or to his sitting room in the
Tower of Charles the Bold, without disturbing or worry-
ing himself or any one else. On account of his insist-
ence, it was necessary to leave the door at K open.
He demanded it and Mme. Edith upheld her uncle in


THE LADY IN BLACK T81
so intense a manner and spoke so pertly to Rouletabille
that he knew she was seeking to convey the idea that
she believed that Rouletabille was treating Old Bob
with discourtesy at the instigation of Professor Stan-
gerson’s daughter. So he had not insisted on what
he believed to be best. Mme. Edith had said with her
lips pressed together in a narrow little line: “But,
M. Rouletabille, my uncle doesn’t think that anyone is
coming to carry him away !” And Rouletabille had
realized that there was nothing for him to do save to
laugh with the Old Bob over this absurd idea that one
could be trying to steal as they would a pretty woman,
the man who had the oldest skull in the world. And
so he had laughed—had laughed even louder than Old
Bob, but had imposed the condition that the door at
K should be locked with a key after 10 o'clock at night
and that the key should be left in the keeping of the
Berniers, who would come and open it whenever anyone
desired. Even this was against the inclination of Old
Bob, who sometimes worked very late in the Tower of
Charles the Bold. But, nevertheless, he declared, he
would submit to it for he did not wish to have the
appearance of opposing the worthy M. Rouletabille,
who had told him that he was afraid of robbers. For,
be it said in exculpation of Old Bob, that, if he lent
himself so ungraciously to the defensive plans of our
young friend it was because it had not been judged
expedient to inform him in regard to the resurrection
of Larsan. IIe had, of course, heard of the extraor-
dinary series of fatalities which had formerly occurred
in the history of poor Mlle. Stangerson; but he was
a thousand miles from doubting that all her troubles
had ceased long before she had become Mme. Darzac.


182 THE PERFUME OF
And then, too, Old Bob was an egoist, like nearly all
savants. Happy because he possessed the oldest skull
in the history of the human race, he could not conceive
that the whole world did not revolve around his treasure.
# # # # # * #
Rouletabille, after having politely inquired after the
health of Mere Bernier, who was gathering up pota-
toes and putting them in a bag at her side, requested
Pere Bernier to open the door of the Darzacs’ room
for us.
This was the first time that I had entered the apart-
ment. The atmosphere was almost freezing, and the
whole place seemed to me cold and sombre. The room,
very large, was furnished with extreme simplicity, con-
taining an oak bed, and a toilet table which was placed
at one of the two openings in the wall around which
there had formerly been loopholes. So thick was the
wall and so large the opening that this embrasure (J)
formed a kind of little room beside the big one and
of this M. Darzac had made his dressing closet. The
second window (J') was smaller. The two windows
were fitted with bars of iron between which one could
scarcely pass one’s arm. The high bedstead had its
back to the outer wall and had been drawn up against
the partition of stone which separated M. Darzac's
apartment from that of his wife. Opposite in the angle
of the tower was a panel. In the centre of the room
was a reading table on which were some scientific books
and writing materials. And there was an easy chair
and three straight-backed chairs. That was all. It
would have been absolutely impossible for anyone to
hide in this chamber, unless, of course, behind the





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THE LADY IN BLACK 183
panel. And then, too, Pere and Mere Bernier had
received orders to look every time they visited the room
both behind the panel and in the closet where M. Darzac
hung his clothes, and Rouletabille himself, who, during
the absence of the Darzacs often came to cast his eye
around this room, never neglected to search it thor-
oughly.
He did so now, as I stood there. When we at length
passed into the sleeping room of Mme. Darzac, we were
absolutely certain that we had left nothing behind us
of which we did not know. As soon as we entered the
room, Bernier, who had followed us, had taken care, as
he always did, to draw the bolt which closed from the
inside the only door by which the apartment com-
municated with the corridor.
Mme. Darzac's room was smaller than that of her
husband. But it was bright and well lighted from the
way that the windows were placed. As soon as we set
foot over the threshold, I saw Rouletabille turn pale
and he turned to me and said:
“Sainclair, do you perceive the perfume of the Lady
in Black?”
I did not. I perceived nothing at all. The window,
barred, like all the others which looked out on the sea,
was wide open and a light breeze rustled the hangings
which had been drawn in front of a set of hooks for
gowns which had been placed in one corner. The other
corner was occupied by the bed. The hooks were placed
so high that the gowns and peignoir which they held
were covered by the hangings in front scarcely more
than half way down, so that it would have been entirely
out of the question for any person to conceal himself
there without leaving his legs exposed to view from the


184 THE PERFUME OF
knees to the feet. Nor would anyone have been able
to hide in the corner where the portmanteaux and trunks
were placed, although, nevertheless, Rouletabille exam-
ined it with the greatest care. There was no panel in
this room. Toilet table, bureau, an easy chair, two
other chairs, and the four walls between which there
was no one but ourselves, as we could have sworn by
all that we held most sacred.
Rouletabille, after having looked under the bed, gave
the signal for departure and motioned us from the room.
He lingered for a moment, but no longer. Bernier
locked the door with the tiny key which he put in
his inside pocket and tightly buttoned his coat over it.
We made the tour of the corridors and also that of Old
Bob's apartment which consisted of a bedroom and
sitting room as easy to examine and as incapable of
hiding anyone as those of the Darzacs. No one was
in the suite, which was furnished rather carelessly, the
chief article noticeable being an almost empty book
case with the doors standing open. When we left the
room Mere Bernier brought up her chair and placed
it on the threshold where she could see clearly and still
go on with her work, which seemed to be always that
of paring potatoes.
We entered the rooms occupied by the Berniers and
found them like all the others. The other stories were
inhabited and communicated with the ground floor by
a little inner stairway which began at the angle O' and
ascended to the summit of the tower. A trap door in
the ceiling of the Berniers’ room closed this stairway.
Rouletabille asked for a hammer and nails and nailed
up the trap door, thus making the stairway unusable.
One might say, in short and in fact, that nothing


THE LADY IN BLACK 185
escaped Rouletabille and that when we had made the
rounds of the Square Tower we had left no one behind
us save M. and Mme. Bernier. One would have said,
too, that there could have been no human being in the
apartment of the Darzacs before Bernier, a few min-
utes later, opened the door to M. Darzac himself as I
am now about to relate.
# # # # * * +
It was about five minutes before five o’clock when,
leaving Bernier in his corridor in front of the door of
the Darzacs’ room, Rouletabille and myself found our-
selves again in the Court of the Bold.
At that moment we climbed to the platform of the
ancient tower at B". We seated ourselves upon the
parapet, our eyes looking down to the ground, attracted
by the echoes of the Rochers Rouges. At that moment,
we noticed upon the edge of the Barma Grande which
opened its mysterious mouth in the flaming face of
Baousse Raousse, the disturbed and wrathful counte-
nance of Old Bob. His shadow was the only dark thing
about. The red cliff's rose from the waters with such
a vivid radiance that one might have readily believed
that they were still glowing with the same fires which
are found in the interior of the earth. By what a
prodigious anachronism it was that this modern scholar
with his coat and hat in the height of fashion should
be moving about, grotesque and ghoulish, in front of
this cavern three hundred thousand years old formed
by the ardent lava to serve as the first roof for the
first family in the first days of the world! Why this
sinister gravedigger in this beautiful corner of the
earth? We could see him brandishing his skull as he


186 THE PERFUME OF
had done at the table and we could hear him laugh—
laugh—laugh! Ah, his laughter made us ill even to
think of it! It tore our ears and our hearts.
From Old Bob our attention was drawn to M. Dar-
zac, who was coming through the postern of the gar-
dener and crossing the Court of the Bold. He did not
sce us. Ah, he was not laughing! Rouletabille felt the
deepest pity for him for he saw that he was at the end
of his endurance. In the afternoon he had said to my
friend, who now repeated the words to me: “Eight
days is too much ! I do not believe that I can bear
this torment for eight days!”
“And where would you go?” Rouletabille had asked
him.
“To Rome,” he had replied. Evidently Professor
Stangerson’s daughter would accompany him nowhere
else and Rouletabille believed that it was the idea that
the Pope could arrange the affair which was driving
him wild with grief that had put the journey to Rome
into the mind of poor M. Darzac. Poor, poor M. Dar-
zac' No, in truth, his face wore no smile.
We followed him with our eyes to the door of the
Square Tower. We could see from his looks that he
could endure no more. His head was moodily bent
toward the ground; his hands were in his pockets. He
had the air of a man fatigued and disgusted with the
whole world. Yes, with his hands buried in his pockets,
he looked out of humor with everything. But, patience!
he will take his hands out of his pockets and one will
not smile at him always. I confess that I smiled. Well,
M. Darzac a little after this gave me cause to experience
the most frightful thrill of terror which could freeze
human bones! And I did not smile then.


THE LADY IN BLACK 187
M. Darzac went straight to the Square Tower, where,
of course, he found Bernier, who opened the door for
him. As Bernier had been keeping constant guard be-
fore the door of the room, as he had kept the key in
his pocket and as we had proven by our investigation
that the place was empty when we had left it, we had
established the fact that when M. Darzac entered his
room, there could be no one else there. And this is
the truth.
Everything that I have said could have been sworn
to “after” by each one of us. If I tell it to you “be-
fore,” it is that I am haunted by the mystery which
lurks in the shadow and makes ready to reveal itself.
At the moment that we saw M. Darzac go to his
room, we heard a clock strike five.
(4) What Happened from Five O'clock that Night
Until the Moment When the Attack on the Square
Tower Began.
Rouletabille and I remained chatting, or, rather,
trying to reason things out, upon the platform of
the Tower B for another hour. Suddenly, my friend
struck me a little tap on the shoulder and exclaimed,
“For my part, I think—” and then, without complet-
ing the sentence, he started for the Square Tower. I
followed him.
I was a thousand miles from guessing what he
thought. He thought of Mere Bernier's bag of pota-
toes which he emptied out on the white floor of the room
to the great amazement of the good woman: then, satis-
fied with this act which evidently corresponded to the
state of his mind, he returned with me to the Court of


188 THE PERFUME OF
the Bold, while, behind us, we could hear Pere Bernier
laughing as he picked up the potatoes.
As we reached the court we saw the face of Mme.
Darzac appearing for a moment at the window of the
room occupied by her father on the first story of “la
Louve.”
The heat had become insupportable. We were
threatened with a violent storm and we believed that
it would begin to lighten immediately.
Ah, how much the storm would relieve us, we thought.
The sea had a thick and heavy quietude as though it
had been saturated with oil. The sea was heavy and the
air was heavy and our hearts were heavy. No one or
nothing on the earth or in the heavens was lighter than
Old Bob, whose form had appeared again at the edge
of the Barma Grande and who was still moving around
agitatedly. One would have said that he was dancing.
No, he was making a speech To whom? We leaned
over the railing to see. There was apparently some
one upon the strand to whom Old Bob was addressing
some long-winded scientific discourse. But the palm
leaves hid his auditor from us. Finally, the listener
moved and advanced, and approached the “black pro-
fessor,” as Rouletabille called him. And we saw that
Old Bob's congregation was composed of two persons.
One was Mme. Edith—we could easily recognize her
with her languishing graces, clinging like a vine to
her husband’s arm. To her husband's arm | But this
was not her husband? Who, then, was the young man
upon whom Mme. Edith was playing off so many pretty
airs?
Rouletabille turned around, looking for someone of
whom to make inquiries—either Mattoni or Bernier.


THE LADY IN BLACK 189
We saw Bernier upon the threshold of the door of the
Square Tower and Rouletabille beckoned him. Ber-
nier approached and his eye followed the direction indi-
cated by Rouletabille's finger.
“Who is that with Mme. Rance?” asked the young
reporter.
“The young man?” responded Bernier without hesi-
tation. “That is Prince Galitch.”
Rouletabille and I looked at each other. It is true
that we had never seen Prince Galitch walking at a
distance, but I would not have imagined that his man-
ner of walking would be like this, and he had not seemed
to me to be so tell. Rouletabille understood my
thoughts, I knew. He shrugged his shoulders.
“All right,” he said to Bernier. “Thanks.”
And we continued to gaze at Mme. Edith and her
Prince.
“I can only say one thing,” said Bernier as he
turned to leave us. “And that is that I don't care
for this prince at all. He is too soft spoken and too
blonde and his eyes are too blue. They say that he
is a Russian. That may be, but there are some who
leave the country because they have to. But he comes
and goes in a strange fashion and takes no leave before-
hand. The time before the last that he was invited
here to luncheon Madame and Monsieur waited and
waited for him and dared not begin without him. Well,
after an hour or two they received a wire, begging
them to excuse him because he had missed the train.
The dispatch was sent from Moscow.”
And Bernier, chuckling, returned to his vantage post.
Our eyes remained fived upon the beach. Mme. Edith
and her prince continued their stroll toward the grotto


190 THE PERFUME OF
of Romeo and Juliet; Old Bob suddenly ceased to ges-
ticulate, descended from the Barma Grande and came
toward the château, entered the gate, crossed the outer
court, and we saw, even from the height of the plat-
form of the tower, that he had ceased to smile. Old
Bob's face had become sadness itself. He was silent.
He passed beneath the arch of the postern. We called
him, he did not seem to hear us. He carried before him
in the crook of his arm his “oldest skull in the world,”
and all at once we saw him fly into the fiercest of pas-
sions. He addressed the worst of insults to the skull.
He descended into the Round Tower and we heard the
mutterings of his wrath for moments after he was out
of sight. Then heavy blows resounded. One would
have said that he was hurling himself against the
wall.
At this moment six strokes resounded from the old
clock of the New Castle. And at almost the same instant
a clap of thunder echoed over the sea. And the line
of the horizon grew black.
Then a groom of the stables, Walter, a brave, stupid
fellow who was incapable of a single idea, but who had
shown for years past the blind devotion of a brute
toward his master, Old Bob, passed under the postern
of the gardener, entered into the Court of Charles the
Bold, and came to us. He held in his hand a letter which
he gave to Rouletabille. He handed me another and
continued on his way toward the Square Tower.
Rouletabille, calling after him, inquired what errand
was taking him to the Square Tower. He answered that
he was taking the mail for M. and Mme. Darzac to
Pere Bernier. He spoke in English for Walter under-
stood no other language; but we spoke it well enough


THE LADY IN BLACK 191
to understand him and make him understand. Walter
was charged with distributing the mail because Pere
Jacques had no right to leave his lodge on any account.
Rouletabille took the letters from the man’s hands and
said to him that he would take it in himself.
A few drops of water had begun to fall.
We turned to the door of M. Darzac's room. Ber-
nier was smoking his pipe in the corridor, sitting astride
a chair.
“Is M. Darzac still there?” asked Rouletabille.
“He hasn’t stirred since he went in,” Bernier replied.
We knocked. We heard the heavy bolt drawn from
the inside. (These bolts can only be used by the per-
son within the room.)
M. Darzac was writing letters when we entered. He
had been seated beside the little reading table facing
the door R.
Now mark well all our movements. Rouletabille com-
plained that the letter which he held in his hand con-
firmed the telegram which he had received in the morn-
ing and pressed him to return to Paris. His paper
insisted upon his proceeding at once to Russia.
M. Darzac read indifferently the two or three let-
ters which we had brought him and put them in his
pocket. I held out to Rouletabille the letter which I
had received. It was from my friend in Paris who,
after having given me some important details regarding
the departure of Brignolles, informed me that the
laboratory assistant had left his address for mail to
be forwarded to Sospel, the Hotel des Alps. This was
extremely interesting and M. Darzac and Rouletabille
were greatly excited over it. We decided to go to
Sospel as soon as it could be arranged and, after talk-


192 THE PERFUME OF
ing of the matter for a few minutes, we went out of
the room. The door of Mme. Darzac's sleeping room
was not closed. Here is what we noticed as we passed
out:
I have mentioned that Mme. Darzac was not in her
own room. As soon as we made our exit, Pere Bernier
immediately—immediately, I say, for I saw him—turned
the key in the lock and then took it out and put it in
his pocket—in the little inside pocket of his waistcoat.
Ah, I can still see him putting the key into his inside
pocket—I swear it!—and he buttoned his coat over it!
Then the three of us went out of the Square Tower,
leaving Pere Bernier in his corridor like the good watch
dog that he never ceased to be until the last day of his
life. One may be a poacher and a good watch dog
into the bargain, you know. Even watch dogs poach
sometimes. And I bear witness here and now, among
all the events which followed, Pere Bernier always did
his duty and never told lies. And his wife, Mere Ber-
nier, was an excellent servant, faithful, intelligent and
not too talkative. Since she has been a widow, I have
had her in my service. She will be glad to read here
the tribute which I pay to her and to her husband.
They both deserved it.
+ # * # # # #
It was about half past six o'clock when, in emerging
from the Square Tower, we went to pay a visit to Old
Bob in the Round Tower, Rouletabille, M. Darzac and
I. As soon as we entered the low basement M. Darzac
uttered an exclamation of surprise and indignation at
seeing the destruction which had been wrought upon a
wash drawing upon which he had been working ever


THE LADY IN BLACK 193
since the evening before in the endeavor to distract his
mind, and which represented the plan for a great scal-
ing ladder for the Fort of Hercules of the kind which
had existed in the Fifteenth Century and of which
Arthur Rance had shown us the pictures. This draw-
ing had been gashed with a knife and paint had been
smeared over it. He endeavored in vain to obtain some
explanation from Old Bob, who was kneeling beside a
box containing a skeleton and was so wrapped up in
a shoulder blade that he did not even answer us.
# # # # # * #
I desire here, by way of parenthesis, to ask the par-
don of the reader for the mathematical precision with
which for the last few pages, I have enumerated our
every act and movement, but I will assure him, once
and for all, that even the smallest circumstances have
in reality a considerable importance, for everything
which we did at this time was done, though alas, we
did not guess it, on the brink of a precipice.
As Old Bob seemed to be in a churlish humor, we
left him—that is, Rouletabille and myself did. M.
Darzac remained gazing at his spoiled drawing, but
thinking, doubtless, of altogether different things.
As we went out of the Round Tower, Rouletabille
and I raised our eyes to the sky which was rapidly
becoming covered with great, black clouds. The tem-
pest was near at hand. In the meantime, the air seemed
to grow more and more stifling.
“I am going to lie down in my room,” I said. “I
can’t stand any more of this. Perhaps it may be cooler
there with all the windows open.”
Rouletabille followed me into the New Castle. Sud-


194 THE PERFUME OF
denly, as we reached the first landing of our winding
staircase, he stopped me:
“Ah,” he said in a low voice; “she is there!”
“Who?”
“The Lady in Black. Can't you smell the perfume?”
And he hid himself behind a door, motioning me to
continue without waiting for him. I obeyed.
What was my amazement in opening the door of my
room to find myself face to face with Mathilde!
She uttered a low cry and disappeared in the shadow,
gliding away like a surprised bird. I rushed to the
staircase and leaned over the balustrade. She swept
down the steps like a ghost. She soon gained the
ground floor and I saw below me the face of Rouleta-
bille, who, leaning over the rail of the first landing,
looked at her, too.
He mounted the steps to my side.
“Oh, my God!” he cried. “What did I tell you!
Poor, poor soul!”
He seemed to be in the greatest agitation.
“I asked M. Darzac for eight days' he went on.
“But this thing must be ended in twenty-four hours or
I shall no longer have strength to act.”
He entered my room and threw himself into a chair
as if exhausted. “I am smothering !” he moaned. “I
can’t breathe" He tore his collar away from his
throat. “Water '' he entreated. “Water P’
I started to fetch some, but he stopped me.
“No-I want the water from the heavens ! I must
have it!” and he waved his hands toward the dark skies
from which huge drops were slowly beginning to fall.
For ten minutes he remained stretched out in the
chair, thinking. What surprised me was that he asked


THE LADY IN BLACK 195
no question or uttered no conjecture as to what the
Lady in Black had been seeking in my room. I would
not have known how to answer, if he had done so. At
length, he rose.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To take the guard at the postern.”
* * # # # * #
He would not even come in to dinner and sent word
to have some soup brought out to him as though he
were a soldier. The dinner was served in la Louve
at half past eight. Darzac, who came to the table from
Old Bob's workroom, said that the latter refused to
dine also. Mme. Edith, fearing that her uncle might
be ill, went immediately to the Round Tower. She
would not even allow her husband to accompany her—
indeed, she seemed to be much out of humor with him.
The Lady in Black came in on the arm of her father.
She cast on me a look of sorrowful reproach which dis-
turbed me greatly. Her eyes seemed never to wander
from me.
It was a gloomy meal enough. No one ate much.
Arthur Rance looked every moment in the direction of
the Lady in Black. All the windows were open. The
atmosphere was suffocating. A flash of lightning and
a heavy clap of thunder came in rapid succession—and
then, the deluge! A sigh of relief issued from our over-
charged breasts. Mme. Faith reappeared just in time
to escape being dronched by the furious rain which beat
down like cannon balls upon the peninsula.
The young woman told us in excited tones and with
her hands clasped, how she had found Old Bob bending
over his desk with his head buried in his hands. He


196 THE PERFUME OF
had refused to have anything to say to her. She had
spoken to him affectionately and he had treated her like
a bear. Then, as he had obstinately held his hands to
his ears, she had pricked one of his fingers with a little
pin set with rubies which she used to fasten the lace
scarf which she wore in the evening over her shoulders.
Her uncle, she said, had turned upon her like a mad-
man, had snatched the little pin from her and thrown
it upon the desk. And then he had spoken to her—
“brutally, rudely as he had never done before in his
life!” she ejaculated. “Get out of here and leave me
alone!” was what he had said to her. Mme. Edith had
been so much pained that she went out without saying
a word, promising herself, however, that she would not
soon set foot again in the Round Tower. But she had
turned her head for a last look at her old uncle and had
been almost struck dumb by what she saw.
The “oldest skull in the history of the human race”
was upon the desk, and Old Bob, a handkerchief stained
with blood in his hand, was spitting in the skull. He
had always treated it with the most severe respect and
had insisted that others should do the same. Edith
had hurried away, almost frightened.
Robert Darzac reassured her by telling her that
what she had taken for blood was only paint and that
Old Bob's skull had been spattered by the paints which
had been used in the wash drawing.
I left the table to hurry out to Rouletabille and also
to escape from Mathilde's glances. What had the Lady
in Black been doing in my bedroom? I was not to wait
long to know !
# # sº & º * º


THE LADY IN BLACK 197
When I started out the thunder was pealing loudly
and the rain falling with redoubled force. It took me
only one bound to reach the postern. No Rouletabille
was there! I found him on the terrace B", watching
the entrance to the Square Tower and receiving the full
strength of the storm at his back.
I entreated him to take shelter under the arch.
“Leave me alone!” he said impatiently. “Leave me
alone. This is the deluge. Ah, how good it is! how
good—all this anger of the heavens ! Have you ever
had a desire to roar with the thunder? I have—and
I am roaring now. Listen, while I cry out—alas! alas !
alas ! My voice is stronger than the thunder!”
And he plunged into the darkness making the shadows
resound with his savage clamors. I believed this time
that he had surely gone mad! But in my heart I knew
that the unhappy lad was breathing forth in these
indistinct articulations of frightful anguish the misery
that burned him, and which he was constantly trying to
hinder from burning up the heart and the soul in his
body—the misery of being the son of Larsan.
I turned helplessly and as I did so, I felt a hand
seize my wrist and a dark form cried out to me above
the tempest:
“Where is he?”
It was Mme. Darzac who was also seeking Rouleta-
bille. A new peal of thunder burst and we heard the
boy in his mad delirium hurling wild shouts of defiance
to the heavens. She heard him. She saw him. We
were drenched with water from the rain and the break-
ing of the sea on the terrace. Mme. Darzac's clothing
clung around her like a rag and her skirt dripped as
she walked. I took the wretched woman's arm and held


198 THE PERFUME OF
her up, for I saw that she was about to fall, and at
that moment, in the midst of that terrible unchaining
of the elements, in that mad tempest, under this terri-
ble downpour on the breast of the raging sea, I all at
once breathed the perfume—the odor so sweet and pene-
trating and haunting that its fragrance has remained
with me ever since—the Perfume of the Lady in Black.
Ah, I understood now how Rouletabille had remembered
it all these years.
Yes, it was a fragrance full of sadness—something
like the perfume of an isolated flower which has been
condemned to be seen by no one but to blossom for itself
all alone. It was a fragrance which set such ideas as
these running through my brain, although I did not
analyze them at the time—a sweet, soft and yet in-
sistent perfume which seemed to steal away my senses
in the midst of this battle of the elements, as soon as
I perceived it. A strange perfume! Surely it was
that, for I had seen the Lady in Black hundreds of
times without noticing it, and now that I had done so, it
was everywhere and above all things and I knew that
the memory of it would abide with me while life should
last. I understood how when one had—I will not say
smelled but seized (for I do not think that everyone
would have been able to catch the subtle fragrance of
the perfume of the Lady in Black, any more than I
myself had done before this night in which my senses
seemed to have become sharpened to the keenest point)
—yes, when one had seized this adorable and captivat-
ing odor, it was for life. And the heart would be per-
fumed by it, whether it was the heart of a son, like
Rouletabille: or the heart of a lover, like M. Darzac.;
or the heart of a villain, like Larsan. No, no—the


THE LADY IN BLACK 199
knowledge of it could never pass. And now, by some
sudden insight, I seemed to understand Rouletabille and
Darzac and Larsan and all the misfortunes which had
attended the daughter of Professor Stangerson.
+ * # + # * *
There in the night and the tempest, the Lady in Black
called aloud to Rouletabille and he fled from us and
rushed further into the night, shrieking aloud, “The
perfume of the Lady in Black The perfume of the
Lady in Black"
The unhappy woman sobbed. She drew me toward
the tower. She struck with desperate hands at the
door which Bernier opened to us and her weeping would
have melted the heart of a stone.
I could only utter the veriest commonplaces, beg-
ging her to calm herself, although I would have given
everything I had in the world to find words which,
without betraying anyone, might perhaps have made
her understand my own part in the sorrowful drama
which was being played out between the mother and the
child.
Suddenly she seemed to recover herself in some degree
and she motioned me to enter the little parlor at the
right which was just outside the bed chamber of Old
Bob. The door stood open but there we were as much
alone as we could have been in her own room, for we
knew that Old Bob worked late in the Tower of Charles
the Bold.
I can assure you that in my memories of that horri-
ble night the thought of the moments which I spent in
the company of the Lady in Black are not the least
sorrowful. I was put to a proof which I had not


200 THE PERFUME OF
expected, and it was like a blow full in the face when,
without even taking time to speak of the way in which
we had been treated by the elements, Mme. Darzac
looked me full in the eyes and demanded: “How long
is it, M. Sainclair, that you were at Trepot?”
I was struck dumb–overpowered more completely
than I had been by the fury of the storm. And I felt
that, at the moment when nature, wearied out, was be-
ginning to grow more quiet, I was to suffer a more
dangerous assault than that of thunderbolts or light-
ning flashes. I must, by my expression, have betrayed
the agitation which was aroused in my mind by this
unexpected remark, for I could see by her eyes as
she looked at me that she was aware how deeply I was
moved.
At first I made no answer: then I stammered out
some disconnected words of which I remember nothing,
save that they were ridiculous. It is years now since
that night, but as I write I am living over the scene
as if I were a spectator instead of the actor which I
actually was, and as if it were even now going on in
front of my eyes.
There are people who may be drenched to the skin
and yet not look in the least ridiculous. The Lady
in Black was one of them. Although, like myself, she
had experienced the full fury of the storm, she was
majestic and beautiful with her dishevelled locks, her
bare neck and magnificent shoulders which, through the
thin silk which clothed them seemed to have merely a
light veil thrown across the flesh. She seemed to be
a sublime statue, carved by Phidias from the immortal
clay to which his chisel has given form and beauty. I
am well aware that, even after all the years which have


THE LADY IN BLACK 201
elapsed, my description sounds too glowing and I will
not linger on the subject. But those who have known
Professor Stangerson's daughter will understand me, I
think, and I desire, here, with Rouletabille near me, to
affirm the sentiments of respectful admiration which
filled my heart at the sight of this mother, so divinely
beautiful, who, in the state of disorder to which the
fearful tempest had brought her, and with her whole
heart filled with agony, was endeavoring to make me
break the oath that I had sworn to the lad who was
my friend.
She took both my hands in hers and said in a voice
which I shall never forget:
“You are his friend. Tell him, then, that he is not
the only one who has suffered.” And she added with a
sob which shook her whole frame:
“Why will he insist on not telling me the truth!”
I had not a word to say. What could I have
answered? This woman had always seemed so cold and
formal to the world in general and (as I had thought)
to me in particular that it was as if I had not existed
for her, and now she was laying bare her heart before
me as though I were an old friend. And I had breathed
the perfume of the Lady in Black.
Yes, she treated me as an old friend. She told me
everything that I already knew in a few sentences as
piteous and as simple as a mother’s love itself—and
she told me other things which Rouletabille had kept a
secret from me. Evidently the game of hide and seek
could not have lasted long. The relationship between
them had been guessed by the one as surely as by the
other. Led by a sure instinct Mme. Darzac had resolved
to take means to learn who was this Rouletabille who


sº -
THE TERRTME OF
º, sº e- -ºn eath und who was of the age of
* - ºn- ºr –º vºo resembled the lad whom she Fai
... -- s ºv. Aºi since her arrival at Mentone. A
--~~, ºr ºraining the proof that R--
- “… … < *- : regard to his early life and
- sºv school at Bordeaux. Im-ne-
- - . . . ºf ºre youth and had asked for
- * ~ *d ºried away without reply-
- - * , , sº ºscirbed when she spoke to
- - -, -e scºsol at Eu, and the trip
--> ºr coming to Mentone.
- - - - - - - -
: - - - -w exclaimed. betraying my
* * * * * * * * * - - - “… . vºus ioing so.
- -, --, -, -, - ... -ºn at my involuntary
. . . . . . w v---is vºt on to reveal to me
". . . .” ---> vºen I had taken her
~ ---- --
- - -
,, ... . . . . . . . . . . . sº ºre that she had been
-- - - - - - 's I- -
- - ----- ". . ---> * > ‘e acels of the hotels
- - - - - --- - -- - •. - *- --- … -- ~~~~ journ ey.
*** … . . . . . . ~~w “sº ºne my arms when
-- - - - -
- ..... . . . . . . . . . . .” - sº “cº 'ed. "An. my God!
- -
- - ----" " - -
* - - - *~ •e is -i > s sºt - viºl Ce never consent
- - ~~ ºv -
--
- *** --,
-
... --> --- s----, - scºred tº re that Rou-
- -
As -- *- : * ~ * --- -
… . . . . . . … ºc' cº -ºss ºr tº it-scious fashion
* -w ºr : - - - -,-,-- wºr” tº wºº tº Sc's ved him dead,
wº, º sº cº-º: : - - - - - Gessºr, and who, in the
-- is: -; ºr ‘errº's ºr tº 3-d ºral arguish, expe-
riºrced a tºr... of the Ascºes: jºy in realizing that her
son was still alive. Ah, the poor mother! The evening
before, he had mocked at her when she had cried out
to him with all her soul that she had a son and that
that son was he ' He had mocked her, even while the
º-





202 THE PERFUME OF
had saved her from death and who was of the age of
her own son—and who resembled the lad whom she had
mourned as dead. And since her arrival at Mentone, a
letter had reached her containing the proof that Rou-
letabille had lied to her in regard to his early life and
had never set foot in any school at Bordeaux. Imme-
diately, she had sought the youth and had asked for
an explanation, but he had hurried away without reply-
ing. But he had seemed disturbed when she spoke to
him of Trepot and of the school at Eu, and the trip
which we had made there before coming to Mentone.
“How did you know?” I exclaimed, betraying my
secret without realizing that I was doing so.
She showed no sign of triumph at my involuntary
confession, and in a few words went on to reveal to me
her stratagem. That evening when I had taken her
by surprise, it was not the first time that she had been
in my room. My luggage bore the labels of the hotels
at which we had stopped on our recent journey.
“Why did he not throw himself into my arms when
I opened them to him?” she moaned. “Ah, my God!
If he refuses to be Larsan's son, will he never consent
to be mine!”
As she told me her story, it seemed to me that Rou-
letabille had conducted himself in an atrocious fashion
toward this poor woman who had believed him dead,
who had mourned for him in despair, and who, in the
midst of her terrible dread and mortal anguish, expe-
rienced a thrill of the keenest joy in realizing that her
son was still alive. Ah, the poor mother! The evening
before, he had mocked at her when she had cried out
to him with all her soul that she had a son and that
that son was he He had mocked her, even while the





THE LADY IN BLACK 203
tears had streamed down his cheeks. I could never have
believed that Rouletabille could have been so cruel or so
heartless—or, even, so ill-bred'
Certainly he behaved in an abominable fashion . He
had told her with a sardonic smile that “he was nobody’s
son—not even the son of a thief.” It was these words
that had sent her flying to her room in the Square
Tower and had made her long to die. But she had not
found her son only to give him up so easily and she
would—she must have him acknowledge her
I was almost beside myself. I kissed her hands and
entreated pardon for Rouletabille. Here was the result
of my friend's schemes to save her pain. Under the
pretext of saving her from Larsan, he had plunged a
knife into her heart. I felt as though I had no wish
to know any more of the story. I knew too much
already and I longed to run away. I hastened out
of the room and called Bernier, who opened the door
for me. I went out of the Square Tower, cursing Rou-
letabille roundly. I went to the Court of the Bold to
look for him, but found it deserted.
At the postern gate Mattoni had come to take the
ten o’clock watch. I saw a light in Rouletabille's room
and I hastened up the rickety stairway of the New
Castle and quickly found myself outside his door. I
opened it without knocking. Rouletabille looked up.
“What do you want, Sainclair?”
I told him all that I had heard and my opinion of
him for his actions which had so deeply wounded Mme.
Darzac. f
“She didn't tell you everything, my friend,” he re-
plied, coldly. “She did not tell you that she forbade
me to touch that man.”


204 THE PERFUME OF
“That is true !” I cried. “I heard her.”
“Well, what have you come here to tell me then?” he
went on, roughly. “Do you know what she said to
me yesterday? She ordered me to go away. She would
rather die than see me take issue against my father.”
And he laughed—laughed. Such laughter, I hope
not to hear again.
“Against my father | She thinks, I suppose, that he
is stronger than Iſ”
His face was not a pleasant sight to see as he uttered
the words.
But suddenly it seemed to be transformed and to glow
with unearthly beauty.
“She is afraid for me!” he said, softly. “And I–I
am afraid for her—only for her. And I do not know
my father. And, God help me! I do not know my
mother l’”
At that moment the sound of a shot rang out on the
night, followed by a cry of mortal agony Ah, it was
again the cry that I had heard two years ago in the
“inexplicable gallery.” My hair rose on my scalp and
Rouletabille tottered as though the bullet had struck
himself.
And then he bounded toward the open window, filling
the fortress with a despairing burst of anguish:
“Mother Mother Mother l’”


CHAPTER XI
THE ATTACK OF THE SQUARE TOWER
I leaped after him and threw my arms around his
body, dreading what he might attempt. There was in
that cry, “Mother Mother Mother!” such a mad-
ness of despair, a call, or rather, an assurance of coming
aid so beyond the realization of human strength, that
I was obliged to fear that the young fellow had forgot-
ten that he was only a man and had not the power to
fly straight out of the window of the tower and to
traverse, like a bird or a flash of lightning, the black
space which separated him from the crime which had
been committed and which he filled with his frightful
cries. Quickly, he turned on me, threw me off, and
precipitated himself wildly, through corridors, apart-
ments, stairways and courts toward the accursed tower
from which had come that same death cry that we both
had heard—a moment ago, and also two years before
when it had resounded through the “inexplicable gal-
lery.”
As for me, I had thus far only had the time to gaze
out of the window, rooted to my place by the horror
of that cry. I was still there when the door of the
Square Tower opened, and in its frame of light, there
appeared the form of the Lady in Black. She was
standing upright, living and unharmed, in spite of that
cry of death, but her pale and ghastly visage reflected


206 THE PERFUME OF
a terror like that of death itself. She stretched out
her arms toward the night and the darkness cast Rou-
letabille into them, and the arms of the Lady in Black
closed around him and I heard no more only sobs and
moans and again the two syllables which the night
repeated over and over, “Mother Mother!”
I descended from my tower into the court, my tem-
ples throbbing, my heart beating so fast that it almost
stifled me. What I had seen on the threshold of the
Square Tower had not by any means assured me that
nothing terrible had taken place. It was in vain that
I attempted to reason with myself and to say: “Non-
sense! At the very moment when we believed that all
was lost, is not, on the contrary, everything found?
Are not the mother and son united?”
But why, then, this cry of death when she was alive
and well? Why that scream of agony before she had
appeared standing on the threshold of the tower?
Strange to say, I found no one in the Court of the
Bold when I crossed it. No one then had heard the
pistol shot! No one had heard the cries. Where was
M. Darzac P Where was Old Bob P. Was he still work-
ing in the lower basement of the Round Tower? I might
have believed so, for I perceived a light in the window
of the tower. But Mattoni—Mattoni—had he heard
nothing, either?–Mattoni, who kept watch at the
postern of the gardener? And the Berniers? I saw
neither of them. And the door of the Square Tower
still stood open. Ah, the soft murmur, “Motherſ
Mother Mother " And I heard her voice answer back,
tenderly, though choked with sobs, “My boy! My lit-
tle one!” They had not even taken the precaution to
close the door of Old Bob's parlor. It was into that


THE LADY IN BLACK 207
room where I had talked with her a little while before
that she had led her child.
And they were there alone, clasped in each other's
arms, repeating over and over again, “Mother!” and
“My little one ſ” And then they murmured broken
sentences, phrases without end—with the divine foolish-
ness of a mother and her child. “Then, you were not
dead!” That was sufficient to make them both fall to
sobbing. And then, how they embraced each other, as
though to make up for all the years they had lost. I
heard him murmur, “You know, mamma, it was not true
that I stole ſ” And one would have thought from the
sound of his voice that he was still the little lad of
nine years—my poor Rouletabille. “No, my darling—
you never stole ! My little boy! my little boy!” Ah,
it was not my fault that I heard—but my heart was
torn in two as I listened.
# # º: # # * *
But where was Bernier? I entered the lodge from the
left, for I wished to know the meaning of the cry and
of the shot which I had heard.
Mere Bernier was at the back of the room which was
lighted only by a tiny taper. She was like a black
bundle on a sofa. She must have been in bed when the
shot was heard and she had hastily donned some cloth-
ing. I picked up the taper and brought it near. Her
features were distorted with fear.
“Where is Bernier?” I asked.
“He is there,” she replied, trembling.
“There. Where is that ‘’’
But she made no answer.
I took a few steps toward the interior of the lodge
and I stumbled. I bent down to know what I had
==


208 THE PERFUME OF
stepped upon and found out that it was Mere Bernier's
potatoes. I lowered the light and looked at the floor;
it was strewn with potatoes; they had rolled every-
where. Could it be that Mme. Bernier had not gathered
them up after Rouletabille had emptied out the bag?
I arose and turned to Mere Bernier.
“Someone fired off a pistolſ’ I said. “What has
happened?”
“I do not know,” she responded.
And, at that moment, I heard someone open the door
of the tower and Pere Bernier stood on the threshold.
“Ah! it is you, M. Sainclair?”
“Bernier' What has happened?”
“Oh, nothing very serious, M. Sainclair, I am glad
to say.” (But his voice was too palpably endeavoring
to sound strong and brave for me to feel as reassured
as he was trying to make me!) “An accident without
any importance whatever. M. Darzac, while placing
his revolver on the stand beside his bed, accidentally
fired it off. Madame, naturally, was frightened, and
screamed; and, as the window of their room was open,
she thought that you and M. Rouletabille might have
heard something and started out to tell you that it was
nothing.”
“M. Darsac has come in, then?”
“He got here almost as soon as you had left the
tower, M. Sainclair. And the shot was fired almost
immediately after he entered his bedroom. You can
guess that I had a pretty fright! I rushed to the door!
M. Darzac opened it, himself. Happily, no one was
injured"
“Did Mme. Darzac go to her own room as soon as I
left the tower?”


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: Winonb put ATuſſºo Auox plus until pun uº is u oui opºul
of I ‘olvd Allsvliji sº woovy sº utin Aus I ‘oomſd on jo
tuool; oth a lºſsop : ovzi ºcI 1.1×10M was puu poulin, I
... wou s! oth oi. H.,
... ulood s!"I uſ [II]'s oil si zouziº (I IV puv.,
... luourouſ ouns oth hu isotulu uſ juow
Aoti I, shuouiniudu iſoul on Allood p unt powolſo put:
ul outwo oth uatl w ouziº (I IV pivot otis 'oouo , V.,


210 THE PERFUME OF
exclamations of love and joy only a few moments before
that I stood before them without saying a word or
making a movement. The extremity which induced
Mme. Darzac to leave Rouletabille so soon under such
extraordinary circumstances as those which had at-
tended their reunion, puzzled me so greatly that I could
not find words to say what I thought and the submis-
sion of Rouletabille in taking leave of her so quickly
amazed me. Mathilde pressed a kiss upon the lad's
forehead and murmured: “Good-night, my darling,”
in a voice so soft, so sweet and at the same time so
solemn that it seemed to me that it must resemble the
leave-taking of one who was about to die. Rouletabille,
without answering his mother, took my arm and led
me out of the tower. He was trembling like a leaf.
It was the Lady in Black herself who closed the door
of the Square Tower. I was sure that something
strange was passing within those walls. The account
of the pistol shot which had been given me satisfied me
not at all: and it is not to be doubted that Rouleta-
bille would have agreed with me if his reasoning powers
and his heart had not been giddy from the scene which
had taken place between the Lady in Black and him-
self. And then, after all, how did I know that Rouleta-
bille did not agree with me? We had scarcely gotten
outside the Square Tower before I demanded of Roulet-
abille the meaning of his strange manner. I drew him
into that corner of the parapet which joins the Square
Tower to the Round Tower in the angle formed by the
jutting out of the Square Tower upon the court.
The reporter, who had allowed me as docilely as a
little child to lead him wherever I would, spoke to me
in a low tone:


THE LADY IN BLACK 211
“Sainclair, I have sworn to my mother that I will
see nothing or hear nothing of that which may pass
this night in the Square Tower. It is the first promise
that I have made to my mother, Sainclair; but I will
break it for her sake just as I would give up my hope
of heaven for her. I must see and I must hear!”
We were at that moment not far from a window in
which a light was still burning and which opened upon
the sitting room of Old Bob and sloped out upon the
sea. This window was not closed, and it was this, doubt-
less, which had permitted us to hear so distinctly in
spite of the thickness of the walls of the tower, the pis-
tol shot and the cry of agony that had followed it.
From the spot where we were now stationed, we could
see nothing through this window, but was it not some-
thing to be able to hear? The storm was past, but the
waters were not yet appeased and the waves broke on
the rocks of the peninsula with a violence that would
have rendered the approach of any vessel impossible.
The thought of a vessel crossed my mind because I
believed for an instant that I could see the shadow of
a vessel of some sort appearing or disappearing in the
gloom. But what could it be? Evidently a delusion of
my mind which beheld hostile shades everywhere—an
illusion of a mind which was assuredly more agitated
than the waters themselves.
We stood there, motionless, for more than five min-
utes, before we heard a sigh—ah, how long it was, that
mournful sound!—a groan, deep as an expiration, like
a moan of agony, a heavy sob, like the last breath of
a departing soul—which reached our ears from that
window, and brought the sweat of terror to our brows.
And then, nothing more—nothing except the intermit-
tent sobbings of the sea.


212 THE PERFUME OF
And suddenly the light in the window went out. The
outline of the Square Tower blended with the blackness
of the night.
My friend and I grasped each other's hand as if
instinctively, commanding each other, by this mute com-
munication, to remain motionless and silent. Someone
was dying, there, in that tower! Someone whom they
had hidden. Why? And who? Someone who was
neither M. Darzac nor Mme. Darzac, nor Pere Bernier,
nor Mere Bernier, nor—almost beyond the shadow of a
doubt, Old Bob ; someone who could not have been in
the tower.
Leaning against the parapet to support ourselves,
our necks stretched toward that window through which
there had come to us that sigh of agony, we listened.
A quarter of an hour passed thus—it might have been
a century ! Rouletabille pointed out to me the window
of his own room in the New Castle which was still illumi-
nated. I understood: it was necessary to extinguish
this light and return. I took a thousand precautions.
Five minutes later, I was back again with Rouletabille.
There was now no other light in the Court of the Bold
than the feeble ray which told of the late vigil of Old
Bob in the lower basement of the Round Tower and the
light at the gardener’s postern where Mattoni was
standing sentinel. In truth, considering the positions
which they occupied, one might easily understand how
it was that neither Old Bob nor Mattoni had heard any-
thing that had passed in the Square Tower, nor even,
in the heart of the storm, could the clamors of Rouleta-
bille have reached their ears. The walls of the postern
were heavy and Old Bob was entombed in a veritable
subterranean cavern,


9 Iº, M, )W'IH NI V(IV'I (II I.L.
•uon ninsul sºil post ou pvil ot 1*11, pºs a vil plnow
****** *** * a ſub or pºu au ºlºu: tº a ti - Wºº.I. ºil wo
u a so Huº ous w at Ji su un I, punos ouatu ou opuu
or “dºubº ol, all oth tº that uºvº Jo “w w poºl on
jo sino.) ou.L. Aued sºuth anni V. ‘Aqo.I. A q uwwap
‘lavo I-15u:I ol, ll ºil suº iſ via os Pinoo o AA ºut
opºd ºutlivo v Jo utioſ Fuſilo. Anjos puw Yorld oil
uni w pºuvodduºu a judogi ou ', I puu uºused -,1-,nopiº
oul, Jo tout out a "pun poquillo toºl w ºu!"I lºtuos puw “I
… wa u *|| pu V (ºn Ol poli.iv.o • *- : ** toºl w Jo sootlºo o: ,
uotiv-i 'Auoo Jºid te ! u0, ..." IV put: uſ!" ti » whº pon-uo
oiott, Joj ‘A-19 unti pivotſ ow ‘u tº va ‘io) a ºui gi on "...I
plºued unºu ow “sitiououi woj u ul in H oiºi, ºw
out, ou “unºfu hinoo oth uſ no tool on pouwp ow until M.
ºut th; w łowº out 5uºusnd 'po, woulou AIHoºnb or
inq : 10 Ao not jung II is pouvºl allºw, Inoki z posseippº
[uujºs sqi su w unori w ol. II, w su w lºu will us!'s v
su peloadioluſ ow liotti w lºuii is tº opºul puu hinoo oth jo
op's oth on pouannoi uota puu 'oud w swopuſ w ino out a
op's oth hu du po tool “poshnd oq “linoo oli, Jo ºppºni
oth uſ 'ulonsod sºlouepauli oil on Alssolºsſou sq 's sº
polood p put dowo, oil, Jo Ano outvo oth w ‘ssou imp oil jo
olds uſ ‘oſquzuliodoi Alıoojiod “doulog odod ‘isiſ, I
'wus I aut|w sº stºn
puu : pºol sºul lovo poºlool puu puttiitiioo s!" ontºlo; a on
Jo-Wul powollu I do so iv) Huſumo su w oti su inq : [[ww
oth doxo tool on pºol u wo sº. A ſuo powo Ilu puu invºl
out polis nq allºw lonobi ‘linoo oth out u wop doining
oos put “iouloo Aiu Jo no lottling uuo on poliditionau I
sv sojuſt sh! uodn Al Jos ºut wou do wo,I, oivubs cu jo
Joop oth pivot Allouſ sſp ow oudjol pollinb hou put oil
uolu w uohu Auosqo Jo is od oth ‘lodwind oth Jo douloo oli,
uſ ollºquionoxi on Hovq luons on out. Alºod vos put I


214 THE PERFUME OF
from Pere Bernier. The latter, reaching, at length, the
“oubliette,” raised again his face toward our windows,
and then, still holding Toby by the bridle, came to the
door of the Square Tower. Leaving the little equipage
before the door, he entered the tower. A few moments
passed by which seemed to us like hours, particularly
to Rouletabille, who was seized with a fit of trembling
which shook his frame like an aspen leaf.
Pere Bernier reappeared. He crossed the court alone
and returned to the postern. It was then that we were
obliged to lean further out and, certainly, the persons
who were now upon the threshold of the Square Tower
might have perceived us, if they had looked up at our
side, but they were not thinking of us. The night had
become clear and a beautiful moon had arisen which
threw its rays over the sea and stretched its radiance
across the Court of the Bold. The two persons who
came out of the tower and approached the carriage
appeared so surprised that they almost recoiled at what
they saw. But we could hear the Lady in Black repeat-
ing again and again in low, firm tones: “Courage,
Robert, courage! You must be brave now!”
And Robert Darzac replied in a voice which froze
my blood: “It is not courage which I lack º’ He was
bending over something which he dragged before him
and then raised in his arms as though it were a heavy
burden and tried to slip under the long seat of the
English cart. Rouletabille had taken off his cap. His
teeth were chattering. As well as we could distinguish,
the thing was in a sack. To move this sack M. Darzac
was making the greatest efforts and we heard him
breathe a sigh of exhaustion. Leaning against the wall
of the tower, the Lady in Black watched him without


THE LADY IN BLACK 215
offering any assistance. And, suddenly, at the moment
that M. Darzac had succeeded in loading the sack into
the cart, Mathilde pronounced these words in a voice
shaken with horror:
“It is moving.”
“It is the endſ" said M. Darzac, wiping his forehead
with his pocket handkerchief. Then he took Toby by
the bridle and started off, making a sign to the Lady
in Black, but she, still leaning against the wall, as
though she had been placed there for some punishment,
made no signal in reply. M. Darzac seemed to us to
be quite calm. His figure straightened up: his step
grew firm—one might almost say that his manner was
that of an honest man who has done his duty. Still with
the greatest precaution, he disappeared with his car-
riage beneath the postern of the gardener and the Lady
in Black went back into the Square Tower.
After this, I wished to emerge from our corner, but
Rouletabille restrained me. It was well that he did
so, for Bernier came up to the postern and crossed the
court, directing his way again toward the Square
Tower. When he was not more than two meters from
the door, which was closed, Rouletabille glided softly
from the corner of the parapet, stepped between the
door and the figure of Bernier, who was struck with
terror. He put his hands upon the shoulders of the
concierge.
“Come with me!” he commanded.
Bernier seemed absolutely powerless. I, too, came
out of my hiding place. The old man looked at us
both standing there in the moonlight: his face was
sorrowful and he murmured sadly:
“This is a great misfortune!”


CHAPTER XII
THE IM POSSIBLE BODY
“It will be a great misfortune if you don’t tell the
truth,” muttered Rouletabille, in smothered tones.
“But if you conceal nothing, the trouble may not be
so great. Come this way.”
And he drew him, clasping him by the fist, toward
the New Château, I following. I saw that a great
change had come over Rouletabille. He was completely
his old self again. Now that he was so happily relieved
of the sorrow of separation from his mother which had
pressed on his mind ever since his early childhood, now
that he had again found the perfume of the Lady in
Black, he seemed to have reconquered all the forces of
his spirit and was ready to enter eagerly into the strife
against the mysteries which surrounded us. And, until
the day when all was ended—until the last supreme
moment—the most dramatic that I have ever lived
through in the whole course of my existence—the
moment in which life and death spoke out and were
eaplained by his lips—he never again made a sign of
hesitation in the forward march: he never spoke another
word which could have been taken as an attempt to
warn us against the dreadful situation which arose from
the siege of the Square Tower by the attack of that
night between the twelfth and thirteenth of April.
Bernier resisted him no further. When others tried
to do so, he held them in his grasp until they cried for
mercy.


218 THE PERFUME OF
“Hidden in your rooms?”
Bernier shook his head vehemently.
“Well, where was he then? He could certainly not
have been in the apartments of M. and Mme. Darzac"
Bernier bowed his head.
“Miserable hound !” cried Rouletabille and he leaped
at Bernier's throat. I rushed to the rescue of the
concierge and snatched him from the young man’s
clutches. As soon as he could breathe, the old servant
looked up, piteously.
“Why did you try to strangle me, M. Rouletabille?”
he asked.
“How dare you ask, Bernier? How dare you? And
you acknowledge that he was in the apartment of M.
and Mme. Darzac' Who, then, gained him entrance to
that apartment? No one but yourself. You, the only
person who had the key when the Darzacs were not
there !”
Bernier arose to his feet. He was as pale as a ghost,
but his look and attitude were full of dignity.
“M. Rouletabille, do you accuse me of being an accom-
plice of Larsan?”
“I forbid you to pronounce that name!” shouted the
reporter. “You know very well that Larsan is dead—
and has been dead for months l’”
“For months!” echoed Bernier, ironically. “Yes,
that is true—I was wrong to forget it. When one
devotes oneself to his masters and permits himself to
be beaten and abused for them, it is necessary to ignore
everything, no matter what they may do to you. I
beg your pardon, sir.”
“Listen to me, Bernier. I know that you are a brave
man and I respect you. It is not your good faith


THE LADY IN BLACK 219
that I am questioning, but I am censuring your neg-
ligence.”
“My negligence!” Bernier, as pale as his face had
been, flushed crimson. “My negligence! I have not
budged from my lodge—not even from the corridor.
I have always worn the key in my breast pocket and I
swear to you that no one entered that room—no one
at all—after you were there at five o’clock, except M.
and Mme. Darzac, themselves. I do not count, of
course, the few moments that you and M. Sainclair were
there at about six o'clock.” -
“What!” exclaimed Rouletabille. “Do you want me
to believe that this individual—you have forgotten his
name, I think, Bernier—let us call him “the Man”—that
the man was killed in M. Darzac's rooms if he was not
there?”
“I do not. And, furthermore, I can swear to you
that he was there.”
“Yes, but how could he have been 2 That is what I
ask you, Bernier. And you are the only one who can
answer because you alone had the key in the absence
of M. and Mme. Darzac. And M. Darzac never took
the key with him when he left the room and no one
could have gotten into the room to hide while he was
there.”
“That is the mystery, monsieur. That is what
puzzles M. Darzac more than all the rest. But I have
only been able to answer him as I have answered you.
There is the mystery.”
“When you left the room with M. Darzac, M. Sain-
clair and myself at about a quarter after six, did you
lock the door immediately?”
“Yes, monsieur.”


220 THE PERFUME OF
“When did you open it after that?”
“Not at all.”
“And where were you in the meantime?”
“In front of the door of my lodge, watching the door
of the apartemnt. My wife and I took our dinner in
that same spot at about half after six, on a little table
in the corridor, because, on account of the door of the
tower being open, it was quite light and was pleasanter.
After dinner, I sat in the doorway of the lodge, smok-
ing a cigarette and chatting with my wife. We were
so seated that, even if we had wished to do so, we would
not have been able to withdraw our eyes from M. Dar-
zac's rooms. It is a mystery !—a mystery more ex-
traordinary than the mystery of the Yellow Room. For,
in the former case, we did not know of what had
passed before. But now, monsieur, one knows all that
happened beforehand since you yourself visited the
apartment at 5 o'clock and saw that no person was
there: one knows all that passed during the interim,
for either I had the key in my pocket, or M. Darzac was
in his room and must have seen the man who opened
his door and entered the room for the purpose of assas-
sinating him. And while I was sitting in the corridor
before the door, I must have seen the man pass! And
we know what took place after. After, there was the
death of the man and that proved that the man was
there. Ah, it is a mystery"
“And from five o’clock until the moment of the tra-
gcdy, you declare that you never quitted the corridor?”
“I swear it.”
“You are absolutely certain?” persisted Rouletabille.
“Ah, pardon, monsieur—there was one moment—the
moment that you called me.”


THE LADY IN BLACK 221
“That is good, Bernier. I wanted to see if you
remembered that.”
“But I was not away from my post more than an
instant or two, and M. Darzac was in his room then.
He did not leave it while I was gone. Ah! what a
mystery ſ”
“How do you know that M. Darzac didn’t go out
during those moments?”
“Why, because if he had done so, my wife, who was
in the lodge, must have seen him ' And then all would
be explained and we would not be so puzzled, nor
Madame either. Ah! must I say it to you over again?
No one has entered that room except M. Darzac at five
o'clock and you two at six, and no person got in be-
tween the time that M. Darzac went out and the time
when he came in at night with Mme. Darzac. He was
like you—he didn’t want to believe me. I swore it to
him upon the corpse that lay before us!”
“Where was the corpse?”
“In M. Darzac's bedroom.”
“It was really a dead body?”
“Oh, he was breathing still—I heard him.”
“Then it was not a corpse, Pere Bernier.”
“Oh, M. Rouletabille, where was the difference? He
had a bullet in his heart.”
At last, Pere Bernier was going to tell us of the
body. Had he seen it? Who was it? One would have
said that this seemed of secondary importance in the
eyes of Rouletabille. The reporter seemed engrossed
only with the problem of finding how the body had come
to be there. How had that man happened to be killed?
But, indeed, Pere Bernier knew only very little. The
whole thing had been as sudden as a rifle shot-so it


292 THE PERFUME OF
seemed to him—and he was behind the door. He told
us that he was going to his lodge and felt so drowsy
that he had intended to throw himself down on the bed
for a few moments, when he and Mere Bernier heard
such a commotion issue from the apartment of M.
Darzac that they were seized with terror. It was as if
the furniture were being thrown about and blows were
rained upon the walls.
“What is the matter?” cried Mere Bernier, and the
same instant they heard the voice of Mme. Darzac,
shouting, “Help! help!” This was the cry that we,
too, had heard in the New Château. Pere Bernier,
leaving his wife almost fainting from horror, rushed to
the door of M. Darzac's room and beat against it, cry-
ing aloud to him to open, but obtaining no reply. The
struggle within was still going on. Bernier heard the
labored breathing of two men and he recognized the
voice of Larsan when he heard the words: “With this
blow, I shall have your life!” Then he heard M. Dar-
zac, who called his wife to his aid in a voice almost
stifled, as though he were gagged, “Mathilde' Ma-
thilde " Evidently he and Larsan must have been
engaged in a life and death struggle when, suddenly,
the pistol shot had saved him. This pistol shot had
frightened Pere Bernier less than the cry which had
followed it. One would have thought that Mme. Dar-
zac, who had uttered the cry, had been mortally
wounded. Bernier was unable to understand Mme.
Darzac's attitude in the matter. Why did she not open
the door and admit him to help her husband? Why
did she not draw the shades? Finally, almost immedi-
ately after the pistol shot, the door, upon which Pere
Bernier had not stopped knocking all the time, was


THE LADY IN BLACK 223
opened. The room was wrapped in darkness, which did
not surprise the concierge, for the light of the chande-
lier which he had perceived under the door during the
fight had been suddenly extinguished and at the same
moment he had heard the chandelier itself fall heavily to
the floor. It was Mme. Darzac who had opened the
door and Bernier could distinguish through the gloom
the form of M. Darzac leaning over something which
the concierge knew was a dying man. Bernier had
called to his wife to bring a light, but Mme. Darzac
had cried: “No, no! No light! no light! And, above
all, be sure that he knows nothing.” And immediately
she had rushed to the door of the tower, calling out,
“He is coming ! he is coming! I hear him Open the
door, Pere Bernier' I must go and meet him ſ” And
Pere Bernier had opened the door, the while she kept
on moaning, “Hide yourselves! Go in Don’t let him
know anything!”
Pere Bernier went on :
“You came like a waterspout, M. Rouletabille. And
she drew you into Old Bob's sitting room. You saw
nothing. I stayed with M. Darzac. The rattle in the
throat of the man on the floor had ceased. M. Darzac
still bending over him said to me: “Get a sack, Bernier,
a sack and a stone, and we will throw him into the sea
and no one will ever hear his voice again!’
“Then,” Bernier went on, “I thought of my sack
of potatoes; my wife had gathered them up and put
them back in the sack after you had emptied them
out ; I emptied the bag again and brought it to him.
We made as little noise as possible. During this time,
Madame was, I suppose, telling you the story in Old
Bob's sitting room and we heard M. Sainclair question-


224 THE PERFUME OF
ing my wife in the lodge. Moving very quietly, we
had slipped the body, which M. Darzac had tied up,
into the sack. But I said to M. Darzac: ‘Let me beg
of you not to throw it into the water. It is not deep
enough to hide it. There are days when the sea is so
clear that one may look down to the bottom.” “What
shall we do, then?' whispered M. Darzac. I answered:
“Heaven help us, I don’t know, monsieur ! All that I
could do for you and for Madame and for humanity
against a villain like Frederic Larsan, I have done and
willingly. But don’t ask any more of me and may
God protect you!” And I went out of the room and
found you in the lodge, M. Sainclair. And then you
went for M. Rouletabille at the request of M. Darsac,
who had come out of his own apartment. As for my
wife, she was almost swooning with terror when she
suddenly saw that both M. Darzac and myself were cov-
ered with blood. See, messieurs, my hands are red
Pray Heaven, it doesn’t bring us misfortune! But we
have done our duty. Oh, he was a miscrable wretch!—
But do you want me to tell you?—well, one could never
keep such a history secret—and, in my opinion, it
would be better to go immediately with it to the jus-
tice. I have promised to keep silence and I did keep
silence so long as I was able, but I’m glad enough to
relieve myself of such a burden before you gentlemen
who are the friends of Monsieur and Madame—and
who may, perhaps, be able to make them listen to
reason. Why should they hide the facts? Isn’t it an
honor to have killed Larsan —Pardon me for having
spoken his name--I know well, it was not right—but
is it not an honor to have saved the whole world from
a scoundrel in saving oneself? Ah! hold! a fortune!


THE LADY IN BLACK 225
Mme. Darzac promised me a fortune, if I would keep
silence. What do I care for that? Could one have a
better fortune than to be of service to the poor lady
who has had so many troubles? Never in the world'
But, how she looked! Why should she have feared?
I asked her when we thought that you had gone to
bed and that we three were all alone in the Square
Tower with our corpse. I said to her, “Tell everyone
that you have killed him All the world will praise
you!” She answered: “There has been too much scan-
dal already, Bernier: and as much as it depends on
me to do, and as much as is possible, I will hide this
new horror forever ! It would kill my fatherſ’ I had
nothing to say to that, but I wanted to speak. It
was upon the tip of my tongue to say, “If the business
comes out later, one will believe that you did something
wrong and monsieur, your father, will die just as
surely.” But it was her idea. She wished that all
should be concealed ! Well, I promised her. That’s
all !”
Bernier turned toward the door, showing us his
hands.
“I must rid myself of the blood of the accursed pig!”
he said, dryly.
Rouletabille stopped him.
“And what was M. Darzac saying all this time?
What was his opinion?”
“He repeated: “What Mme. Darzac says is right.
She must be obeyed implicitly.” His shirt was torn and
he had a slight wound in his throat, but it did not
seem to bother him at all, and, indeed, there was only
one thing in which he seemed interested, and that was
as to how the miserable wretch had gotten into his


226 THE PERFUME OF
rooms. I told him what I have told you—that he
could not have entered without my seeing him, and I
told him just how I had passed every moment of my
time. His first words on the subject had been: “But
when I came in a little while ago, there was no one in
my room and I shut and bolted the door.””
“Where did this conversation take place?”
“In the lodge, in the presence of my wife, who was
nearly frightened to death, poor thing!”
“And the body? Where was that?”
“It lay in the sleeping room of M. Darzac.”
“And how was it decided that it should be dis-
posed of?”
“I can’t say as to that for certain, but their resolu-
tion was taken, for Mme. Darzac said to me: ‘Bernier,
I am going to ask of you one last service: go and
bring the English cart from the stable and harness
Toby to it. Don’t waken Walter, if you can help it.
If you wake him and he asks for any explanations, say
this to him and also to Mattoni, who has the watch at
the postern: “It is for M. Darzac, who must be at
Castelar at four o’clock in the morning to see the
tournament in the Alps.” ” Mme. Darzac said also: ‘If
you meet M. Sainclair, bring him to me, but if you meet
M. Rouletabille, say nothing to him and do nothing that
may attract his attention.” Ah, Monsieur ! Madame
did not let me go out until the window of your room
was closed and your light extinguished ' And, then, we
were not entirely certain in regard to the body which
we believed to be dead, before it sighed once more—
and, my God! what a sigh! The rest, Monsieur, you
saw for yourself and now you know as much as I. God
help us!”


THE LADY IN BLACK 227
When Bernier had finished relating this incredible
story, Rouletabille put his hand on his arm, thanking
him most earnestly for his great devotion to his master
and mistress, and begged him to use the utmost discre-
tion. The young reporter entreated the old servant to
pardon his roughness and ordered him to say nothing
to Mme. Darzac of anything that had passed between
them. Bernier extended his hand in token of fidelity,
but Rouletabille drew back:
“No-I can’t, Bernier' You are covered with blood.”
Bernier left us to look for the Lady in Black.
“Well!” I said when we were alone. “Larsan is
dead!”
“Yes,” answered Rouletabille. “I fear so "?
“You fear so | Why, in Heaven’s name?”
“Because,” he answered in a strange tone, which I
could scarcely recognize as his. “Because the death of
Larsan, who is carried out dead from a place which he
never entered dead or alive, terrifies me more than his
life itself (""


CHAPTER XIII
IN WIHICH THE FEARS OF ROULETABILLE ASSUME ALARM-
ING PROPORTIONS
It was literally true that he was frightened. And I
was more terrified myself than words could express. I
had never seen him in such a state of mental inquietude.
He walked up and down the room nervously, occasion-
ally stopping in front of the mirror and passing his
hand over his forehead, as if he were asking his own
image, “Can it be you, Rouletabille, who have such
thoughts? How dare you harbor them?” What
thoughts? He seemed rather to be upon the point of
thinking than to be actually doing so, and to be using
every means of driving thought away. He shook his
head savagely and started for the window as though he
meant to leap out, leaning forth into the night, listen-
ing for the slightest noise on the distant bank of the
sea, expecting, perhaps, to hear the wheels of the little
carriage and the echo of Toby's shoes. One might have
thought him a beast at bay. The surf was quiet; the
waves had grown entirely appeased. A white ray
appeared suddenly shining over the black waters. It
was the dawn. And in a moment the old château
seemed to rise out of the night, pale and livid with
the same pallor as our own—the pallor of one who has
not slept. “Rouletabille,” I asked, trembling as I spoke,
for I felt that I was intruding upon ground where my
feet had no right to tread: “your interview with your


THE LADY IN BLACK 229
mother was very brief and you separated in silence. I
want to ask you, my boy, whether she told you the story
of the accident with the revolver on the night stand that
Bernier told me?”
“No,” he answered without turning his face toward
in C.
“She told you nothing of that kind?”
“No.”
“And you did not ask her for any explanation of
the pistol shot nor of the death cry—the cry that was
the echo of the one which we heard two years ago from
her lips in the ‘inexplicable gallery’?”
“Sainclair, you are too curious—you are more curi-
ous than I. I asked her nothing.”
“And you swore to see nothing and to hear nothing
without her saying anything to you about the pistol
shot and the cry?”
“Truly, Sainclair, it was necessary for me to be-
lieve—for my part, I respected the secrets of the Lady
in Black. I had nothing to ask of her when she said to
me, ‘We must leave each other now, my child, but
nothing can ever separate us again ''''
“Ah, she said that to you—"Nothing can ever sepa-
rate us again’?”
“Yes, my friend—and there was blood upon her
hands.”
We looked at each other in silence. I was now at
the window and beside the reporter. Suddenly his hand
touched mine. Then he pointed to the little taper
which was burning at the entrance to the subterranean
door which led to Old Bob's study in the Tower of the
Bold.
“It is dawn,” said Rouletabille. “And Old Bob is


230 THE PERFUME OF
still at work. This old fellow is certainly industrious
and we will go and have a peep at him at his labors.
That will change our current of thought and I shall be
able to get away from these horrors that are smother-
ing me and driving me half wild.”
And he heaved a long sigh.
“Will Darzac never return º’ he murmured, more as
though he were speaking to himself than to me.
A few moments later we had crossed the court and
had descended into the octagon room of the Tower of
Charles the Bold. It was empty. The lamp was burn-
ing on the work table, but there was no sign of Old
Bob.
“Oh!” cried Rouletabille. He picked up the lamp and
carried it from place to place examining everything
around him. He tried in turn the lock of every little
window which opened from the walls of the basement.
Nothing had changed its place, and all was arranged
in order and scientific etiquette. While we were looking
around at the bones and shells and horns of the pre-
historic ages, the “hanging crystals,” the rings made
out of bone, the buckles formed from teeth, and the
other treasures of the savant, we came to the little desk-
table. There we found the “oldest skull in the history
of humanity”; and it was true that it had been spat-
tered with the red paint of the wash drawing which M.
Darzac had set to dry upon that part of the desk
which faced the window and was exposed to the sun.
I went from one window to the other and shook the
iron bars in order to assure myself that they had not
been touched nor tampered with in any way. Rouleta-
bille saw what I was doing and said:
“What are you about? Before thinking about how


232 THE PERFUME OF
an almost breathless interest; he looked at the profile.
Then he placed the hideous object in my hands and told
me to raise it to the level of my head, as carefully as
thought it were the most precious of burdens while
Rouletabille brought the lamp very close to it.
Like a flash an idea pierced through my brain. I
let the skull fall on the desk and rushed through the
court till I came to the oubliette. I discovered that the
iron bars which closed it were still fast. If anyone
had fled by that way or had fallen into the shaft or
had thrown himself down, the bars would have been
opened. I hurried back, more anxious than ever.
“Rouletabille! Rouletabille! There is no way that
Old Bob could have gotten out except in the sack!”
I repeated the sentence, but my friend was not listen-
ing and I was surprised to see him deeply engrossed in
a task of which I found it impossible to guess the
meaning. How, at a time as tragic as the present,
while we were awaiting only the return of M. Darzac
to complete the circle in which the impossible body was
found—while in the Square Tower, the Lady in Black,
like Lady MacBeth, must be occupied in effacing from
her hands the stains of the strangest of crimes, Rouleta-
bille seemed to be amusing himself by making drawings
with a foot rule, a square, a measure and a compass.
There he was, seated in the old geologist’s easy chair
with Robert Darzac's drawing board before him and
he also was making a plan—quiet and imperturbable
as an architect’s clerk.
He had pricked the paper with one of the points of
his compass while the other point traced the circle which
might represent the Tower of the Bold as we could see
it in the design of M. Darzac. Then, dipping his brush
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234 THE PERFUME OF
“Whose blood?” I inquired. “Do you think that it
can be Larsan’s?”
“Oh! oh! oh! Larsan’s blood? Who knows any-
thing about Larsan’s blood? Who has ever seen the
color of it? To see that, it would be necessary to open
my own veins, Sainclair. That’s the only way!”
I was completely overwhelmed and astonished.
“My father would not let his blood be spilled like
that l”
He was speaking again with that strange, desperate
pride of his father.
“When my father wears a wig, it will fit ! My father
would not let his blood be spilled like that!”
“Bernier's hands were covered with it and you your-
self saw it upon the hand of the Lady in Black.”
“Yes, yes! That is true—that is true! But they
could never kill my father like that!”
He seemed to grow more excited every moment and
he never ceased gazing on the little wash drawing. At
last he spoke, his breast shaken with a great sob.
“O, God! O God! O God, have pity on us! That
would be too frightful!”
He ceased for a moment and then spoke again:
“My poor mother did not deserve this I did not
deserve it—nor any one in the world!” A tear
ran down his cheek and fell into the little dish of
paint.
“Ah!” he cried. “It isn’t necessary to fill it any
fuller.” And he picked up the tiny cup with infinite
care and carried it to the cabinet.
Then he took me by the hand and bade me look at
him carefully—carefully—and tell him whether he had
not really gone suddenly insane.


· noded otſu tuoj povoſti novoti Kotij
* … -： „…vae-■i！ -
ºuſwaerpsiiſ on ſonſ potit， so ſo~ | 11





236 THE PERFUME OF
“But whatever you do, don’t let Madame sus-
pect 25
“No, no!” replied Rouletabille, impatiently.
We were in the vestibule of the Tower. The dark-
ness was almost impenetrable.
“What is Madame doing in Old Bob's sitting room?”
asked the reporter in a low voice.
“She is waiting—waiting for the return of M. Dar-
zac. She dare not reënter the room until he comes—
nor I, either ‘’’
“Well, go back into your lodge, Bernier!” ordered
Rouletabille. “And wait until I call you.”
The young reporter opened the door of Old Bob's
salon, and we saw the form of the Lady in Black, or,
rather, her shadow, for the apartment was very dark
and the first faint rays of the sun had scarcely pene-
trated it. The tall, sombre silhouette of Mathilde was
standing but it leaned against the corner of the win-
dow which looked out upon the court of Charles the
Bold. She never moved at our entrance, but her lips
opened and a voice that I should never have recognized
as hers, murmured:
“Why are you come? I saw you crossing the court.
You have been there all night. You know all. What
do you want now?”
And she added in a tone of unutterable misery:
“You swore to me that you would seek to know
nothing.”
Rouletabille went to her side and took her hand
reverently.
“Come, Mother, dearest" he said and the simple
words upon his lips sounded like a prayer, tender
and imploring. “Come—come!”


THE LADY IN BLACK 237
And he drew her away. She did not resist in the
least. It was as though as soon as he touched her hand,
he could bend her to his will. But when he led her to
the door of the fatal chamber, her whole frame seemed
to recoil. “Not there !” she moaned.
And she recled against the wall to keep herself from
falling. Rouletabille tried the door. It was locked.
He called Bernier, who opened the door and then hur-
ried away as though he were bent on escaping from
some deadly peril.
Once the door was opened, we looked into the room.
What a spectacle we beheld ! The chamber was in the
most frightful disorder. And the crimson dawn which
entered through the vast embrasures rendered the dis-
order still more sinister. What an illumination for a
chamber of horrors! Blood was upon the walls and
upon the floor and upon the furniture! The blood of
the rising sun and the blood of him whom Toby had
carried off in the sack, no one knew whither —in the
potato bag ' The tables, the chairs, the sofas were all
overturned. The curtains of the bed to which the man
in his death agony had tried desperately to cling were
half torn down and one could distinguish upon one of
them the mark of a bloody hand.
It was into this scene that we entered, supporting
the Lady in Black, who seemed ready to swoon, while
Rouletabille kept murmuring to her in his gentle and
pleading tones: “It has to be done, Mother It has
to be done!” And as soon as he had placed her upon
a couch which I had turned right side up, he began to
question her. She answered in monosyllables, by signs
of the head or movements of the hands. And I saw that
the further the examination progressed, the more trou-


THE LADY IN BLACK 239
ing a little nearer the left, ready to pass into her own
sleeping room. The apartment was lighted only by
a wax candle placed on the night commode, at the left,
near Mathilde's door. And this is what happened:
The silence of the room was suddenly broken by a
loud crash, like that of a piece of furniture falling to
the ground, which made both M. and Mme. Darzac
quickly raise their heads while their hearts were struck
at the same moment by the same thrill of terror. The
crash came from the little panel. And then all was
silent. The pair looked at each other without daring
to utter a word, perhaps without being able to do so.
Darzac made a movement toward the panel which was
situated at the back of the room on the right hand
side. He was nailed to the spot where he stood by a
second crash, louder than the first, and this time it
seemed to Mathilde that she could sce the panel move.
The Lady in Black asked herself whether she were the
victim of a hallucination, or if she had really seen the
panel move. But Darzac had seen the same thing, for
he made a hasty step in that direction. But at that
very moment, the panel swung open before them.
Pushed by an invisible hand it turned on its hinges.
The Lady in Black tried to cry out, but her tongue
clove to the roots of her mouth. But she made a
gesture of terror and bewilderment which threw the
wax candle to the ground at the very moment when a
shadowy form issued from the panel. Uttering a cry
of rage, Robert Darzac rushed upon the figure.
“And that shadow—that shadow had a face that
you could see?” interrupted Rouletabille. “Mamma,
why did you not see the face? You have killed the
shadow, but how do we know that it was Larsan, if


240 THE PERFUME OF
you did not see his face? Perhaps you have not even
killed Larsan’s shadow.”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, almost listlessly. “He is
dead.” And then for a moment, she said no more.
And I looked at Rouletabille, asking myself: Who
could have been killed if it were not Larsan P. If
Mathilde had not seen his face, she had certainly heard
his voice. She shuddered yet at the recollection—she
heard it yet. And Bernier, too, had heard the voice
and recognized it—that terrible voice of Larsan's—the
voice of Ballmeyer, who in that fearful conflict in the
middle of the night, had promised death to Robert
Darzac. “This blow will end your life!” while Darzac
could only groan in the tones of a dying man, “Ma-
thilde' Mathilde (* Ah, how he had cried to her!—
how he had called with the rattle in his throat, as he
lay already vanquished and in the shadow of death!
And she—she had only to throw her own shadow,
swooning with terror, into the midst of those two other
shadows, while the man she loved called upon her for
the aid she could not give and which could not come
from elsewhere. And then, suddenly, there had come
the pistol shot and she had uttered that terrible shriek
—as though she had been wounded, herself. “Who
was dead? Who was living? Who was speaking?
Whose voice would she hear?”
And then it was Robert who spoke.
Rouletabille took the Lady in Black into his arms
once more, lifted her up and carried her tenderly to
the door of her own room. And there, he said to her:
“Mamma, you must leave me now. I have work to
do—for you, for M. Darzac and for myself.”
“Don’t leave me! I beg of you not to leave me until


THE LADY IN BLACK 241
Robert comes back!” she cried in terror. Rouletabille
begged her to try and take some rest and promised to
remain near her if she would close her door, when some-
one knocked at the door of the corridor. Rouletabille
asked who was there and the voice of Darzac answered.
“At last !” cried Rouletabille, and he threw the door
open.
The man who entered looked like a corpse. Never
was human face so pallid, so bloodless, so devoid of all
semblance of life. So many emotions had ravaged his
visage that it expressed not a single one.
“Ah! you were there!” he said. “Well, it is over.”
And he fell into the chair from which Rouletabille
had just raised the Lady in Black. He looked up at
her.
“Your wish is realized,” he said. “It is where you
wished it to be.”
“Did you see his face?” questioned Rouletabille
excitedly.
“No,” answered Darzac, wearily. “I have not seen
it. Did you think that I was going to open the
sack º’’
I thought that Rouletabille would have shown dis-
comfiture at this answer but, on the contrary, he turned
to M. Darzac and said:
“Ah, you did not see his face. That’s very good,
indeed.” And he pressed his hand affectionately.
“The important thing now,” he went on, “is not
that, at all. It is necessary that we should close the
circle. And you will help us do that, M. Darzac.
Wait a moment.”
And almost joyously, he threw himself down on all
fours and crawled around among the furniture and


242 THE PERFUME OF
under the bed as I had seen him do in the Yellow Room.
And from time to time, he raised his head to say:
“Ah, I shall find something—something that will
save us.”
I answered, looking at M. Darzac: “Aren’t we saved
already?”
“Which will save our brains,” Rouletabille went on.
“The boy is right!” exclaimed M. Darzac. “It is
absolutely necessary for us to know how that man got
into the room.”
Suddenly Rouletabille rose to his feet, holding in
his hand a revolver which he had found under the
panel.
“Ah! you have found his revolver!” cricd M. Darzac.
“Fortunately, he did not have time to use it.”
As he spoke M. Darzac took from his pocket his own
revolver—the revolver which had saved his life—and
held it out to the young man.
“This is a good weapon" he said.
Rouletabille examined it closely and looked into the
empty barrel out of which had sped the ball which had
dealt death; then he compared the pistol with that
which he had found under the panel and which had
fallen from the hand of the assassin. The latter was
a “bull dog” and bore the mark of a London gun-
smith; it seemed to be quite new, every barrel was
filled and Rouletabille declared that it had never been
fired.
“Larsan only avails himself of firearms in the last
extremity,” said the young man. “He hates noise of
any kind. You may be sure that he intended merely
to frighten you with his revolver, otherwise he would
have fired it immediately.”
122


----
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----→ ·\,v ！ -••
pour dition
u otſupue
（ax ſo^
（ls, or ） ir Ijoſou ſvºloſ ||potritur，
o o II， vlaſno?!





THE LADY IN BLACK 243
And Rouletabille returned M. Darzac's revolver and
put Larsan’s in his pocket.
“Of what use is it to be armed now?” cried M. Darzac,
shaking his head. “I assure you it is quite futile.”
“You believe so?” demanded Rouletabille.
“I am certain of it.”
Rouletabille made a few steps through the room and
said:
“With Larsan, one can never be sure of anything.
Where is the body?”
M. Darzac replied.
“Ask my wife. I want to forget all about it. I know
nothing more about this horrible thing. When the
remembrance of that dreadful journey shall return to
me, I shall try to make myself believe that it was a
mightmare. And I will drive it away. Never speak to
me of it again. No one save Mme. Darzac knows where
the body is. She may tell you, if she likes.”
“I have forgotten, too !” said Mathilde. “I was
obliged to do so.”
“Nevertheless,” insisted Rouletabille, shaking his
head, “you must tell me. You said that he was in his
agony. Are you sure that he is dead now?”
“I am perfectly sure,” replied M. Darzac,
simply.
“Oh, it is finished. Is it not entirely ended?” pleaded
Mathilde. She arose and walked to the window.
“See! there is the sun This horrible night is dead—
dead, forever! Everything is over !”
Poor Lady in Black The yearnings of her soul
revealed themselves in her words. “It is finished ”
And the fact, as she believed it, made her forget all
the horror of the scene which had passed in this room.


THE LADY IN BLACK 245
doing so, and a general consultation took place from
which we deduced the following facts:
(1) Rouletabille had visited the apartment at five
o'clock and searched behind the panel and at that time
there was no one in the room.
(2) After five o’clock, the door of the apartment
had been twice opened by Pere Bernier, who alone had
the right to open it in the absence of M. and Mme.
IDarzac. The first time was at five o’clock to permit
M. Darzac to enter; the next at eleven o’clock to admit
M. and Mme. Darzac.
(3) Bernier had locked the door of the apartment
when M. Darzac went out with us between a quarter
past and half past six.
(4) The door of the apartment had been locked and
bolted by M. Darzac as soon as he entered his room,
both in the afternoon and in the evening.
(5) Bernier had stood guard before the door of the
apartment from five o’clock till cleven o’clock with a
brief interruption of not more than two minutes at six
o'clock.
When we had discussed and fully established these
facts, Rouletabille, who was sitting at M. Darzac's
desk taking notes, arose and said:
“So far, it is very simple. We have only one hope.
It is in the few moments that Bernier was off guard
about six o'clock. At least, at that time, no one was
in front of the door. But there was someone behind
it. It was you, M. Darzac. Can you reiterate, after
having thoroughly searched your memory, that when
you went into your room, you instantly closed the door
and drew the bolt?”
“I can ſ” replied M. Darzac, solemnly ; and he added:


246 THE PERFUME OF
“And I opened that door only when you and Sainclair
knocked upon it. I swear it.”
And in saying this, as later events proved, the man
spoke the truth.
Rouletabille thanked the Berniers and dismissed them
to get some rest. Then, his voice trembling, the lad
said:
“It is well, M. Darzac, you have closed the circle.
The apartment in the Square Tower is now closed as
firmly as was the Yellow Room which was like a strong
box, or as the ‘inexplicable gallery.’”
“One would guess immediately that Larsan was mixed
up in the affair!” I exclaimed. “It is the same mode
of procedure!”
“Yes,” observed Mme. Darzac. “Yes, M. Sainclair,
it is the same mode of procedure.” And she unfastened
her husband’s collar to show the wounds hidden be-
neath it.
“See" she said. “They are the same nail prints. I
know them well.”
There was a sorrowful silence.
M. Darsac, caring only to solve this strange problem,
reviewed the crime of the Glandier. And he repeated
what he had said in the Yellow Room:
“There must be a passage in the floor, in the ceiling
or in the walls.”
“There is not,” replied Rouletabille.
“Then he must have found some way to make one,”
persisted M. Darzac.
“Why?” asked Rouletabille. “Did he do anything of
the sort in the Yellow Room?”
“Oh, this isn't the same thing at all!” I exclaimed.
“This apartment is more firmly closed than the Yellow


THE LADY IN BLACK 247
Room since no one could have gotten into it before nor
after.”
“No, it is not the same thing,” pronounced Rouleta-
bille. “It is just the opposite. In the Yellow Room,
there was a body missing: in the room in the Round
Tower, there is a body too many.”
And he tottered out, leaning on my arm so as not
to fall. The Lady in Black rushed toward him. He
had strength enough left to stop her with a gesture.
“Oh–this is nothing!” he said. “I’m a little tired,
that's all !”


THE LADY IN BLACK 249
shared it; and even though the horror of the event
itself were appeased—the horror of the body in its last
throes of agony thrown into a sack which a man car-
ried off at night to cast it into who knows what far
off and profound and mysterious tomb where it might
gasp out its last breath of life—even if, I say, this
horror should be forgotten and blotted out of the mind,
and effaced from the vision, yet still the impossibility
of this “body too many” grew and increased and rose
up before us higher and higher and more threatening
and more dreadful. Certain persons there are—like
Mme. Edith, for example—who deny almost from habit,
anything which they cannot understand—who deny the
presentation of the problem which destiny holds for us
(such as we have established in the preceding chapter)
even while every event and every circumstance among
those which had the Fort of Hercules for their theatre
rendered proof of the exactitude of the presentation.
First of all, the attack! How had the attack been
made? At what moment? By what means of ap-
proach? What mines, trenches, covered paths, breaches
—in the domains of the mental fortifications—have
served the assailant and delivered the château over into
his hands? Yes, under the existing conditions, where
was the attack? The answer is-silence. And yet, the
facts must be brought to light. Rouletabille has said
so: he ought to know. In a siege as mysterious as
this, the attack may be in everything or in nothing.
The assailant is as still as the grave itself and the
assault is made without clamor and the enemy ap-
proaches the walls walking in his stocking feet. The
attack? It is, perhaps, in the very stillness itself, but
again, it may, perhaps, be in the spoken word. It is


250 THE PERFUME OF
in a tone, in a sigh, in a breath. It is in a gesture,
but if perhaps it may be in all which is hidden, it may
be, also, in all that is revealed—in everything which
one sees and which one does not see.
Eleven o’clock ' Where was Rouletabille? His bed
had not been disturbed. I dressed myself hurriedly and
went to look for my friend, whom I found in the outer
court. He took me by the arm and led me into the
vast drawing room of “la Louve.” There, I was sur-
prised to find, although it was not yet time for luncheon,
everybody assembled. M. and Mme. Darzac were there.
It seemed to me that M. Rance’s manner was rather
frigid. When he shook my hand in wishing me good
morning, he barely touched my fingers. As soon as we
entered the room Mme. Edith, from the dark corner
where she was reclining carelessly on a sofa, saluted
us with the words:
“Ah, here is M. Rouletabille with his friend, Sain-
clair. Now we shall know why we have all been sum-
moned here !”
To this remark, Rouletabille responded by first excus-
ing himself for having requested us all to gather at so
early an hour; but he had, he went on to say, such
a serious and important communication to make to us
that he had not wished to delay it one moment longer
than was absolutely necessary. His tone was so grave
that Edith pretended to shiver and counterfeited an
infantile terror. But Rouletabille, without noticing
her, continued: “Before you shiver, Madame, wait
until you know"what you have to be afraid of. I have
some news for you which is very far from pleasant.”
We all looked at him, and then at each other! What
was he about to say? I endeavored to read in the faces


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252 THE PERFUME OF
Heaven be praised But how is it that my husband
and I are the last to hear the news? Interesting things
must have been happening last night! The nocturnal
trip of M. Darzac to Castelar was one of them, with-
out doubtſ?”
As she spoke, I could see the embarassment of M. and
Mme. Darsac. The former, after a glance at his wife,
started to speak, but Rouletabille would not permit
him to do so.
“Madame, I do not know where M. Darzac went last
night, but it is necessary that you should know one
thing: and that is the reason why M. and Mme. Dar-
zac have ceased to run any danger. Your husband,
Madame, has told you of the frightful tragedy of the
Glandier two years ago and of the villainous part
played in it by 35
“Frederic Larsan—yes, monsieur, I know all that.”
“You know also, of course, that the reason why we
have placed such a strong guard here around M. Darzac
and his wife was because we had seen this man again?”
“I do.”
“Well, M. and Mme. Darzac are no longer in danger
because this man cannot appear again ever.”
“What has become of him?”
“He is dead.”
“When did he die?”
“Last night.”
“And how did he die last night?”
“He was killed, madame.”
“And where was he killed **
“In the Square Tower.”
We all sprang to our feet at this declaration in the
greatest agitation. M. and Mme. Rance seemed com-


THE LADY IN BLACK 253
pletely stupefied by the words which they had heard
and M. and Mme. Darzac and myself were plunged into
the most profound agitation by the fact that Rouleta-
bille had not hesitated to reveal the secret.
“In the Square Tower?” cried Mme. Edith. “And
who, then, has killed him?”
“M. Robert Darzac,” replied Rouletabille. “And he
entreats everyone to sit down.”
It was astonishing how we seated ourselves with one
accord, as though, at such a moment, we had nothing
to do except to obey this youngster. But almost imme-
diately Mme. Edith arose and seizing M. Darzac by
the hand, she exclaimed with an emphasis which made
me decide that I had judged her wrongly when I called
her affected :
“Bravo, Monsieur Robert' All right! You are a
gentleman ſ”
Then she paid some exaggerated compliments—for
after all, it was her nature to exaggerate things—to
Mme. Darzac. She swore eternal friendship for her;
she declared that she and her husband were ready, under
all circumstances, to stand by the Darzacs and that the
latter might count upon their zeal and their devotion
and that they would swear whatever one liked before
all the judges in the tribunal.
“Gently, dear Madame,” interrupted Rouletabille.
“There is no question of judges and we hope that there
may not be. There’s no need of it. Larsan was a
dead man in the eyes of the whole world long before
he was killed last night—he will continue to be dead,
that is all ! We have decided that it would be useless
to reopen a scandal of which M. and Mme. Darzac
have already been made the innocent victims and we


254 THE PERFUME OF
have counted upon your assistance. The affair has
happened in so mysterious a fashion that even you, if
we had not informed you in regard to it, would never
have suspected. But M. and Mme. Darzac are endowed
with sentiments too noble to permit them to forget
what they owe to their hosts. The most simple rules
of hospitality ordered them to tell you that they killed
a man in your house last night. How foolish it would
be to lay bare this unfortunate story to some Italian
police officer and subject you to the inconvenience of
having your names coupled with the miserable business,
and, it might easily be, to have a search made of your
house and hired servants of the law under your roof
M. and Mme. Darzac, for your sakes alone, are anxious
that you should not run the risk of being the object of
idle gossip, or, perhaps, of having the police descend
upon your home.”
M. Arthur Rance, who up to this time had remained
speechless, arose and said, his face as pallid as though
he had seen a ghost:
“Frederic Larsan is dead. Well, so far so good,
and no one is more rejoiced than myself to know it.
And if he has received the punishment due to his crimes
from the hand of M. Darsac, no one is more to be
congratulated than M. Darzac. But I consider that
it would be wrong for M. Darzac to make any attempt
to conceal an act which is an honor to himself. It
would be better to inform the authorities and without
delay. If they should come to learn of this affair from
others, rather than by our means, think of what the
situation would be! If we give out the information
ourselves, we shall show that an act of justice has been
committed. If we conceal anything, we shall place our-


THE LADY IN BLACK 255
selves in the category of malefactors. People might
even suppose—”
To listen to M. Rance's stammering speech and to
observe his demeanor, one might almost have imagined
that he was the slayer of Frederic Larsan—he who
was in danger of being accused of murder and dragged
to prison.
“It is necessary to think of everything, gentlemen,”
he concluded. And Edith added:
“I believe that my husband is right. But before we
come to a decision, we ought to know just what has
happened.”
And she addressed herself directly to M. and Mme.
Darzac. But both of the latter were still under the
spell of surprise which Rouletabille had caused them by
his remarks—Rouletabille who that very morning, in
my presence, had promised to be silent and had sworn
us all to silence. Neither the one nor the other had
a word to say. M. Rance repeated, nervously: “Why
should we conceal anything? Why should we? We
must tell everything.”
All at once, the reporter seemed to take a sudden
resolution. I understood by the expressions which
chased themselves over his face in rapid succession that
something of considerable moment was passing through
his mind. He leaned toward Arthur Rance, whose right
hand was resting on a cane, the head of which was
3.
carved in ivory, beautifully cut by a famous carver at
Dieppe. Rouletabille took the cane in his hand.
“May I look at it?” he asked. “I am an amateur
ivory carver myself and my friend, Sainclair, here, has
told me about this beautiful cane. I had not noticed
it before. It is really very beautiful. It is a figure by


256 THE PERFUME OF
Lambesse and there is no better workman on the Nor-
man shore.”
The young man seemed to be entirely engrossed in
studying the cane. As he touched the carving, the
stick fell from his hand and rolled toward M. Darzac.
I picked it up and returned it immediately to M.
Rance. Rouletabille cast a withering look at me, and I
read in that glance that, somehow or other, I had shown
myself an idiot.
Mme. Edith rose to her feet, tapping her little foot
impatiently and seemingly very nervous at the tension
of the situation—by the carelessness of Rouletabille and
the silence of M. and Mme. Darzac.
“Dearest,” she said to Mme. Darzac, in the sweet-
est tones. “You are completely tired out. The experi-
ences of this horrible night have overpowered you.
Let me take you into my own room so that you may
rest a little.”
“Pardon me for asking you to wait a few moments,
Madame,” interrupted Rouletabille. “What I have yet
to say may be of special interest to you.”
“Very well, monsieur, but speak out, please. Don't
drag the recital along so.”
She was perfectly justified in her remarks. Did
Rouletabille realize it? At all events, he certainly made
up for his previous deliberation by the the rapidity
and clearness with which he retraced the events of the
night. In no other words could the problem of the
“body too many” have been presented before us with
such mysterious horror. Mme. Edith shivered—and if
her shudder was counterfeit, I never saw a real one!
As for Arthur Rance, he sat with his chin resting on
the head of his cane, murmuring with a truly American


THE LADY IN BLACK 257
coolness, but in accents of the strongest conviction:
“What a devilish history ! The story of the body which
could not have gotten into the room is a page from the
notebook of Satan himself"?
While he was speaking, he was gazing at the tip of
Mme. Darzac's shoe which peeped out from the hem of
her gown. In the moment which followed the closing
of Rouletabille’s narration, conversation became a little
more general; but it was less a conversation than such a
confused mixture of exclamations and interruptions, of
interjections and indignation and demands for explana-
tions on one point or another that the confusion seemed
more increased than ever before. They spoke also of
the horrible departure of “the body too many” in the
potato sack, and at this point, Mme. Edith took occa-
sion to once more express her admiration for M. Robert
Darzac as a hero and a gentleman. Rouletabille never
opened his lips during this torrent of words. It was
plain to be seen that he despised this verbal manifesta-
tion of perturbation of spirits, but he endured it with
the air of a professor who permits a few moments
relaxation to pupils who have been well behaved in
school. This was a mannerism of his which often vexed
me and with which I sometimes reproached him, but
without having any effect on him, for Rouletabille was
likely to give himself whatever airs he chose.
At length—probably when it appeared to him that
the recreation had lasted long enough, he asked abrupt-
ly of Mrs. Rance:
“Well, Madame, do you think we ought to inform
the authorities?”
“I think so more than ever,” she replied. “That
which we are powerless to discover, they would certainly


THE LADY IN BLACK 259
pant imitation of the reporter’s words and man-
ner: “A body too many on the one side; an unex-
plained absence on the other! Everything is for the
best.”
“Perhaps,” rejoined Rouletabille. “But the most
frightful thing of all is that the unexplained disappear-
ance comes just at the right time to make known to
us, apparently, the identity of the “body too many.’
Madame, I deeply regret to tell you that the person
for whose whereabouts we are unable to account, is
none other than your uncle, Monsieur Bob.”
“Old Bob '' screamed the young woman. “Old Bob
has disappeared"
And we all cried out with her:
“Old Bob has disappeared?”
“Unfortunately, it is true!” said Rouletabille.
And he let the cane drop to the ground.
But the news of the sudden disappearance of Old
Bob had so seized the Rances and the Darzacs that no
one paid any attention to the cane as it fell.
“My dear Sainclair, will you be kind enough to pick
up that cane?” asked Rouletabille.
I did as I was ordered and quickly, too, but Rouleta-
bille did not even deign to thank me. Mme. Edith
turned like a lioness upon Robert Darzac, who recoiled
from her almost in fear as she shrieked:
“You have killed my uncle!”
Her husband and myself, with difficulty, prevented
her from flying at him. We entreated her to be calm
and to remember that because her uncle had absented
himself from the peninsula did not necessarily mean
that he had disappeared in the potato sack and we
reproached Rouletabille with his brutality in blurting


260 THE PERFUME OF
out an idea which could only be, at the present time, at
all events, an hypothesis of his uneasy mind. And we
added, imploring Mme. Edith to listen to us, that this
hypothesis could under no circumstances be looked upon
by her either as an injury or an insult, even admitting
that it might be the true one, as it would only show
the superhuman cunning of Larsan, who must, in that
case, have taken the place of her respected uncle. But
the young woman ordered her husband to be quiet, and
said, turning scornfully to me:
“M. Sainclair, I sincerely hope that my uncle’s
absence from here will only be of short duration; for
if it should turn out otherwise, I should accuse you
of being an accomplice in the most cowardly of mur-
ders. As to you, monsieur,” and she turned to Rou-
letabille, “the mere idea that you have ever dared to
compare a man like Larsan with my uncle, the gentlest,
kindliest soul and the greatest scholar of his time,
forbids me to ever again consider you in the light
of a friend, and I hope that you will have the
courtesy to relieve me of your presence as soon as
possible.”
“Madame,” replied Rouletabille, bowing very low, “I
was just about to ask your permission to take leave
of you. I have a short journey of twenty-four hours
to take. At the expiration of that time, I shall return,
ready to be of any possible assistance to you in what-
ever difficulties may arise in accounting for the dis-
appearance of your uncle.”
“If my uncle has not returned within twenty-four
hours, I shall lodge a complaint in the hands of the
police, monsieur.”
“It is a good plan, Madame; but before having


THE LADY IN BLACK 261
recourse to it, I advise you to question all the servants
in whom you have confidence—particularly Mattoni.
You trust Mattoni, do you not?”
“Yes, monsieur, I trust Mattoni.”
“Well, then, Madame, question him—question him.
Ah—before I take my departure, allow me to leave
with you this excellent and historical book.” And
Rouletabille drew a small volume from his pocket.
“What foolery is this?” demanded Mme. Edith,
superbly disdainful.
“This, Madame, is a work of M. Albert Bataille, a
copy of his ‘Civil and Criminal Cases,’ in which I advise
you to read the adventures, disguises, travesties and
deceptions wrought by an illustrious swindler whose
true name was Ballmeyer.”
Rouletabille entirely ignored the fact that he had
only the day before spent two hours in recounting to
Mme. Edith the exploits of Ballmeyer.
“After having read this,” he went on, “ask yourself
carefully whether the cleverness of such an individual
would have found very great difficulty in presenting
himself before your eyes under the guise of an uncle
whom you had not seen in four years—for it was four
years, Madame, since you had seen Old Bob, until that
time that you started out to the heart of the Pampas to
look for him. As to the memory of M. Arthur Rance,
who started out with you on that journey, it would
be even less distinct than your own and he would be
more capable of being deceived than yourself with your
intuition of kinship added to your recollections of your
relative. I implore you on my knees, Madame, do not
lose patience with us. The situation, Heaven knows, is
grave enough for each and every one of us. Let us


262 THE PERFUME OF
remain united. You tell me to rid you of my presence.
I am going but I shall return; for if it is necessary,
taking everything into consideration, to arrive at the
intolerable conclusion that Larsan has assumed the name
and likeness of Monsieur Bob, it will remain for us only
to seek Monsieur Bob himself, in which case, Madame,
I shall be at your disposal and your most humble and
obedient servant.”
Mme. Edith assumed the attitude of an outraged
tragedy queen and Rouletabille, turning to Arthur
Rance, continued:
“For all that has happened, M. Rance, I make you
my humblest excuses and also to your wife. And I
count upon you as the loyal gentleman that you are
and always have been to persuade her to have patience
a little longer. I realize that you feel that you have
reason to reproach me with having stated my hypothe-
sis too quickly and too abruptly, but, please remember,
it is only a few moments since Madame reproached me
with being too slow.”
But Arthur Rance seemed to have ceased to listen.
He took his wife’s arm and both moved toward the door
and were about to leave the room when the portals
flew open and the stable boy, Walter, Old Bob's faith-
ful servant, rushed into our midst. His clothing was
torn, muddy and covered with burs and thistles. Per-
spiration was streaming down his forehead and cheeks,
his hair was in disorder and his face wore an expres-
sion of rage mingled with terror which made us fear
some new misfortune. He carried in his hand a dirty
rag which he threw upon the table. This repulsive
object, stained with great blotches of reddish brown
was (as we divined immediately, recoiling from it in


THE LADY IN BLACK 263
horror) nothing other than the sack which had served
to carry off the mysterious body.
With a harsh voice and savage gestures, Walter
howled forth a thousand incomprehensible things in his
broken jumble of French and English and all of us with
the exception of Arthur Rance and Mme. Edith, asked
each other, “What is he saying? What is he saying?”
Arthur Rance interrupted him from time to time,
while Walter shook his fists menacingly at the rest of
us and cast fiery glances at Robert Darzac. Once, for
a moment, it seemed as though he intended to seize
Darzac by the throat, but a gesture from Mme. Edith
restrained him. When he finished speaking, Arthur
Rance translated his words for us.
“He says that this morning he noticed blood stains
on the English cart and saw that Toby seemed very
greatly fatigued. This puzzled him so much that he
decided to speak of it at once to Old Bob, but he
sought his master in vain. Then, seized by a dark
foreboding, he followed the prints of the horse's feet
and the wheels of the vehicle which he could easily do
because the road was muddy and the wheels had sunk
deep. Finally he reached the old Castillon and noticed
that the wheels led up to a deep chasm into which he
descended, believing that he should find the body of
his master; but he saw merely this empty sack which
may have contained the corpse of Old Bob, and now,
having caught a ride in a peasant’s wagon, he has
returned to ask for his master, to learn whether anyone
has seen him, and, if he is not found, to accuse Robert
Darzac of having caused his death.”
We stood confounded. But, to our great astonish-
ment, Mme. Edith was the first to recover her self-pos-


264 THE PERFUME OF
session. She spoke a few words to Walter which ap-
peared to quiet him, promising him that she would soon
bring him face to face with Old Bob, who was perfectly
safe and well. And she said to Rouletabille:
“You have twenty-four hours, Monsieur; make the
best use of it.”
“Thanks, Madame,” said Rouletabille. “But if your
uncle should not return in that time, it will be because
my idea was correct.”
“But where can he bel’” she cried.
“I cannot tell you, Madame. He is not in the sack
now, at all events.”
Mme. Edith cast a withering glance at him and
left the room, followed by her husband. The sight of
the sack seemed to have stricken Robert Darzac speech-
less. He had thrown the bag into an abyss and it was
brought back empty. After a moment’s pause, Rou-
letabille spoke:
“Larsan is not dead, be sure of that! Never has the
situation been so frightful as it is to-day and I must
hurry away at once. I have not a minute to lose.
Twenty-four hours—in twenty-four hours, I shall be
back. But promise me—swear to me, both of you, that
you will not quit the château. Swear to me, M. Dar-
zac, that you will watch over your wife—that you will
prevent her from leaving these walls, even by force, if
it is necessary. Ah—and again—it is no longer neces-
sary that you should sleep in the Square Tower. No,
you ought not to do so. In the same wing where M.
Stangerson is lodged, there are two empty rooms. You
must occupy them. It is absolutely necessary that you
should. Sainclair, you will see that this change is
made. After my departure, see that neither the one


THE LAI)Y IN BLACK 265
nor the other of them shall set foot in the Square Tower.
Adieu ! Ah, wait!—let me embrace you—all three.”
He pressed us to his heart: M. Darzac first, then
myself, and then, falling into the arms of the Lady in
Black, he burst into a passion of sobs. This show of
weakness and of grief on the part of Rouletabille, in
spite of the gravity of the circumstances of his de-
parture, appeared to me very strange. Alas! how easy
it was for me to understand it afterward!


CHAPTER XV
THE SIGHS OF THE NIGHT
Two o'clock in the morning! Every person and
every thing in the castle seemed wrapped in slumber.
Silence brooded over the heavens and the earth. While
I stood at my window, my forehead burning and my
heart frozen, the sea yielded its last sigh and in a
moment the moon appeared riding like a queen in the
cloudless sky. Shadows no longer veiled the stars of
the night. There, in that vast, motionless slumber
which seemed to envelope all the world, I heard the words
of the Lithuanian folk song: “But his glance seeks in
vain for the beautiful unknown who has covered her
head with a veil and whose voice he has never heard.”
The words were carried to my ear, clear and distinct,
in the still air of the night. Who had pronounced
them? Was the voice that of a man or a woman? or
was the song only an hallucination evoked by my
memories? What should the Prince from the Black
lands be doing on the Azure shore with his Lithuanian
melodies? And why should his image and his songs
pursue me thus?
Why was Mme. Edith attracted toward him? He
was ridiculous with his melancholy eyes and his long
lashes and his Lithuanian songs' And I-I was
ridiculous, too. Had I the heart of a college boy?
I think not. I would rather believe that the emotion


THE LADY IN BLACK 267
which was excited in me by the personality of Prince
Galitch rose less from my knowledge of the interest
which Mme. Edith felt in him than from the thought
of that other. Yes, it was surely that. In my mind
the thought of the Prince and that of Larsan somehow
went together. And the Prince had not returned to the
château since the famous luncheon at which he was
presented to us—that is to say since the day before
yesterday.
The afternoon following Rouletabille’s departure had
brought us nothing new. We received no news from
him nor from Old Bob. Mme. Edith had locked herself
up in her own apartments, after having questioned the
domestics and visiting her uncle’s rooms and the Round
Tower. She made no effort to penetrate into the apart-
ments of the Darzacs in the Square Tower. “That is
an affair for the police,” she had said. Arthur Rance
had walked for an hour on the western boulevard, his
manner restless and impatient. No one had spoken a
word to me. Neither M. nor Mme. Darzac had stirred
out of “la Louve.” All of us had dined in our own
rooms. No one had seen Professor Stangerson.
* # + # + # #
And now, so far as the eye could see, everyone in the
château seemed to be lost in dreams. But a shadow
appeared on the bosom of the starry night—the shadow
of a canoe which slowly detached itself from the shadow
of the fort and glided out upon the silvery water.
Whose is this silhouette, which arises proudly in the
front of the boat while another shade bends over a
silent oar? It is yours, Feodor Feodorowitch! Ah,
here is a mystery which might be easier to solve than


THE LADY IN BLACK 269
listening? I glided behind a hedge of vervain which
bordered the path that led directly to “la Louve”
through bushes and thickets, heavy with the perfume
of the flowers of the spring. I had made no noise, and
the shadow, doubtless reassured, made a slight move-
ment. It was the Lady in Black. The moon, under
the half ruined arch, showed me that she was as pale
as death. And suddenly her figure vanished as if by
enchantment. I approached the chapel and as I dimin-
ished the space which lay between me and the ruins, I
heard a soft murmur of words mingled with such bitter
sobs that my own eyes grew moist as I listened. The
Lady in Black was weeping there behind that pillar.
Was she alone? Had she not chosen in this night of
anguish to come to this altar decked with flowers there
to pour out her prayers in solitude to the balmy air?
Suddenly I perceived a shadow beside the Lady in
Black and I recognized Robert Darzac. From the cor-
ner where I was I could now hear all that they were
saying. I knew that my behavior in listening was
degraded and shameless, but, curiously enough, it was
borne upon me that it was my duty to listen. Now I
thought no longer of Edith and her Prince Galitch.
I thought only of Larsan. Why? Why was it on
account of Larsan that I bent my ears so anxiously
to hear all that went on between those two? I learned
from their words that Mathilde had descended stealth-
ily from la Louve to be alone in the garden with her
agony and that her husband had followed her. The
Lady in Black was weeping. And she took Robert
Darzac's hands and said to him:
“I know, dear—I know all your grief. You need
not speak of it to me when I see you so changed-so


270 THE PERFUME OF
wretched I accuse myself of being the cause of your
sorrow. But do not tell me that I no longer love you.
Oh, I will love you dearly, Robert—just as I have
always done. I promise you.”
And she seemed to sink into a deep fit of thought,
while he, almost as though incredulous, still stood as
though he were listening to her. In a moment, she
looked up again and repeated in a tone of firm convic-
tion: “Yes—I promise you.”
She pressed his hand and turned away, casting upon
him a smile so sweet and yet so sorrowful that I won-
dered how this woman could speak to a man of future
happiness. She brushed past me without seeing me.
She passed with her perfume and I no longer smelled
the laurel bushes behind which I was hidden.
M. Darzac remained standing in the same spot, look-
ing after her. Suddenly he said aloud with a violence
which startled me:
“Yes, happiness must come! It mustſ"
Assuredly, he was at the end of his patience. And
before withdrawing in his turn, he made a gesture of
protest—against fate, it seemed to me—a gesture of
defiance to destiny—a gesture which snatched the Lady
in Black through the space which divided them and
caught her to his breast and held her there.
He had scarcely made this gesture when my thought
took form—my thought which had been wandering
about Larsan stopped at Darzac. Oh, how well I
remember that instant! The fancy was gone in a
moment, but as I beheld gesture of defiance and rap-
ture, I dared to say to myself, “If HE should be Lar-
san P’
And in looking back to the depths of my memory, I


272 THE PERFUME OF
detached herself from him—and he found no explana-
tion for this cruel metamorphosis other than the love
heightened by remorse of Professor Stangerson’s daugh-
ter for her father.
“What good did it do me to kill him?” groaned M.
Darzac. “Why did I fire the shot? Why did she
impose upon me such a criminal, horrible silence if she
did not intend to recompense me for it by her love?
Did she fear arrest for me? Ah, no! Not even that,
Sainclair, not even that! She fears only the agony of
her father and the danger that he will succumb entirely
under this new disgrace. Her father! Always her
father! I do not crist for her. I have loved her for
twenty years and when I believe at last that I have
won her, the thought of her father takes my place.”
And I said to myself: “The thought of her father—
and of her child.”
He seated himself on an old moss grown boulder by
the chapel and said again, as if speaking to himself:
“But I will snatch her away from this place—I cannot
see her roaming about on the arm of her father—as if
I were not in the world.”
And, while he said this, I looked up and I fancied that
I beheld the shadow of the father and the daughter
passing and repassing in the dawn, beneath the sombre
height of the Tower of the North, and I likened them in
my mind to the old Oedipus and his daughter, Antigone,
walking under the walls of Colone, dragging with them
the weight of a grief beyond human endurance.
And then suddenly, without my being able to recall
myself to reason, perhaps because Darzac made again
the gesture which had startled me before, the same
frightful fancy assailed me, and I demanded:


THE LADY IN BLACK 273
“How did it happen that the sack was empty?”
He was not in the least confused or taken aback.
He replied simply:
“Rouletabille must tell us that.” Then he pressed
my hand and wandered away through the undergrowth
of the garden. I looked after him and said to myself:
“I have gone mad!”


THE LADY IN BLACK 975
when I had asked myself the same terrible question
about the others; perhaps, because it was less terrible
when there was question of any of the others. And then,
how strange that such a thought should have come to
me! Instead of my spirit recoiling in affright before
the black abyss of such an incredible hypothesis, it was,
on the contrary, attracted, enchained, horribly be-
witched by it. It was as though struck with vertigo
which it could do nothing to evade. It glued my eyes
to that figure standing upon the western boulevard,
making me find the attitudes, the gestures, a strong
resemblance from the rear—and then, the profile—and
even the face. Yes, all—all. He did look like Lar-
san. Yes, but just as strongly did the face and figure
resemble Darzac.
How was it that this idea had come to me that night
for the first time? Now that I thought of it—it should
have been our first hypothesis of all. Was it not true
that, at the time of “The Mystery of the Yellow Room,”
the silhouette of Larsan had been confounded at the
moment of the crime with that of Darzac” Was it
not true that the man who was believed to be Darzac,
who had come to inquire for Mlle. Stangerson's answer
at Post Office Box No. 40, had really been Larsan him-
self? Was it not true that this emperor of disguises
had already undertaken with success to appear to be
Darzac”—and to such good purpose that Mlle. Stan-
gerson's fiancé had been accused of being the perpe-
trator of the crimes committed by the other?
It was true—all true—and yet when I ordered my
restless heart to be quiet and listen to reason, I knew
that my hypothesis was absurd. Absurd? Why?
Look at him there, the ghost of Larsan which strides


264 THE PERFUME OF
session. She spoke a few words to Walter which ap-
peared to quiet him, promising him that she would soon
bring him face to face with Old Bob, who was perfectly
safe and well. And she said to Rouletabille:
“You have twenty-four hours, Monsieur; make the
best use of it.”
“Thanks, Madame,” said Rouletabille. “But if your
uncle should not return in that time, it will be because
my idea was correct.”
“But where can he be l’ she cried.
“I cannot tell you, Madame. He is not in the sack
now, at all events.”
Mme. Edith cast a withering glance at him and
left the room, followed by her husband. The sight of
the sack seemed to have stricken Robert Darzac speech-
less. He had thrown the bag into an abyss and it was
brought back empty. After a moment’s pause, Rou-
letabille spoke:
“Larsan is not dead, be sure of that! Never has the
situation been so frightful as it is to-day and I must
hurry away at once. I have not a minute to lose.
Twenty-four hours—in twenty-four hours, I shall be
back. But promise me—swear to me, both of you, that
you will not quit the château. Swear to me, M. Dar-
zac, that you will watch over your wife—that you will
prevent her from leaving these walls, even by force, if
it is necessary. Ah—and again—it is no longer neces-
sary that you should sleep in the Square Tower. No,
you ought not to do so. In the same wing where M.
Stangerson is lodged, there are two empty rooms. You
must occupy them. It is absolutely necessary that you
should. Sainclair, you will see that this change is
made. After my departure, see that neither the one


THE LADY IN BLACK 265
nor the other of them shall set foot in the Square Tower.
Adieu ! Ah, wait!—let me embrace you—all three.”
He pressed us to his heart: M. Darzac first, then
myself, and then, falling into the arms of the Lady in
Black, he burst into a passion of sobs. This show of
weakness and of grief on the part of Rouletabille, in
spite of the gravity of the circumstances of his de-
parture, appeared to me very strange. Alas! how easy
it was for me to understand it afterward!


276 THE PERFUME OF
along with long paces like those of the monster! Yes,
but the shoulders are those of Darzac.
I say absurd because anyone who was not Darzac
might have passed for him in the shade and the mystery
that surrounded the drama of the Glandier. But here
we have lived with the man. We have talked with him—
touched him.
We have lived with him? No!
To begin with, he was rarely there among us.
Always locked in his own room or bending over that
useless work in the Tower of the Bold. A fine pretext,
that of drawing, to prevent anyone’s seeing your face
and to make it appear natural to answer questions with-
out turning the head'
But he was not drawing all the time! Yes, but at
other times, always, except tonight, he wore his dark
glasses. Ah! that accident in the laboratory had been
well contrived. That little lamp which exploded knew—
I have always thought so, it seems to me—the service
which it was going to do for Larsan when Larsan
should have taken the place of Darzac. It permitted
him to evade always and everywhere the full light of
day—because of the weakness of his eyes. How then
Was it not always Mlle. Stangerson or Rouletabille
who had managed to find dark corners where M. Dar-
zac's eyes could not be exposed to the sun ? But, lately,
he himself, more than anyone else now that I reflected
upon it, had been careful to keep in the shadow—we
have seen him seldom and always in the shadow. That
little “hall of counsel” was very dark, “la Louve” was
dark, and he had chosen the two rooms in the Square
Tower which are plunged in semi-darkness.
But still—still—Rouletabille could not be deceived


THE LADY IN BLACK 277
like that—even for three days. But, as the lad him-
self said, Larsan was born before Rouletabille and was
his father.
And suddenly there recurred to my mind the first
act of Darzac when he came to meet us at Cannes and
entered our compartment with us. He drew the cur-
tain. The shadow—always the shadow !
The figure on the western boulevard is still standing
there. I can look him full in the face. No spectacles
now! He was not moving. He stood as if he were
posing for a photograph. Do not stir There! that is
he Yes, it is Robert Darzac—only Robert Darzac'
He began to walk again—I was certain no longer.
There is something in his walk which is not Darzac's—
something in which I seem to recognize Larsan—but
what?
Yes, Rouletabille must have seen 1 And yet—Rou-
letabille reasons more often than he looks! And has
he ever had a chance to look at him like this?
No! We must not forget that Darzac went to spend
three months in the Midi–That is true! Ah, what
might not have happened in that time! Three months
during which none of us saw him. He went away ill;
he returned almost well. There could be nothing aston-
ishing in the fact that a man’s appearance should be
changed when he went away with the look of a dead
man and returned with the look of one living and
strong!
And the wedding had taken place immediately after
that. How little any of us had seen of him before the
ceremony And, besides, a week had not yet clapsed
since the marriage. A Larsan could easily wear his
mask for so short a time.


278 THE PERFUME OF
The man—was it Darzac or was it Larsan?—de-
scended from his pedestal and came straight toward
me. Had he seen me? I crouched down behind my
barberries.
(Three months of absence during which Larsan might
have had a chance to study every gesture, every man-
nerism of Darzac' And then—how easy to put Darzac
out of the way and to take his place and his bride!
Not a difficult trick—for a Larsan :)
The voice? What more easy than to imitate the
voice of a native of the Midiº One has a little more
or a little less of accent than the other, that is all.
Occasionally I have fancied that his accent was a little
stronger than before the wedding.
He was almost upon me. He passed by. He had not
Seen Ine.
“It is Larsan' I could swear that it was Larsan '"
But he paused for a second and gazed sorrowfully
upon all nature slumbering around him—him whose
suffering was in loneliness and solitude, and a groan
escaped his lips, unhappy soul that he was
“It is Darzac'
And then he was gone—and I remained there behind
my hedge overwhelmed with the horror of the thought
which I had dared to harbor.
# # # # * # º
How long did I remain thus, lying on the ground?
One hour? Two? When I arose, I was so stiff that I
could scarcely stir and my mind was as worn out as my
body—worn out and distracted. In the course of my un-
thinkable hypotheses, I had even gone so far as to ask
myself whether, by chance (by chance!) the Larsan who


THE LADY IN BLACK 279
had been in the potato sack had not succeeded in sub-
stituting himself for Darzac who had carried him off
in the little English cart with Toby drawing it, mean-
ing to throw him into the gulf of Castillon. I could
picture the body of the victim rising up suddenly and
ordering M. Darzac to take its place. So far from all
reason had my wild supposition driven me, that in order
to drive away from my mind this ridiculous idea, I was
compelled to recall word by word a private conversa-
tion that had occurred between M. Darzac and myself
that morning when we went out from the terrible ses-
sion in the Square Tower at which had been so clearly
presented the problem of the “body too many.” In
this conversation, I had received an absolute proof of
the impossibility of my supposition. I had, while we
talked, proposed to M. Darzac a few questions in rela-
tion to Prince Galitch, whose image would not cease
to pursue me, and my friend had answered by making
allusion to another conversation, involving certain sci-
entific facts, which had taken place between us the night
previous, and which could not possibly have been heard
by any other person than our two selves and which had
also concerned Prince Galitch. On this account, there
could be no real doubt in my mind that the Darzac whom
I had talked with in the garden was none other than
the same man I had scen the evening before.
As senseless as was the idea of this substitution, it
was, nevertheless, in a certain degree, pardonable.
Rouletabille was a little to blame for it by his fashion
of talking of Larsan as a very god of metamorphosis.
And after casting it aside, I returned to the sole pos-
sible idea under which Larsan could have taken the
place of Darzac-the idea of a substitution before


THE LADY IN BLACK 281
panied Darzac to the train which had taken him to
Cannes, where he met us. If Arthur Rance had spoken
the truth, I might go to my couch in tranquility. And
why should he have lied?—Arthur Rance who had been
in love with the Lady in Black and who had not ceased
to love her. Mme. Edith was not a fool—she knew
that Mme. Darzac still held the heart of the young
American. Well, it was time for me to go to bed!
# + # *: # # #
I was still beneath the arch of the gardener's postern
and I was just about to enter the Court of the Bold
when it seemed to me that I heard something moving—
it sounded as though a door might have been closed.
Then there was a sound as of wood striking on iron.
I thrust my head out from under the arch and I believed
that I could see the shadow of a person near the door
of the New Castle—a shadow which somehow seemed
to mingle with that of the castle itself. I snatched my
revolver from my pocket and with three steps was at
the place where I believed I had seen the shape. But
it was there no longer. I could see nothing but dark-
ness. The door of the castle was closed and I was
certain that I had left it open. I was disturbed and
anxious. I felt that I was not alone—who, then, could
be near me? Evidently if that shadow had existed else-
where than in my imagination, it could have vanished
only within the New Castle or must still be in the court.
And the court was deserted.
I listened attentively for more than five minutes with-
out making the slightest sound. Nothing ! I must have
been mistaken. But, nevertheless, I did not even strike
a match, and as silently as I could, I ascended the stair-


282 THE PERFUME OF
case which led to my chamber. When I reached it, I
locked myself in and only then began to breathe freely.
This vision or whatever it had been continued to dis-
turb me more than I was willing to confess to myself,
and even after I had gotten into bed I could not sleep.
Without my being able to account for it at all this
vision and the thought of Darzac-Larsan began to
mingle strangely in my restless spirit.
The effect on my mind was so strong that, at last, I
said to myself: “I shall never know peace again until
I am certain that M. Darzac is not Larsan. And I
shall take means to make myself certain, one way or
the other, on the first occasion.”
Yes, but how? Pull his beard off? If my suspicion
was baseless, he would take me for a madman, or else
he would guess what I was thinking of and such a
knowledge would add yet another to the load of mis-
fortunes, already too heavy for him to bear. Only this
misery was lacking to him still—to know that he was
suspected of being Larsan.
Suddenly I threw off the bedclothes, jumped up and
cried almost aloud:
“Australia '''
An episode had returned to my mind of which I have
spoken at the beginning of this story. The reader may
remember that, at the time of the accident in the labora-
tory, I had accompanied M. Robert Darzac to a drug-
gist. While his injuries were being attended to, he had
been obliged to remove his study coat, and the sleeve
of his shirt had fallen back, leaving his arm bare
through the entire session with the druggist, and plac-
ing in full view just above the right elbow, a large
birth mark, the shape of which resembled that of Aus-


THE LADY IN BLACK 283
tralia as it appears on the maps in the geographies.
Mentally, while the chemist was at work, I had amused
myself by trying to locate upon the arm in the posi-
tions which they occupied on an actual map, the cities
of Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide, etc.; and directly be-
neath this large mark, there was another smaller
one which was situated like the country known as Tas-
mania.
And when, by any chance, the thought of that acci-
dent had happened to recur to my mind, I had always
thought of the half hour at the chemist's and the birth-
mark shaped like the outlines of Australia.
And in this sleepless night, it was the thought of
Australia that came to me.
Seated on the edge of my bed, I had scarcely had
time to congratulate myself upon having found a means
to prove decisively the identity of Robert Darzac and
to try to devise some way of bringing it to an imme-
diate test, when a singular sound made me prick up my
ears. The sound was repeated—one would have said
that gravel was cracking beneath slow and cautious
footsteps.
Breathless, I hurried to my door and, with my ear
at the keyhole, I listened. Silence for a moment and
then once more the same sound—footsteps, beyond a
doubt. Someone was now ascending the staircase—
and someone who desired his presence to be unknown.
I thought of the shadow which I had believed I saw as
I was entering the Court of the Bold—whose could this
shadow be and what was it doing on the staircase?
Was it coming up or going down?
Silence again ' I profited by it to hastily don my
trousers and, armed with my revolver, I succeeded in


282
case which le.
locked myself
This vision
turb me more
and even aft
Without my
vision and tº
mingle strang
The effect
said to mysel
I am certail
shall take me
the other, on
Yes, but he
was baseless
he would gue
knowledge wo
fortunes, alre.
misery was la
suspected of
Suddenly I
cried almost a
“Australia |
An episode
spoken at the
remember that
tory, I had ac
gist. While hi
been obliged tº
of his shirt |
through the en
ing in full view
birth mark, the
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THE LAI)Y IN IBLACK 285
Robert Darzac spending the night in the New Castle?
Why did he take such precautions not to be seen 2 A
thousand suspicions crossed my mind—or rather all
the terrible thoughts that had come to haunt me since
we had been in the Fort of Hercules seized me again
in their grasp and I felt that I must set my spirit at
rest, immediately. I must follow Robert Darzac and
discover “..Australia.”
I had reached the corridor almost as soon as he
quitted it and I saw him beginning to climb very quietly
the moth eaten wood of the stairway. I saw him pause
at the first landing and push open a door. Then I saw
nothing more. He had been swallowed up by the dark-
ness—and, perhaps, by the room of which he had opened
the door. I reached this door and finding it locked, I
gave three little taps, certain that he was inside. And
I waited. My heart was beating wildly. All these
rooms were uninhabited--abandon, d. What should M.
Darzac be doing in one of thºse haunt, d chambºrs'
I waited for a few moments which secºnd to ºne like
hours and as no one answered and the door did not
open, I knocked again and waited alºn. Then
the door was opened and I heard Darzac's voice say-
ing:
“Is it you, Sainclair? What is it, my friend?”
“I wanted to know what you could be doing here at
such an hour?” I replied, and it seem d to me that my
voice was that of another man, so great was my terror.
Tranquilly, he struck a match and said:
“You see. I am preparing for bed.”
And he lit a candle which was placed on a chair, for
there was no night stand in this dilapidated apartment.
A bed in one corner—an iron bed which must have been


THE LADY IN BLACK 285
Robert Darzac spending the night in the New Castle?
Why did he take such precautions not to be seen 2 A
thousand suspicions crossed my mind—or rather all
the terrible thoughts that had come to haunt me since
we had been in the Fort of Hercules seized me again
in their grasp and I felt that I must set my spirit at
rest, immediately. I must follow Robert Darzac and
discover “Australia.”
I had reached the corridor almost as soon as he
quitted it and I saw him beginning to climb very quietly
the moth eaten wood of the stairway. I saw him pause
at the first landing and push open a door. Then I saw
nothing more. He had been swallowed up by the dark-
ness—and, perhaps, by the room of which he had opened
the door. I reached this door and finding it locked, I
gave three little taps, certain that he was inside. And
I waited. My heart was beating wildly. All these
rooms were uninhabited—abandoned. What should M.
Darzac be doing in one of these haunted chambers!
I waited for a few moments which seemed to me like
hours and as no one answered and the door did not
open, I knocked again and waited again. Then
the door was opened and I heard Darzac's voice say-
ing:
“Is it you, Sainclair? What is it, my friend?”
“I wanted to know what you could be doing here at
such an hour?” I replied, and it seemed to me that my
voice was that of another man, so great was my terror.
Tranquilly, he struck a match and said:
“You see. I am preparing for bed.”
And he lit a candle which was placed on a chair, for
there was no night stand in this dilapidated apartment.
A bed in one corner—an iron bed which must have been


286 THE PERFUME OF
brought there during the day, and a single chair, com-
prised all the furnishings.
“I thought that you were going to sleep near Mme.
Darzac and the Professor on the first floor of ‘la
Louve’?”
“The rooms are too small. I was afraid of incon-
veniencing Mme. Darzac,” answered the unhappy man,
bitterly. “I asked Bernier to fetch me a bed here.
And then what difference does it make where I am,
since I do not sleep?”
We were both silent for a moment. I was ashamed of
myself and of my wretched suspicions. And, frankly,
my remorse was so great that I could not refrain from
giving it expression. I confessed everything to him;
my infamous ideas and how I had even believed when
I saw him wandering so mysteriously over the New
Castle that it was upon some evil errand; and so had
decided to go and look for the “Australia” birthmark.
For I did not conceal from him that for a moment, I
had placed all my hopes upon the Australia.
He listened to me with such an expression of re-
proachful sorrow that it wrung my heart; then he
quietly rolled up his shirt sleeve and bringing his bare
arm close to the light, he showed me the birthmark,
which made a sane man of me once more. I did not
wish to look at it, but he even insisted upon my touch-
ing it and I knew beyond a doubt that it was a natural
scar upon which one might place little dots with the
names of the cities, “Sydney,” “Melbourne,” “Ade-
laide.” And beneath it there was another little blotch
shaped like Tasmania.
“You may rub it as much as you choose,” said Dar-
zac, gently, “It will not come off.”


THE LADY IN BLACK 287
I begged his pardon a thousand times over, with tears
in my eyes, but he would not forgive me until he had
made me pull at his beard which remained firmly
attached to his chin, instead of coming off in my hand.
Then, only, he allowed me to go back to my room,
which I did, cursing myself for an idiot.


CHAPTER XVII
olD BoB's TERRIBLE ADVENTURE
When I awakened my thoughts were still dwelling on
Larsan. And, in truth, I did not know what to think
either of myself or any other person—of Larsan's death
or of his life. Had he been wounded less seriously than
we had believed? Or shall I say, “Was he less dead
than we had thought?” Had he been able to extricate
himself from the sack which Darzac had cast in the gulf
of Castillon After all, the thing was not impossible,
or, rather, the possibility was not altogether without
the bounds of what might be looked for from the super-
human cunning and prowess of a Larsan—particularly
since Walter had explained that he had found the sack
three meters from the mouth of the abyss upon a nat-
ural landing place the existence of which M. Darzac
assuredly did not suspect when he believed that he was
throwing Larsan’s body into the orifice.
My second thoughts turned to Rouletabille. What
was he doing now? Why had he gone away? Never
had his presence at the Fort of Hercules been so neces-
sary as now. If he delayed his return, this day could
scarcely pass without bringing the unfriendly feeling
between the Rances and the Darzacs to an open issue.
As I lay there puzzling my brain over the outcome
of the affair, I heard someone knocking at my door.
It was Pere Bernier, who brought me a brief note from
my friend which had been handed to Pere Jacques by


THE LADY IN BLACK 289
a little lad from the village. Rouletabille wrote: “I
shall return early in the morning. Get up as soon as
this reaches you and be good enough to go fishing for
my breakfast and catch some of the fine trout which are
so plentiful among the rocks near the Point of Gari-
baldi. Do not lose an instant. Thanks and remem-
brances.—Rouſ LETABILLE.”
This communication gave me more food for thought,
for I knew by experience that whenever Rouletabille
seemed most occupied with trivial matters, his activity
was really most thoroughly engaged with important
subjects.
I dressed myself in haste, provided myself with some
old tackle which was furnished me by Bernier, and set
out to obey the request of my young friend. As I
went out of the North gate, having encountered nobody
at that early hour of the morning (it was about seven
o'clock), I was joined by Mme. Edith, to whom I showed
what Rouletabille had written. The young woman was
greatly dejected over the unexplained absence of her
uncle, remarked that the letter was “so queer that it
made her nervous,” and she informed me that she
intended to follow me to the trout streams. On the
way, she confided to me the fact that her uncle had
not an enemy in the world, so far as she knew, and she
said that she had been hoping against hope that he
would yet return and that everything would be satis-
factorily explained, but now the idea had entered her
brain that by some frightful mistake, Old Bob had
fallen a victim to the vengeance of Darzac and she was
nearly wild with apprehension.
And she added, between her pretty teeth, a few words
of contempt and wrath for the Lady in Black. “My


290 THE PERFUME OF
patience can hold out until noon, I hope!” she said, and
then was silent.
We started to fish for Rouletabille’s trout. Mrs.
Rance and I both removed our shoes and stockings, but
I concerned myself more about the dainty bare feet of
my pretty hostess than about my own. The fact is,
that Edith’s feet, as I discovered in the Bay of Her-
cules, were as beautifully shaped and pink as flowers
and they made me forget the trout of my poor Rouleta-
bille to such an extent that he must certainly have gone
without his breakfast if Edith had not shown more
energy than I. She clambered into the pools and crept
among the rocks with a grace which enchanted me more
than I dared express. Suddenly we both desisted from
our task and pricked up our cars at the same moment.
We heard cries from the shore where the grottoes are.
Upon the very threshold of the Grotto of Romeo and
Juliet we distinguished a little group, the persons in
which were making gestures of appeal. Urged on by
the same presentiment, we hastily rushed to the beach
and in a few seconds we learned that, attracted by
moans, two fishermen had just discovered in a cave in
the Grotto of Romeo and Juliet an unfortunate human
being who had fallen into the chasm and who must have
been there helpless for several hours.
The quick conjecture which rushed into both our
minds at once proved to be the right one. It was Old
Bob who had been fished out of the cave. When he had
been drawn up on the beach in the full light of day, he
certainly presented a pitiable spectacle. His beautiful
black coat was torn and covered with mud and his white
shirt was as black as tar. Mme. Edith burst into tears
and nearly went into hysterics when she found that the


Y IN BLACK 291
Ž.
07 4). - one and a sprained foot.
º %. %g looked as if he were going
%2. &. º
*/4 ºz º. 37 - -
* 6. tº ur less serious than it at first
º, ..º. * ***. > later he was, according to his
** *š. ...sºss º it on his bed in his room in the
3. * º A sº 3- ould anyone believe that he abso-
, “: 7 º' ... Sº dressed, even so f to have
* ... * &- ºngressed, even so far as to na
r *~ - Jefore the arrival of the doctors?
º **. sº- and more nervous, installed herself
º * : *s when the physicians came, Old Bob
º, *s-, * * not only to leave his room but to go
*/º s *s, * are Tower altogether. And he insisted
º - should be locked after her.
º - > precaution was a great surprise to us all.
*::: **s. sembled in the Court of the Bold, M. and
º **. zac, M. Arthur Rance and myself, as well as
4 : nier who haunted my footsteps, awaiting the
: ** When Mme. Edith quitted the tower after the
**, of the medical men, she came to us and said:
º et us hope that his injuries won’t be serious. Old
** is solid as a rock. What did I tell you about him?
ave made his confess, the old sinner! He was trying
steal Prince Galitch's skull which he believed to be
hore ancient than his own. Just the jealousy of one
savant toward another. We shall all laugh at him
when he is cured "
At that moment the door of the Square Tower opened
and Walter, Old Bob's faithful servant, appeared. His
face was pale and he seemed very nervous.
“Oh, Miss Edith !” he cried out. “He is covered with
blood! He doesn't want anything to be said about it,
but he must be save 5x


292 THE PERFUME OF
Edith had already rushed into the Square Tower.
As to us we dared not utter a word. Soon the young
woman returned.
“Oh!” she sobbed. “It is frightful. His whole breast
is torn open ſ”
I started to offer her the support of my arm, for,
strangely enough M. Arthur Rance had withdrawn to
some distance and was walking upon the boulevard,
whistling and with his hands behind his back. I tried
to comfort and to soothe Mme. Edith, but neither M.
nor Mme. Darzac uttered a word.
# * # # * # *
Rouletabille reached the castle about an hour after
these events. I watched for his return from the highest
part of the western boulevard and as soon as I saw
his form appearing in the distance I hurried to meet
him. He cut short my demands for an explanation
and asked me immediately if I had made a good catch,
but I was not at all deceived by the expression of his
countenance, and wishing to reply to him in his own
style of banter, I replied:
“Oh, yes: a very good catch. I fished up Old Bob.”
He started violently. I shrugged my shoulders, for
I believed that he was counterfeiting surprise, and I
went on :
“Oh, go on! You knew very well what kind of fish
I should find when you sent your message!”
He fixed an astonished glance on me.
“You certainly must be unaware of the purport of
your words, my dear Sainclair, or else you would have
spared me the trouble of protesting against such an
accusation.”


THE LADY IN BLACK 293
“What accusation ?” I cried.
“That of having left Old Bob in the Grotto of
Romeo and Juliet, knowing that he might be dying
there.”
“Oh, nonsense!” I cried. “Old Bob is far from dying.
He has a sprained foot and a broken collar bone, and
his story of his misfortune is perfectly plain and
straightforward. He declares that he was trying to
steal Prince Galitch’s skull.”
“What a funny idea!” exclaimed Rouletabille, burst-
ing out laughing. He leaned toward me and looked full
into my eyes.
“Do you believe that story? And—and that is all?
No other injuries?”
“Yes,” I replied. “There is another injury, but the
doctors declare that it is not at all serious. He has a
wound in the breast.”
“A wound in the breast !” repeated Rouletabille,
touching my hand, nervously. “And how was this
wound made?”
“We do not know. None of us have seen it. Old
Bob is strangely modest. He would not even permit
his coat to be taken off in our presence; and the coat
hid the wound so well that we should never have sus-
pected it was there if Walter had not come to tell us,
frightened at the sight of the blood.”
As soon as we came to the château, we encountered
Mme. Edith, who appeared to have been watching
for us.
“My uncle won’t have me near him,” she said, regard-
ing Rouletabille with an air of anxiety different from
anything I had ever noticed in her before. “It’s in-
comprehensible!”


THE LADY IN BLACK 295
boat at the opening of the gallery abutting on the
shaft, to row the old savant to the bank in front of the
Grotto of Romeo and Juliet.
“Why so many twists and turnings when it was so
simple to go out by the gate?” I could not restrain
myself from exclaiming.
Mme. Edith looked at me reproachfully and I
regretted having even seemed to have taken part
against her in any way.
“And this is stranger yet!” said the Prince. “Day
before yesterday, the ‘hangman of the sea came to bid
me adieu, saying that he was going to leave the coun-
try, and I am sure that he took the train for Venice,
his native city, at five o'clock in the afternoon. How
then could he have conveyed your uncle in his boat late
that night? In the first place, he was not in this part
of the world; in the second, he had sold his boat. He
told me so, adding that he would never return to this
country.”
There was a dead silence and Prince Galitch con-
tinued:
“All this is of little importance—provided that your
uncle, Madame, recovers speedily from his injuries and,
again,” he added with another smile, more charming
than those which had preceded it—“if you will aid me
in regaining a poor piece of flint which has disappeared
from the grotto and of which I will give you the de-
scription. It is a sharp piece of flint, twenty-five cen-
timeters long and shaped at one end to the form of a
dagger—in brief, the oldest dagger of the human
race. I value it greatly and, perhaps you may be
able to learn, Madame, through your uncle, Bob, what
has become of it.”


296 THE PERFUME OF
Mme. Edith at once gave her promise to the Prince,
with a certain air of haughtiness which pleased me
greatly, that she would do everything possible to obtain
for him news of so precious an object. The Prince
bowed low and left us. When we had finished returning
his parting salutes, we saw M. Arthur Rance before
us. He must have heard the conversation for he
seemed very thoughtful. He had his ivory-headed cane
in his hand, and was whistling, according to his habit.
And he looked at Mme. Edith with an expression so
strange that she appeared somewhat exasperated.
“I know exactly what you are thinking, sir!” she
said. “It does not astonish me in the least. And you
may keep on thinking so, if it amuses you, for aught I
care.”
And she stepped nearer Rouletabille, smiling nerv-
ously.
“At all events,” she exclaimed. “You can never ex-
plain to me how, when he was outside the Square Tower,
he could have hidden behind that panel.”
“Madame,” said Rouletabille, slowly and impressive-
ly, looking at the young woman as though he were try-
ing to hypnotize her, “have patience and have courage.
If God is with me, before night I shall explain to you
all that you wish to know.”


CHAPTER XVIII
HOW DEATH STALKED ABROAD AT NOON DAY
A little later, I found myself in the lower parlor of
“la Louve,” tete-a-tete with Mme. Edith. I attempted
to reassure her, seeing how restless and nervous she
was ; but she buried her pale face in her hands and
her trembling lips allowed the confession of her fears
to escape them.
“I am frightened" she murmured. I asked her what
frightened her and she looked at me wildly and said,
“And aren’t you afraid, too?” I kept silence, for I was
afraid, myself. She said again. “You know something
of what is going on—here or there or all around us!
Ah, I am all alone! all alone! And I am so frightened.”
She turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I am going to look for someone. I won't stay here
alone.”
“For whom are you going to look?”
“For Prince Galitch.”
“Your “Feodor Feodorowitch " " I cried. “What do
you want with him? Am I not here?”
Her nervousness, unfortunately, seemed to increase
in proportion to my efforts to drive it away and I
began to realize that a fearful doubt as to the per-
sonality of her uncle, Old Bob, had entered her mind.
“Let us go out into the air!” she said, impatiently.
“I can't breathe in this place.” We left “la Louve”


298 THE PERFUME OF
and entered the garden. It was approaching the hour
of noontide and the court was a dream of perfumed
beauty. As we had not donned our smoked spectacles,
we were obliged to put our hands before our eyes in
order to shield them from the glaring rays of the sun
and the too glowing hues of the flowers. The giant
geraniums struck on our eyeballs like bleeding wounds.
When we had grown a little more used to the dazzling
sight, we advanced over the shining sands, Edith cling-
ing to my hand like a little child. Her hand burned
hotter than the sun and seemed like a veritable flame.
We looked down at our feet in order to prevent our
eyes from falling on the blinding expanse of the waters
and also, it may be, in order not to glance toward the
buildings in which so many strange things had taken
place—perhaps, were taking place even now.
“I am afraid P’ murmured Edith once more. And I,
too, was afraid—overwhelmed after the mysteries of
the night by the vast, desolate silence of the noon.
The broad glare of daylight in which one knows that
something strange and terrible is going on is more
awful than the deepest and darkest night. Everything
sleeps and yet everything wakes. Everything is dead
and everything is living. Everything is wrapped in
silence and still there are sounds everywhere. Listen
to your own ear. It sounds as loud as a conch shell
filled with the most mysterious sounds of the sea. Close
your lids and look into your own eyes; you will find
there a throng of crowding visions more mysterious
than the phantoms of the night.
I looked at Mme. Edith. Beads of perspiration stood
out on her forehead and her face was pale as death.
I was trembling and chilled, for, alas! I could do nothing


THE LADY IN BLACK 299
to help her and destiny was weaving its inexorable web
all around us and that nothing which we could say or
do would hinder in the slightest degree its slow, un-
deviating march. Edith led the way toward the postern
gate which opens upon the Court of the Bold. The
vault of this postern formed a black arch in the light
and at the extremity of this tunnel, we perceived, facing
us, Rouletabille and M. Darzac, who were standing at
the edge of the inner court, like two white statues.
Rouletabille was holding in his hand Arthur Rance's
ivory-headed cane. Why this latter fact should have
disturbed me, I do not know, but so it was. Motion-
ing with the cane, he showed Robert Darzac something
on the summit of the vault which we could not see
and then he pointed us out in the same way. We could
not hear what he said. The two talked together for a
few moments with their lips scarcely moving, like two
accomplices in some dark secret. Mme. Edith paused,
but Rouletabille beckoned to her, repeating the signal
with his cane.
“Oh, what does he want with me now * she cried like
a frightened child. “Oh, M. Sainclair, I am so misera-
ble. I am going to tell my uncle everything and we
shall see what will happen them.”
We went on until we reached the vault and the others
watched us without making a movement to meet us.
They stood like two statues, and I said aloud in a voice
which sounded strangely in my own ears:
“What are you two doing here?”
We had come up close to them by this time, upon
the threshold of the Court of the Bold, and they bade
us turn around with our backs toward the court so that
we could see what they were looking at. There was


300 THE PERFUME OF
on top of the arch, an escutcheon, the shield of the
Mortola, barred with the mark of the cadet branch.
This escutcheon had been carved in a stone now loose,
which seemed in imminent danger of falling and crush-
ing the heads of the passers by. Rouletabille had with-
out doubt noticed this danger, and he asked Mme. Edith
if she had any objections to its being pulled down until
it could be replaced more solidly.
“I am sure that it will fall before long and it might
do serious damage,” he said, touching it with the end
of his cane, and then passing the stick to Mme. Edith.
“You are taller than I,” he went on. “See if you
can reach it.”
But both she and I tried in vain to touch the stone;
it was too high for us and I was about to inquire what
was the meaning of this singular exercise when all at
once, behind my back, I heard the cry of a dying man
in his last agony.
* # # # # & #
We turned with one impulse, uttering an exclamation
of horror. Ah, that cry of mortal agony which rang
out on the air of the noonday just as it had through
the night! Would we never be free from murder?
When would that fearful sound which I had heard for
the first time that night at the Glandier, never be done
with announcing to us that a new victim had been
struck down among us? that one of our own number
had fallen beneath some fatal blow, as suddenly as
though by some frightful pestilence? Surely, the mark
of the epidemic itself is less invisible and terrible than
that of the hand which kills.
We all stood there, shivering, our eyes wide with


THE LADY IN BLACK 301
horror, questioning the deeps of the sky still vibrating
from that cry of death. Who was dead? Who was
dying? What expiring breath had emitted that ter-
rible sound? One might have thought that it was
the clearness of the day itself which cried out in suf-
fering.
Rouletabille was the most terrified of us all. I have
seen him, under the most untoward circumstances, main-
tain a composure which seemed greater than any human
creature could hold ; I have seen him, at a like horrible
cry of death, rush into the danger of the darkness and
cast himself like a heroic rescuer into the sea of shad-
ows. Why should he tremble so to-day in the full
splendor of the noon? He remained fixed to the spot,
as weak as a baby, he, who a little while ago, declared
that he would prove himself the master of the hour.
He had not foreseen this moment then? this moment
in which a human life had been snatched away under
the noonday sun'
Mattoni, who was passing through the garden, and
who had also heard the cry, rushed up. At a gesture
from Rouletabille he stood rooted to the spot an im-
movable sentinel; and now the young man had gained
sufficient power to advance toward the cry—or, at
least, toward the center of the cry, for it seemed still
to echo everywhere around us and to circle about in
the all embracing space. And we hurried behind him,
our breath coming fast, our arms stretched out, as one
holds them when one is groping in the dark and fears
to stumble against something which one does not
SCC.
We approached the place from which the shriek had
come and when we had passed the shade of the eucalyp-


302 THE PERFUME OF
tus we found the cause. The cry had come, indeed, from
a soul passing into the unknown. It was Bernier—
Bernier in whose throat sounded the death rattle, who
was trying in vain to rise and who was at the last
gasp of his life. It was Bernier from whose breast
flowed a stream of blood—Bernier over whom we leaned,
and who, with one last, fearful struggle, summoned
strength enough to utter the two words: “Frederic
Larsan P’
Then his head fell back and he was dead. Frederic
Larsan' Frederic Larsan.' He who was everywhere
and nowhere! He always and forever. Here, yet
again, was his mark. A dead body—and no one any-
where near who could have committed the murder, by
any possibility of human reason. For the only means
of egress from the spot on which the crime had occurred
was by this postern where we four had been standing.
And we had turned, with one impulse and one move-
ment, at the very instant that the cry rang out—so
quickly that we had almost seen the stroke of death
given. And when we looked, there had not even been
a shadow before our eyes—nothing but the light!
We rushed, moved by the same sentiment, it seemed
to me, into the Square Tower, the door of which still
stood open; we entered in a body the bedroom of Old
Bob, passing through the empty sitting room. The
injured man was lying quietly on his bed within, and
near him a woman was watching—Mere Bernier. Both
were as calm and still as the day itself. But when the
wife of the dead concierge saw our faces she uttered
a cry of affright, as though smitten by the knowledge
of some calamity. She had heard nothing. She knew
nothing. But she rushed into the air like a streak of


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304 THE PERFUME OF
to have lost all his strength. He spoke to Mme. Edith
in a low tone:
“Let the police come then, Madame, but remember,
it is you who have insisted upon it!”
Mrs. Rance gave him a withering glance from her
black eyes. And I knew what her thoughts were as
well as though she had spoken them out. She felt
that she hated Rouletabille, who had for a single
moment been able to make her suspect Old Bob. While
Bernier had been assassinated, had not Old Bob been
quietly in his chamber, watched over by Mere Bernier
herself?
Rouletabille was examining the iron bars and heavy
lid which closed the shaft, but his manner was distrait
and discouraged. After he had finished what seemed
to be a very careless inspection he stretched himself out
on the ground as if it were a couch in which he was
trying to get some rest. Turning once more to his
hostess, he said in the same low voice:
“And what will you tell the police when they get
hore?”
“Everything!”
Mrs. Rance fairly snapped out the word between her
teeth, her eyes flashing fire. Rouletabille shook his head
sorrowfully and closed his eyes. He seemed utterly
exhausted and vanquished. Robert Darzac touched him
on his shoulder. M. Darzac wanted to search through
the Square Tower, the Tower of the Bold, the New
Castle—all the dependencies of the fort from which no
one could have made his escape, and where, therefore,
the assassin must still be concealed. The reporter shook
his head drearily, and said that it would be of no use.
Rouletabille and I knew only too well that any search


THE LADY IN BLACK 305
would be in vain. Had we not made a search at the
Glandier after the phenomenon of the dissolution of
matter, for the man who had disappeared in the in-
explicable gallery 2 No, no! I had learned that there
was no use in looking for Larsan with one's eyes.
A man had been murdered just behind our backs.
We had heard him cry out when the blow struck him
down. We had turned around and had seen nothing
except the daylight. To see clearly, it was better to
close the eyes as Rouletabille was doing at this moment.
And when he opened them, he was another man! A
new energy animated his features. He stood erect as
though he had thrown off a weight. He clenched his
fist and raised it toward the heavens.
“That is not possible!” he cried. “Or there is no
more good in reasoning.”
And he threw himself on the ground, creeping on his
hands and knees, his nose to the earth, like a hound
following the scent, going round the body of poor
Bernier and around Mere Bernier, who had blankly
refused to leave her husband—around the shaft—
around each of us. He moved about like a pig, nosing
its nourishment out of the mire, and we all stood still,
looking at him curiously and half in alarm. Sud-
denly he started to his feet, almost white with dust
and uttered a shout of triumph as though he had found
Larsan himself in the gravel. What new victory did
the boy feel that he had achieved over the mystery?
What had given this new firmness to his step and
steadiness to his glance? What had given back to him
the strength of his voice? For when he addressed M.
Robert Darzac his tones were full of vigor and resolu-
tion.


306 THE PERFUME OF
“It’s all right, Monsieur ! Nothing is changed!”
And, turning to Mme. Edith—
“There is nothing more to do, Madame, except to
wait for the police. I hope that they will not be long.”
The unhappy woman shuddered. I knew that she
was again struck with mortal fear.
“Yes, let them come!” she cried, taking my arm.
“And let them attend to everything! Let them think
for us! Whatever may happen, let it come as soon as
it will.”
Attracted by the sound of voices we looked around
and saw Pere Jacques approaching, followed by two
gendarmes. It was the brigadier of la Mortola, who,
summoned by Prince Galitch, had hurried to the scene
of the crime.
“The gendarmes! the gendarmes! They say that
murder has been done!” exclaimed Pere Jacques, who
as yet knew nothing of what had happened.
“Be calm, Pere Jacques ſ” exhorted Rouletabille, and
when the old man, panting and breathless, drew near to
the reporter, the latter said to him in low tones:
“Nothing is changed, Pere Jacques."
But Pere Jacques was gazing at Bernier's body.
“Only one more dead man" he sighed. “This is
Larsan’s work again!”
“It is the work of destiny!” answered Rouletabille.
Larsan and destiny—both were as one. But what
did Rouletabille mean by his “Nothing is changed,” if
not that, despite the incidental murder of Bernier,
everything which we dreaded, which made us shudder
and which we had no understanding of, continued just
as before?
The gendarmes were busy examining the body and


THE LADY IN BLACK 307
chattering over it in their uncomprehensible jargon.
The brigadier informed us that they had telephoned to
the Garibaldi Tavern, a few steps away, where at this
moment the delegato, or special commissioner, stationed
at Vintimille, was even now breakfasting. The delegato
would have power to begin the investigation, which
would be continued when the examining magistrate had
been notified.
The delegato arrived. It was easily to be seen that
he was enchanted, even though he had not had the time
to finish his repast. A crime! actually a crime! And
in the Château of Hercules. He was fairly radiant;
his eyes shone. He was full of business, full of im-
portance. He ordered the brigadier to station one of
his men at the gate of the château with directions to
permit no person to pass in or out. Then he knelt
down beside the body while a gendarme, despite her
protestations and tears, led Mere Bernier away to the
Square Tower, where her groans sounded louder than
ever. The delegato examined the wound and said in
very good French:
“That was a magnificent stroke
The man was enchanted. If he had had the assassin
under arrest, he would assuredly have paid him his
compliments. He looked at us. Then he looked at us
again. Perhaps he was seeking among us for the
criminal to tell him of his admiration. At last he rose
from his knees.
“And now how did all this happen?” he asked encour-
agingly, smacking his lips as though in the anticipa-
tion of hearing a story of thrilling interest. “It is
terrible!” he added—“terrible! In the five years that
I have been delegato, we have never had a murder,
|->


308 THE PERFUME OF
Monsieur the examining magistrate—.” Here he
checked himself but we knew well what he had been on
the point of saying: “Monsieur the examining magis.
trate will be very much pleased.” He brushed away
the white dust which covered his knees, wiped the per-
spiration from his forehead and repeated “It is terri-
ble!” his Southern accent seeming to grow stronger.
And at that moment, he noticed in a new arrival who
entered the court, a doctor from Mentone who had
come to continue his treatment of Old Bob.
“Ah, doctor, I am glad that you are here! Just look
at this wound and tell me what you think of such a
knife stroke. But be as careful as possible about chang-
ing the position of the corpse before the arrival of the
examining magistrate.”
The doctor sounded the depth of the wound and gave
us all the technical details which we could desire. There
was no doubt about it at all all. It was a truly mag-
nificent stroke of the knife which had penetrated from
high to low in the cardiac region and the point of the
knife had certainly opened a ventricle. During the
colloquy between the delegato and the doctor, Rouleta-
bille never took his eyes off Mme. Edith, who was still
clinging to my arm as though she knew that I was her
only refuge. Her eyes fell before the eyes of Rouleta-
bille which seemed to hypnotize her and to command
her to be silent. But I knew that she was trembling
with the desire to speak.
s: # * * # # #
At the request of the delegato, we all entered the
Square Tower. We took our places in Old Bob's sit-
ting room, where the inquest was to be held and where


CHAPTER XIX
IN WHICH Rou LETABILLE or DERs THE IRoN Doors To BE
CLOSED
The weapon belonged to Prince Galitch, but there
was no doubt in the mind of any one of us that it had
been stolen by Old Bob, and we could not forget that
with his latest breath Bernier had accused Larsan of
being his assassin. Never had the image of Old Bob
and that of Larsan been so inextricably confounded in
our restless spirits as since Rouletabille had found “the
oldest dagger known to the human race” dripping with
the blood of Bernier. Mme. Edith had at once realized
that henceforth the fate of Old Bob lay in the hands
of Rouletabille. The latter had only to say a few
words to the delegato relative to the singular incidents
which had accompanied the fall of Old Bob into the
cave in the "Grotto of Romeo and Juliet, enumerating
the reasons which had given occasion for fear that Old
Bob and Larsan were one and the same, and, finally,
repeating the accusation made by the last victim of
Larsan, in order to fix the suspicions of the delegato
firmly upon the wigged head of the professor of geology.
And, therefore, Mme. Edith, who in her filial affection
had not ceased to believe that the man who lay on his
bed in the Square Tower was really her uncle, had begun
to imagine, thanks to the bloody weapon, that the in-
visible Larsan had woven so strong a web of circum-


314 THE PERFUME OF
could have been no other than one of the living men and
women who were near the dead man and whom I have
enumerated above, when Rouletabille proved with a
logical accuracy that overwhelmed the examining magis-
trate and plunged the delegato into despair that the
deed could only have been committed by the dead man
himself. The four persons at the postern gate and the
two persons in Old Bob's room had each been looking
at the others and had not lost sight of each other while
someone was killing Bernier a few steps away, so it was
impossible to believe that the killing could have been
done by any other than the victim.
To this the examining magistrate, greatly interested,
replied by inquiring whether any of us had reason to
suspect any motive for suicide on the part of Bernier,
to which Rouletabille answered that the supposition of
suicide might easily be laid aside and that of accident
substituted for it. “The weapon of the crime,” as he
called ironically the “oldest knife known to the human
race,” testified to the truth of this theory by its pres-
ence. Rouletabille declared that there would be no
chance of an assassin meditating the commission of a
murder wih an old piece of stone as an instrument.
And still less could one believe that Bernier, if he had
resolved upon suicide, would not have found another
means toward his end than the one which had been used.
But if, on the contrary, that stone, which might have
attracted his attention by its strange form, had been
picked up by Pere Bernier, and if he had happened to
slip and fall while holding it in his hand, everything
would be explained and very simply. Pere Bernier,
undoubtedly, must have thus unfortunately fallen upon
this triangular flint which had pierced his heart.


THE LADY IN BLACK 315
After Rouletabille had stated this hypothesis, the
physician was recalled, the wound examined once more
and confronted with the fatal object from which the
scientific conclusion was reached that the wound was
made by the object. From this to the theory of acci-
dent, as stated by Rouletabille, there was only a step.
The judges spent six hours in clearing up the matter—
six hours during which they questioned us without
weariness but without result.
As to Mme. Edith and your humble servant, after
some futile and useless questions, asked while the doc-
tors were at the bedside of Old Bob, we were allowed
to leave the room and we went to sit in the little parlor
just outside the bedroom and were there when the magis-
trates were ready to depart. The door of this parlor
which opened upon the corridor of the Square Tower
had not been closed. We could hear the sobs and
groans of Mere Bernier, who was watching beside the
body of her husband which had been carried into the
lodge. Between this body and the wounded man, the
injury to one as inexplicable as the death of the other,
the situation of both Mrs. Rance and myself had become
extremely painful, in spite of Rouletabille's efforts, and
all the terrors which we had experienced before grew
pale and simple before the thought of what might be yet
to come. Edith suddenly seized me by the hand and
cried out:
“Do not leave me! I beg of you, don’t leave me!
I have only you left. I do not know where Prince
Galitch is—I do not know anything about my husband.
That is what makes this so horrible. Arthur sent me
a message, saying that he was going in search of Tullio.
He does not know even yet that Bernier has been mur-


316 THE PERFUME OF
dered. Has he found the ‘hangman of the sea’? It is
from this man—from Tullio now that I expect the
truth! And not a word has come! It is horrible!”
As she took my hand so confidingly and held it for
a moment in her own, I felt that I was for Mme. Edith
with all my heart and soul and I assured her that she
might rely upon my devotion. We murmured a few
words of trust and eternal fidelity to each other in
low voices while there in the corridor we could see, pass-
ing back and forth, the dark forms of the emissaries
of justice, now preceded, now followed by Rouletabille
and M. Darzac. Rouletabille never failed to cast a
glance in our direction every time he had the oppor-
tunity. The window remained open.
“Ah, he is watching us!” exclaimed Mme. Edith.
“Why is that, I wonder? Probably we are in his way
and M. Darzac's when we remain here. But, what-
ever may happen, we shall not stir, shall we, M. Sain-
clair?”
“You ought to be grateful to Rouletabille,” I ven-
tured to remind her; “for his intervention and his
silence relative to the ‘oldest knife known to the human
race.” If the officers had learned that this stone dag-
ger belonged to your uncle, Bob, what could have
hindered them from placing him under arrest? Or if
they knew that Bernier in dying had accused Larsan
of his murder, the story of the accident would have
found very little credence.”
I placed an emphasis upon these last words.
“Oh!” she cried, bitterly. “Your friend has as many
good reasons to keep silence as I have And I dread
only one thing, M. Sainclair—I dread only one thing!”
“And what is that?”


THE LADY IN BLACK 317
She arose, her eyes shining with fever.
“I fear lest he has saved my uncle from the authori-
ties only to ruin him more completely.”
“How can you think such a thing for a moment?”
I asked her, convinced that her fears were robbing her
of her senses.
“I am sure that I could read some such plan in the
eyes of your friend a little while ago. If I were sure
that I were right, I would rather hand my uncle over
to the mercies of the authorities."
I managed to quiet her a little and to make her cast
aside such an impossible supposition, and, at length,
she said:
“At all events, it is necessary to be ready for any-
thing, and I know how to defend him so long as I draw
breath.”
And she showed me a tiny revolver which was hidden
in her gown.
“Ah!” she cried again. “Why is Prince Galitch not
here?”
“Again?” I exclaimed, angrily.
“Is it actual truth that you are ready to defend me?”
she demanded, turning her beautiful eyes full upon my
OW" n.
“I am ready.”
“Against the whole world?”
I hesitated. She repeated the words again:
“Against the whole world?”
“Yes.”
“Against your friend even?”
“If it should be necessary,” I answered with a sigh,
passing my hand across my forehead.
“Very well: I believe you!” she answered. “In that


THE LADY IN BLACK 319
to render. M. Darzac and Rouletabille accompanied
them to the outer gate. And as I stood leaning on
my elbows, at the window which opens upon the Court
of the Bold, assailed by a thousand sinister presenti-
ments and awaiting with an increasing anxiety for the
return of Mme. Edith, while a few steps away in the
lodge, where the candles had been lighted around Ber-
nier's bier, Mere Bernier kept on sobbing and praying
beside the corpse of her husband, I suddenly heard a
sound which fell upon the evening air like the blow of
an immense gong; and I knew that it was Rouletabille
who had ordered the iron gates to be closed.
Not a single minute passed after that when I saw
Mme. Edith rush into the room and hurry to me as
though I were her only refuge.
Then I saw M. Darzac appear—
Then Rouletabille, and leaning on his arm was the
Lady in Black.


CHAPTER XX
IN WHICH ROULETABILLE GIVES A CORPOREAL DEMON-
STRATION of THE PossIBILITY of “THE BoDY Too
MANY.”
Through the window I could see Rouletabille and the
Lady in Black entering the Square Tower. Never had
the young reporter walked with such solemn stateliness.
His demeanor might have made one smile, if instead,
at this tragic moment, it had not added to our appre-
hensions. Never had magistrate or counsellor, wearing
the purple.or the ermine, entered the court room where
the accused waited him with more of threatening yet
tranquil majesty. But I fancy, too, that never had a
judge looked so pale.
As to the Lady in Black, it could easily be seen that
she was making a powerful effort to hide the sentiments
of horror which, in spite of all, pierced through her
troubled glance, and to hide from us the emotion which
made her cling feverishly to the arm of her young com-
panion. Robert Darzac, too, had the sombre and reso-
lute mien of a judge. But that which most of all added
to our surprise and affright was the entrance of Pere
Jacques, Walter and Mattoni into the Square Tower.
All three were armed with muskets, and placed them-
selves in silence before the door, where they stood with
military precision while they received from the lips of
Rouletabille the order to let no person go out from
the Old château. Edith was overwhelmed with terror,


THE LADY IN BLACK 321
and demanded of Mattoni and Walter, both of whom
were greatly attached to her, what their presence sig-
nified and what their weapons threatened; but, to my
great astonishment, they returned no answer. Then the
little woman rushed to the door which gave access to
Old Bob's room, and, extending her two arms across
the threshold, as if to bar the passage, she cried:
“What are you going to do? You do not mean to
kill him 2"
“No, Madame,” replied Rouletabille, gravely. “We
are going to judge him. And in order to be sure that
the judges shall not be executioners we are all going
to swear upon the body of Pere Bernier, after having
laid down our arms, that each of us will keep guard
over himself.”
And he led us into the chamber where Mere Bernier
continued to groan beside the bier of her spouse whom
“the oldest knife known to the human race” had smit-
ten. There we laid aside our revolvers and took the
oath which Rouletabille exacted. Mrs. Rance alone
made some difficulties about giving up the weapon which
Rouletabille was well aware that she had concealed in
her clothing. But upon the urging of the reporter
who made her understand that the general disarming
ought to reassure her, she finally consented.
The oath having been taken, Rouletabille, with the
Lady in Black still on his arm, went from the funereal
chamber into the corridor; but instead of directing
our steps toward the apartment of Old Bob as we
expected him to do, he went straight to the door which
afforded entrance to the chamber of “the body too
many.” And, drawing from his pocket the little special
key of which I have spoken, he opened the door.


THE LADY IN BLACK 393
in imploring these gentlemen to do nothing until
Arthur’s return.”
The Lady in Black had no opportunity to intervene,
for before Mme. Edith finished speaking, we heard a
loud noise outside the door of the corridor. A knock
came at the door and we heard the voice of Arthur
Rance begging us to open immediately. He cried:
“I have brought the pin with the ruby head!”
Rouletabille opened the door.
“Arthur Rance, you are come then at last !” he ex-
claimed.
Edith's husband seemed plunged in the deepest melan-
choly.
“What have you to tell me? What has happened?
Some new misfortune? Ah, I feared so—feared that
I had arrived too late when I saw the iron gate closed
and heard the prayers for the dead chanted in the tower.
Yes—I knew that you had carecuted Old Bob "
Rouletabille, who had closed and bolted the door
behind Arthur Rance trumed to the American and said:
“Old Bob is alive and Pere Bernier is dead. Be
seated, Monsieur.”
Arthur Rance stared at the speaker in amazement;
then looked in consternation at the drawing board, the
dish of paint and the bloody skull and demanded:
“Who killed him º'
Then, condescending to notice that his wife was there,
he pressed her hand, but his eyes were fixed upon the
Lady in Black.
“Before his death, Bernier accused Frederic Larsan,”
answered M. Darzac.
“Do you mean to say by that that he accused Old
Bob?” interrupted M. Rance indignantly, “I will not


324 THE PERFUME OF
suffer that. I, too, had some doubts in regard to the
personality of our beloved uncle, but I tell you that I
have the ruby-headed pin P’
What was he talking about with his “little ruby-
headed pin”? I remembered that Mme. Edith had told
us that Old Bob had snatched one from her hand when
she had playfully pricked him with it on the night of
the drama of the Square Tower. But what relation
could there be between this pin and the adventure of
Old Bob Arthur Rance did not wait for us to ask
him, but hurried on to tell us that this little pin had
disappeared at the same time as Old Bob and that he
had found it in the possession of “the Hangman of the
Sea,” fastening a sheaf of bank notes which the old
uncle had paid him on that fated night for his com-
plicity and his silence in having brought him in the
fisher boat to the grotto of Romeo and Juliet. And
M. Rance told us moreover that Tullio had withdrawn
from the spot at dawn, greatly disquieted at the non-
appearance of his passenger. Rance concluded, tri-
umphantly:
“A man who gives a ruby pin to another man in a
boat cannot be at the same moment tied up in a potato
sack in the Square Tower.”
Upon which Mrs. Rance inquired:
“What gave you the idea of going to San Remo:
Did you know that Tullio was to be found there?”
“I received an anonymous letter informing me of
his whereabouts.”
“It was I who sent it to you,” said Rouletabille,
tranquilly. And, then, turning to the rest of us, he
said in frigid tones:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I congratulate myself upon


THE LADY IN BLACK 399
smothered in my throat. “You do not—you cannot
suspect p.
At this moment, a pistol shot sounded outside, very
near to the Square Tower. We all leaped to our feet,
remembering the order given by the reporter to the
three servants to fire upon anyone who should attempt
to go out of the Square Tower. Edith uttered a cry
and tried to run out of the room, but Rouletabille, who
had not made so much as a gesture, calmed her with
a word.
“If anyone had drawn upon him,” he said, “the three
men would have fired together. That pistol shot was
merely a signal—a direction for me to begin.”
Turning to me, he continued:
“M. Sainclair, you ought to know that I never sus-
pect any person or anything without previously having
satisfied myself upon the “ground of pure reason.” That
is a solid staff which has never yet failed me on the
road and on which I invite you all to lean with me.
Larsan is here among us, and the power of pure reason
is going to show him to you; so be seated again, if
you please, and do not take your eyes from me, for I
am going to begin on this paper the corporeal demon-
• 1-2
stration of the possibility of ‘the body too many’ſ
+ *: + * # * #
First of all, he investigated to make sure that the
bolts of the door behind him were closely drawn; then,
returning to the table, he took up a compass.
“I have the intention of making my demonstration,”
he said, “along the same lines on which the “body too
many has produced itself. It will be, thereby, only the
more irrefutable.”


TIIE LADY IN BLACK 331
When he had finished he looked at his immense silver
watch and said:
“You may see, ladies and gentlemen, that the coat-
ing of paint which covers my circle is neither more nor
less thick than that which covers the circle of M. Darzac.
It is almost the same thing—the same tint.”
“Undoubtedly,” rejoined M. Darzac. “But what
does all this signify 2"
“Wait !” replied the reporter. “It is understood,
then, that it is you who have made this plan and this
painting?”
“I was certainly in enough of an ill humor when I
found the state it was in that time I went with you
into Old Bob's cabinet when we came out of the Square
Tower. Old Bob had ruined my drawing by letting
his skull roll over it.”
“We are there!” spoke up Rouletabille, quick as a
flash. And he lifted from the bureau the “oldest skull
of the human race.” He turned it over and showed the
crimsoned jaws to M. Darzac. Then he inquired:
“Is it your opinion that the red which we sce upon
that under jaw is no different from the red which would
be taken off by any object coming in contact with your
plan?”
“I don’t see how there could be any doubt of it! The
skull was upside down on my drawing when we entered
the workshop.”
“Let us continue then to remain of the same opinion!”
said the reporter.
Then he arose, holding the skull in the crook of his
arm, and went into the alcove in the wall, lighted by a
large window and crossed by bars, which had been a
loophole for cannon in the ancient times, and which M.


332 THE PERFUME OF
Darzac had used as a dressing room. There he struck
a match and lighted a lamp filled with spirits of wine
which stood upon a little table. Upon this lamp he
set a little pot which he had previously filled with water.
The skull still lay in the crook of his arm.
* # * # # + +
During this weird cookery, we never took our eyes
off him. Never had Rouletabille’s behavior appeared to
us so incomprehensible nor so mysterious nor so dis-
turbing. The more he explained matters to us and
the more he did, the less we understood. And we were
afraid because we felt that someone—someone among
ws—one of ourselves—had reason for fear. Who was
this one? Perhaps the most calm of us all!
But the calmest of all was Rouletabille between his
skull and his casserole.
But what? Why did we all suddenly recoil with a
single movement? Why were the eyes of M. Darzac
wide with a new terror—why did the Lady in Black—
Arthur Rance—I, myself—utter the same syllable—a
name which expired on our lips: “Larsan!”?
Where had we seen him? Where had we discovered
him this time, we who were gazing at Rouletabille? Ah,
that profile, in the red shadow of the approaching
twilight, that brow in the background of the alcove
upon which the sunset rays stream as did the dawn on
the morning of the crime! Oh, that stern jaw, be-
speaking an iron will, which appeared before us, not,
as in the light of day, gentle though a little bitter, but
evil and threatening. How like Rouletabille was to
Larsan How in that moment the son resembled his
father! It was Larsan’s very self!


THE LADY IN BLACK 333
Another transformation. At a moan from his mother
Rouletabille came out of his funereal frame and ap-
peared before us as a bandit, and as he hurried toward
us, he was Rouletabille once more. Mme. Edith, who
had never seen Larsan, could not understand. She
whispered to me, “What is going on?”
Rouletabille was there before us with his hot water
in the casserole, a napkin and his skull. And he washed
the skull.
It was soon done. The paint disappeared. He made
us bear witness to the fact. Then, placing himself in
front of the bureau, he stood in mute contemplation
before his own drawing. This lasted for ten minutes,
during which he had, by a sign, ordered us to keep
silence—ten minutes which seemed as long as the same
number of hours. What was he waiting for? What
did he expect? Suddenly, he seized the skull in his
right hand, and with the gesture familiar to those who
play at bowling, he tossed it about so that it rolled
hither and yon over the drawing; then he showed us
the skull and bade us notice that it bore no trace of
red paint. Rouletabille drew out his watch again.
“The paint has dried upon the plan,” he said. “It
has taken a quarter of an hour to dry. Upon the 11th
of April we saw at five o'clock in the afternoon, M.
Darzac entering the Square Tower and coming from
out of doors. But M. Darzac, after having entered the
Square Tower, and after having fastened behind him
the bolts of his door, as he tells us, has not gone out
again until we came to fetch him after six o'clock. As
to Old Bob, we had seen him enter the Square Tower
at six o'clock and there was no paint on this skull
then :


336 THE PERFUME OF
“Congratulate yourself, M. Darzac” congratulate
yourself!”
“When I remember that as soon as I entered my
room, I drew the bolts as 'I have told you that I did,
that I began to work and that this wretch was hidden
behind my back. Why, he might have killed me with-
out hindrance!”
Rouletabille stepped close to M. Darzac and fixed
his eyes upon him with a look that seemed to read his
soul.
“Why did he not kill you then?” he asked.
“You know very well that he was waiting for some-
one else,” replied M. Darzac, turning his face sorrow-
fully toward the Lady in Black.
Rouletabille was now so close to M. Darzac that their
shadows on the floor looked like that of one strangely
formed being. The lad put his two hands on the older
man's shoulders.
“M. Darzac,” he said, his voice again clear and
strong, “I have a confession to make to you. When I
began to understand how the “body too many” had
effected an entrance and when I had discovered that
you did nothing to undeceive us in regard to the hour
of five o'clock at which we had believed—at which every-
one, rather, except myself, believed—that you had
entered the Square Tower, I felt that I had the right
to suspect that the murderer was not the man who at
five o’clock entered the Square Tower under the form
of Darzac. I thought, on the contrary, that that
Darzac might be the true Darzac and you might be the
false one. Ah, my dear M. Darzac, how I have sus-
pected you!”
“That was madness!” cried M. Darzac. “If I did


THE LADY IN BLACK 337
not tell you the exact hour at which I entered the Square
Tower it was because the time was somewhat vague in
my own mind and I did not attach any importance
to it.”
“In such a manner, M. Darzac,” continued Rouleta-
bille, without paying any attention to the interruptions
of his interlocutor, the emotion of the Lady in Black
and our attitude, more than over filled with terror.
“In such a manner as that you could have stolen away
the true Darzac when he came from outside and, by
your own carefulness and the too faithful help of the
Lady in Black, could have taken his place and have been
perfectly able to defy detection of your audacious enter-
prise. This was my imagination—only my imagina-
tion, M. Darzac : don’t let it disturb you. But in such
a manner as this, I had thought that, you being Larsan,
the man who was put in the sack was Darzac. Ah!
the fancies that I have had ' and the useless suspicions !”
“Bah!” responded Mathilde's husband, gloomily.
“We are all suspicious here!”
Rouletabille turned his back upon M. Darzac, put his
hands in his pocket and said, addressing himself to
Mathilde, who seemed ready to swoon before the horror
of Rouletabille’s imaginings:
“Courage for a little while longer, Madame!”
And he began speaking again, in his “teacher’s”
voice which I knew so well, and with the air of a pro-
fessor of mathematics propounding or resolving a
theorem:
“You see, M. Darzac, there are two manifestations
of Robert Darzac. To know which was the true one
and which was the one which formed a disguise for
Larsan—my duty, M. Darzac-that which the power


340 THE PERFUME OF
against the words with a frightened, despairing ges-
ture.
As for M. Darsac, his face was a picture of hopeless
anguish. He sank upon a couch and said in a voice
so low that it was scarcely audible and so full of
wretchedness that it pierced our hearts:
“And could you have thought that, Mathilde?”
His wife dropped her eyes and spoke not a word.
Rouletabille, still merciless, continued:
“When I recall all the acts of Mme. Darzac after
your return from San Remo, I can see now in each one
of them an expression of the terror which she experi-
enced from her fear that she should allow the secret of
her suspicion and her constant agony to escape her.
Ah, let me speak, M. Darzac' Everything must be
said—everything must be explained here and now if
there is to be peace in the future! We are about to
clear up the situation. To go on then, there was
nothing natural or happy in Mlle. Stangerson's be-
havior. The very eagerness with which she assented
to your desire to hasten the marriage ceremony proved
the longing which she felt to definitely banish the tor-
ment of her soul. Her eyes—I remember it now!—used
to say at that time—how often and how clearly “Is
it possible that I continue to see Larsan everywhere,
even in the face of the man who is at my side, who is
going to lead me to the altar and to take me away
with him **
“From the moment of your return from the South
until the apparition at the railroad station, monsieur,
she lived in the most utter misery. She was already
crying for help-for help against herself—against her
thoughts—and, perhaps, even against you! But she


THE LADY IN BLACK 341
dared not reveal her thought to any person because
she dreaded that any confidant might say to her 35
And Rouletabille leaned over and said in M. Darzac's
ear, not so low that I could not hear, but so softly
that the words did not reach Mathilde: “Are you going
mad again?”
Then, lifting his head again, he continued:
“You ought to understand everything better now, my
dear M. Darzac—both the strange coldness with which
you were treated occasionally and also the fits of re-
morseful tenderness which, in the doubt which filled her
brain, would impel Mme. Darzac to surround you with
every evidence of attention and affection. And, fur-
thermore, allow me to tell you that I myself have some-
times found you so gloomy and distrait that I have
fancied that you must have discovered that whenever
Mme. Darzac looked at you, she could not, in spite of
herself, chase from her mind the image of Larsan. It
came upon her when she spoke to you and when she
was silent—when you were beside her and when you
were at a distance. And, conscquently—let us under-
stand each other completely—it was not the belief that
Professor Stangerson’s daughter would have known it’
which removed my suspicions, since, in spite of herself,
she entertained the fear all the while that you and
Larsan were one. No! no my suspicions were removed
by another cause !”
“They might have been removed,” exclaimed M. Dar-
zac, at once ironically and despairingly—“they might
have been removed, it would seem, by the simple course
of reasoning that if I had been Larsan, wedded to
Mlle. Stangerson, having her for my wife, I would have
had every cause for making her believe in Larsan’s


THE LAI)Y IN BLACK 343
side of yourself, in order to prove to your wife that the
Larsan whom she has seen returned to life is not you!
Ah, calm yourself, my dear M. Darzac, I entreat you.
Have I not told you that my suspicion has been ban-
ished—completely banished? But it is as well that we
should divert ourselves for a few moments in reasoning
the matter out a little, after these long hours of anguish
when it seemed as though there would never be any place
for reasoning again. See, then, where I am obliged to
come in considering this hypothesis as realized (these
are the procedures of mathematics which you know bet-
ter than I–you who are a scholar !)—in considering,
as I said, as realized the hypothesis that you are the
counterfeit Darzac, the one which hides Larsan. Ac-
cording to my reasoning, then, you are Larsan.' And I
asked myself what could have happened in the railway
station at Bourg to make you appear in the form of
Larsan before the eyes of your wife. The fact of such
an appearance is undeniable. It exists. And its occur-
rence at that moment cannot be explained by any desire
on your part to have Larsan seen "
He paused for a moment, but Robert Darzac did not
utter a word.
“As you were saying, M. Darzac,” Rouletabille went
on, “it was because of this apparition of Larsan that
your cup of happiness was dashed empty to the ground.
Therefore, if this resurrection should not have been vol-
untary there is only one other way in which it could
have happened—through accident. And now just let
us consider how this latter supposition clears up the
entire situation. Oh, I have spent a lot of thought upon
the incident at Bourg —you see, I am still reasoning
out the problem! You (the you who is Larsan, be it


344 THE PERFUME OF
understood) are at Bourg in the buffet. You believe
that your wife is waiting for you somewhere in the sta-
tion as she told you she would do. After having fin-
ished your letters, you wish to go to your compartment
in the car in order to attend to some detail of your
toilet—or, shall we say to cast a critical eye over your
disguise to see if in any point it might be lacking?
You think to yourself: ‘A few more hours of this
comedy and we shall have passed the frontier, she will
be all my own—entirely alone with me, and I will throw
aside this mask’—for the mask wearies you a little, we
may imagine—so much so, indeed, that, once arrived
in your compartment, you grant yourself the grace of
a few moments of repose. You cast away your assumed
character and your disguise. You relieve yourself of
the false beard and the spectacles—and at that very
moment the door of the section opens. Your wife,
thrown into a spasm of terror at the sight of Larsan’s
smooth, beardless face in the glass, does not wait to
make any further investigation and rushes out into the
night, her screams drowned by the noise of another
train. You comprehend the danger at once. You
realize that everything is lost unless you can immedi-
ately arrange matters so that your wife shall see Darzac
somewhere else. You quickly resume the mask; you
hurry out of the compartment and reach the buffet by
a shorter route than that taken by your wife, who rushes
there to look for you. She finds you standing up. You
have not even had time enough to seat yourself before
she enters. Is everything safe now? Alas, no! Your
troubles are only beginning. For the fearful thought
that you may be at one and the same time both Darzac
and Larsan will not leave her mind. Upon the platform


THE LADY IN BLACK 345
of the station, while passing beneath the gas jet, she
casts a frightened glance at you, lets go your hand
and runs wildly into the office of the station master.
You read her thought as though she had spoken it. The
abominable idea must be banished without a moment’s
delay. You quit the office, leaving the lady in the care
of the superintendent, and immediately return, closing
the door quickly, seeking to give the impression that
you, too, have seen Larsan. In order to ease her mind,
and, also, for the purpose of deceiving us all, in case
she dared reveal her suspicions to any one, you are
the first to warn me that something unforeseen has
happened—to send me a dispatch. Sce how clear and
plain as the day your every act becomes | You cannot
refuse to take her to rejoin her father. She would go
without you. And, since nothing is yet really lost, you
have the hope that everything may be regained. In the
course of the journey, your wife continues to have
alternating periods of faith in you and of fear of you.
She gives you her revolver, in a sort of half delirium,
which might sum itself up in some such phrase as this:
“If he is Darzac, let him protect me; if he is Larsan, let
him kill me! But in pity, let me know which he is.” At
Rochers Rouges, you realized once more how utterly
she had withdrawn herself from you and in order to
reassure her as to your identity, you showed her Larsan
again. * * * See how in accordance with reason
such a proceeding would be, my dear M. Darzac' Every
fact would fit perfectly into every other under the sup-
position which I am placing before you. There is not a
single point up to your appearance as Larsan at Men-
tone, during your journey as Darzac to Cannes, at the
time when you came to meet us, which cannot be ex-


THE LADY IN BLACK 347
young man's lips. And it seemed to me that his eyes
held the same expression of astonishment, amazed and
frightened, and yet full of breathless interest, which
I had scen in the eyes of accused men at the bar of the
Assizes when they had heard the Procurer General de-
liver one of his wonderful disquisitions which almost
convinced the prisoners themselves that they were guilty
of a crime which sometimes they had never committed.
“But since you no longer have these suspicions, mon-
sieur !” he exclaimed, his intonation singularly calm, in
spite of the fact that his voice was raised, “I should
be glad to know, after all this exercise of your talent
of reasoning, what could have driven them away?”
“In order to have them driven away, monsieur, one
thing was essential—an absolute certitude! And I
found it—a simple but conclusive proof which showed
me in a manner complete and undeniable which of the
two manifestations of Darzac was in reality Larsan.
That proof, monsieur, was, happily, furnished me by
yourself at the very moment when you closed the cir-
cle—the circle in which there had been found the “body
too many.’ —the time when, after having sworn that
which was the truth—that you had drawn the bolt of
your apartment as soon as you had entered your sleep-
ing room, you had lied to us in concealing from us that
you had entered that room at sir o'clock instead of at
five o'clock as Pere Bernier said and as we ourselves
could have proved. You were then the only person ear-
cept myself who knew that the Darzac who had entered
at five o'clock and of whom we had spoken to you as
yourself was in reality another man. But you said
nothing. And you need not pretend that you did not
attach any importance to that hour of five o'clock, since


350 THE PERFUME OF
he might discover perchance some means of escape.
And he had effected his manoeuvres so well that at the
moment when we beheld the other Darzac advancing
toward us, we could not hinder the imposter from dis-
appearing at one bound within the room which had
served as the bedchamber of Mme. Darzac and closing
the door violently behind him with a rapidity which
was nothing less than marvellous. We only knew that
he had vanished when it was too late to stop his flight.
Rouletabille, during the scene which had passed had
thought only of guarding the door opening into the
corridor and he had not noticed that every movement
of the false Darzac, as soon as he realized that he was
being convicted of his imposture, had been in the direc-
tion of Mme. Darzac's room. The reporter had
attached no importance to these movements, knowing as
he did that this room did not offer any way by which
Larsan might escape. But, however, when the scoun-
drel was behind the door which afforded his last refuge,
our confusion increased beyond all proportions. One
might have thought that we had become suddenly bereft
of our senses. We knocked on the door. We cried
out. We thought of all his strokes of genius—of his
marvellous escapes in the past !
“He will escape us! He will get away from us
again!”
Arthur Rance was the most enraged of us all. Mme.
Faith, who was clinging to my arm, drove her finger
nails into my hand in a paroxysm of nervous fear. None
of us paid any heed to the Lady in Black and Robert
Darzac who, in the midst of this tempest, seemed to
have forgotten everything, even the clamor and con-
fusion around them. Neither one had spoken a word


THE LADY IN BLACK 349
And it was a cry of joy! Two Darzacs before us so
exactly similar that every one of us save the Lady in
Black might have been deceived. But her heart told
her the truth, even admitting that her reason, notwith-
standing the triumphant conclusion of Rouletabille,
might have hesitated. Her arms outstretched, her eyes
alight with love and joy, she rushed toward the second
manifestation of Darzac—the one which had descended
from the panel. Mathilde’s face was radiant with new
life; her sorrowful eyes which I had so often beheld
fixed with sombre gloom upon that other, were shining
upon this one with a joy as glorious as it was tranquil
and assured. It was he'. It was he whom she had
believed lost—whom she had sought in vain in the visage
of the other and had not found there and, therefore,
had accused herself, during the weary hours of day and
night, of folly which was akin to madness.
As to the man who, up to the last moment I had
not believed to be guilty—as to that wretch who, un-
veiled and tracked to earth, found himself suddenly
face to face with the living proof of his crimes, he
attempted yet again, one of the daring coups which
had so often saved him. Surrounded on every side, he
yet endeavored to flee. Then we understood the auda-
cious drama which in the last few moments, he had
played for our benefit. When he could no longer have
any doubt as to the issue of the discussion which he
was holding with Rouletabille, he had had the incredible
self control to permit nothing of his emotions to appear,
and had also been able to prolong the situation, per-
mitting Rouletabille to pursue at leisure the thread
of the argument at the end of which he knew that he
would find his doom, but during the progress of which


350 THE PERFUME OF
he might discover perchance some means of escape.
And he had effected his manoeuvres so well that at the
moment when we beheld the other Darzac advancing
toward us, we could not hinder the imposter from dis-
appearing at one bound within the room which had
served as the bedchamber of Mme. Darzac and closing
the door violently behind him with a rapidity which
was nothing less than marvellous. We only knew that
he had vanished when it was too late to stop his flight.
Rouletabille, during the scene which had passed had
thought only of guarding the door opening into the
corridor and he had not noticed that every movement
of the false Darzac, as soon as he realized that he was
being convicted of his imposture, had been in the direc-
tion of Mme. Darzac's room. The reporter had
attached no importance to these movements, knowing as
he did that this room did not offer any way by which
Larsan might escape. But, however, when the scoun-
drel was behind the door which afforded his last refuge,
our confusion increased beyond all proportions. One
might have thought that we had become suddenly bereft
of our senses. We knocked on the door. We cried
out. We thought of all his strokes of genius—of his
marvellous escapes in the past!
“He will escape us! He will get away from us
again!”
Arthur Rance was the most enraged of us all. Mme.
Faith, who was clinging to my arm, drove her finger
nails into my hand in a paroxysm of nervous fear. None
of us paid any heed to the Lady in Black and Robert
Darzac who, in the midst of this tempest, seemed to
have forgotten everything, even the clamor and con-
fusion around them. Neither one had spoken a word


THE LADY IN BLACK 351
but they were looking into each other's eyes as though
they had discovered another world—the world which
is love. But they had not discovered it; they had
merely found it again, thanks to Rouletabille.
The latter had opened the door of the corridor and
summoned the three domestics to our assistance. They
entered with their rifles. But it was axes that were
necded. The door was solid and barricaded with heavy
bolts. Pere Jacques went out and fetched a beam which
served us as a battering ram. Each of us exerted all
his strength and, finally, we saw the door beginning to
give way. Our anxiety was at its height. In vain, we
told ourselves that we were about to enter a room in
which there were only walls and barred windows. We
expected anything—or, rather, we expected nothing,
for in the mind of each and every one of us was the
recollection of the disappearances, the flights, the actual
“dissolution of matter” which Larsan had brought
about in times past and which at this moment haunted
us and drove us nearly mad.
When the door had commenced to yield, Rouletabille
directed the servants to take up their guns, with the
order, however, that the weapons were to be used only
in case it should be impossible to capture Larsan living.
Then the young reporter set his shoulder to the door
with one last powerful effort and as the boards,
wrenched from their hinges, fell to the ground, he was
the first to enter the room.
We followed him. And behind him, upon the thresh-
old, we all halted, stupefied by the sight which met our
eyes. Larsan was there—plainly to be seen by every-
one. And this time there was no difficulty in recogniz-
ing him. He had removed his false beard; he had put


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356 THE PERFUME OF
Into that narrow red band an object entered—some-
thing dark and very small, but to my eyes, which were
fixed upon it in breathless suspense, it seemed the great-
est and most formidable sight that I had ever beheld.
It was the shadow of a fishing smack which glided over
the waters as automatically as though it were propelled
by machinery and as its movements became slower, and I
saw it emerging from the gloom, I recognized the form
of Rouletabille. The oars ceased to move and I saw my
friend rise to his feet. I could recognize him and see
everything which he did as clearly as if he had not
been ten yards away from me. His gestures were out-
lined against the red background of the sunset with a
fantastic precision.
What he had to do did not take long. He leaned
over and got up again, lifting in his arms something
which seemed to mix with his form and become a part
of himself in the darkness. And then the burden glided
down into the water and the man's figure reappeared
alone, still bending, still leaning over the edge of the
boat, remaining thus for an instant motionless, and then
once more picking up the oars of the bark which
resumed its automatic motion until it had disappeared
completely from the dying glare of the ever narrowing
band of red. And then the band of red, too, vanished.
Rouletabille had consigned the body of Larsan to the
waves of Hercules.


EPILOGUE
Nice–Cannes–Saint-Raphael—Toulon. I saw with-
out regret all the stages of my return trip passing
before my eyes. Upon the very day which had followed
all the horrible things I have related, I hastened to
quit the Midi, anxious to find myself once more in Paris
and to plunge into my business affairs—and anxious
also to find myself alone with Rouletabille, who was
now only a few feet away from me, locked up in a pri-
vate compartment with the Lady in Black. Up to the
very last moment—that is to say, as far as Marseilles,
where they were obliged to separate, I was unwilling to
interrupt their tender and sorrowful confidences, their
plans for the future, their fond farewells. Despite all
the prayers of Mathilde Rouletabille was determined
to leave her, to return to Paris and to his paper. The
son had the superb heroism of effacing himself for the
sake of the husband. The Lady in Black had not been
able to resist Rouletabille and the boy had dictated
exactly what should be done. He had directed that
M. and Mme. Darzac must continue their honeymoon
trip as if nothing remarkable had happened at Rochers
Rouges. It was one Darzac who had begun the jour-
ney; it was another Darzac who was to finish it—this
trip which had become such a happy one—but in the
eyes of all the world Darzac would be the same man
without any suspicion that things had ever been other-
wise.
M. and Mme. Darzac were married. The civil law
united them. As to the religious law, as Rouletabille


THE LAI)Y IN BLACK 350
And as the train bore us away we saw her standing
on the platform in the station, without a movement or
gesture, her arms hanging at her side, looking in her
sombre draperies like a statue of mourning and of
sorrow.
I saw in front of me Rouletabille's shoulders shaken
with sobs.
+ * # * ** + +
Lyons. We could not sleep. We alighted from the
train and walked about the station. Both of us recalled
the moment when we had been there before—only a
few days past—when we were rushing to the rescue of
the most unhappy of women. My thoughts plunged
once more into the memories of the tragedy and I knew
that Rouletabille's were following the same track. And
now Rouletabille spoke—spoke in a voice which he tried
to make sound careless and light hearted and which
made me understand that he was endeavoring to efface
from his mind the thought of the grief which had made
him sob like a little child only a short while ago.
“Old man ſ” he said, with a smile, throwing his arm
across my shoulder. “That Brignolles was really a
beast !” and he looked at me with such an air of
reproach that he almost succeeded in making me be-
lieve for a moment that I had ever taken the creature
for an honest man.
And then he told me everything—all the marvellous,
horrible story which I am compressing here into a few
lines. Larsan had had need of some relative of Darzac
in order that he might obtain the necessary signature
for the incarceration of the Sorbonne professor in a
madhouse. And he discovered Brignolles. He could


360 THE PERFUME OF
not have fallen upon a better man for his purpose.
Everyone knows how simple it is, even to-day, to have
a human being, no matter who he may be, locked up
in a cell. The desire of a relative and the signature
of a medical man is sufficient in France, impossible as
the thing appears, for the accomplishment of this task
which may be performed with the utmost celerity. The
matter of a signature never embarrassed Larsan in his
life. He forged one—that of an eminent alienist—and
Brignolles, richly reimbursed, charged himself with the
rest. When Brignolles came to Paris, he was already
a party to the combination. Larsan had formed his
plan—to take Darzac's place before the wedding. The
accident to the young professor's eyes had been, as I
had believed from the first, the result of design. Brig-
nolles had been directed to manage in some manner so
that Darzac's eyes might be sufficiently injured that
Larsan, when he took his place, might have in his trick-
ery the important adjunct of dark spectacles, or, fail-
ing spectacles, which one cannot wear always, the right
to sit in the shadow without arousing suspicion.
The departure of Darzac for the Midi must have
strangely facilitated the plans of the two villains. It
was not until the end of his sojourn at San Remo that
Darzac had been, by the efforts of Larsan who had
never ceased to spy upon him, actually dragged to the
lunatic asylum. He had been assisted materially in this
affair by that “special police force” which has nothing
to do with police officials and which puts itself at the
disposal of families in certain disagreeable cases which
demand as much dscretion as rapidity in their execu-
tion.
One day M. Darzac was taking a walk in the moun-


THE LAI)Y IN BLACK 301
tains. The asylum was not far away--in fact, only a
few steps from the Italian frontier—and every prep-
a ration for the reception of “the unfortunate man” had
been made some time b for hand. Brignolles, before
leaving for Paris at all, had made arrangements with
the proprietor and had presented to him his proofs of
relationship, and his representative—Lars an himself.
There are certain directors of such institutions who do
not ask for explanations, provided that the provisions
of the law are complied with —and that one pays well.
And both these conditions were easily carried out. And
such things are done every day !
“But how did you find out all these things?” I
d, manded of Roulet abille.
“You remember, my friend,” the reporter replied,
“that little piece of paper which you brought back to
the Château of Hercules on the day when, without giv-
ing me any warning, you took it upon yours. If to fol-
low the trail of the excellent Brignolles, who had come
to make a short stay in the Midi º That bit of paper,
which bore the heading of the Sorbonne and the two
syllables, bonnet, gave me the most important assist-
ance. First of all, the circumstances under which you
found it--you recollect that you pick d it up after
you had seen Lars an and Brignolle-2 - rendered it
precious to me. And thin the place where it had been
thrown was nearly a revel 'ion for me when I began
to take up the search for the real I) arrac, after I had
gained the conviction that his was ‘th body too many"
which had be n tied up in the sack and carried out
in it.”
And Rouletabille went on in the simplest manner
possible, taking me in his narrative over the different


362 THE PERFUME OF
phases necessary for my comprehension of the mysteries
which, up to that time, had remained so inexplicable to
every one of us. The first step in his reasoning had
come from the conclusions which he had drawn from
the fact that the paint on the drawing would dry less
than fifteen minutes after it had been laid on, and
following that, the other formidable fact that a lie
must have been told by one of the two manifestations
of Darzac. Bernier, under the cross examination to
which Rouletabille subjected him before the return of
the man who had carried the sack, had reported the
lying words of the man whom everyone had believed to
be Darzac. That was what had astonished Bernier–
that the man who had come in at six o'clock had not
told him that the man who had entered at six o'clock
was not he/ He was trying to conceal the fact that
there existed a second manifestation of Darzac and
he would have had no interest in concealing it, if his
own personality had been the true one. That was
clear as the light of day ! When the horror of the
thing dawned upon Rouletabille, he nearly swooned.
His limbs refused to support him: his teeth chattered;
everything grew black in front of his eyes. But he was
not entirely without hope, even yet. Bernier might
have been mistaken. Perhaps he had not correctly
understood the words which M. Darzac had spoken in
his amazement and confusion' Rouletabille decided
that he himself would question M. Darzac. Then he
would soon see. How he longed for his return' It
would be for M. Darzac himself to “close the circle.”
He waited impatiently—and when Darzac returned how
the young reporter's feeble hopes were crushed' “Did
you look at the man's face?” he had asked: and when


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(I.1)()' II.I.' I


358 THE PERFUME OF
said, the affair might easily be laid before the Pope
while the couple were in Rome and there would, with-
out doubt, be found means of regularizing the situa-
tion, if there was found to be need of it or if the con-
scientious scruples of the couple desired it. And Rob-
ert Darzac and his wife were happy—completely happy.
They belonged to each other.
At Rochers Rouges—at the “Louve” itself, we had
said adieu to Professor Stangerson. Robert Darzac had
departed immediately for Bordighera, where Mathilde
was to join him. Arthur Rance and Mme. Edith accom-
panied us to the railroad station. My charming host-
ess, contrary to my hope, evinced no great amount of
concern at my departure. I attributed this indiffer-
ence to the fact that Prince Galitch had come to the
quay to see us off. Mme. Edith was giving him the
latest bulletin from Old Bob's bedside (which was excel-
lent, by the way), and paid no further attention to
me. I felt a real pang of-was it grief or wounded
self love? And here and now, I have a confession to
make to the reader. Never would I have allowed my-
self to betray the sentiments which I had entertained
toward her, if, several years later, after the death of
Arthur Rance, which was surrounded and followed by
a most terrible tragedy of which I may relate the his-
tory one day, I had not married the dark eyed, melan-
choly, romantic Edith !
* # * + * º *
We were approaching Marseilles.
Marseilles'
The farewells were heart rending, although neither
Rouletabille nor the Lady in Black uttered a word.


THE LADY IN BLACK 361
tains. The asylum was not far away—in fact, only a
few steps from the Italian frontier—and every prep-
aration for the reception of “the unfortunate man” had
been made some time beforehand. Brignolles, before
leaving for Paris at all, had made arrangements with
the proprietor and had presented to him his proofs of
relationship, and his representative—Larsan himself.
There are certain directors of such institutions who do
not ask for explanations, provided that the provisions
of the law are complied with—and that one pays well.
And both these conditions were easily carried out. And
such things are done every day!
“But how did you find out all these things?” I
demanded of Rouletabille.
“You remember, my friend,” the reporter replied,
“that little piece of paper which you brought back to
the Château of Hercules on the day when, without giv-
ing me any warning, you took it upon yourself to fol-
low the trail of the excellent Brignolles, who had come
to make a short stay in the Midi. That bit of paper,
which bore the heading of the Sorbonne and the two
syllables, bonnet, gave me the most important assist-
ance. First of all, the circumstances under which you
found it—you recollect that you picked it up after
you had seen Larsan and Brignolles?—rendered it
precious to me. And then the place where it had been
thrown was nearly a revelation for me when I began
to take up the search for the real Darzac, after I had
gained the conviction that his was “the body too many”
which had been tied up in the sack and carried out
in it.”
And Rouletabille went on in the simplest manner
possible, taking me in his narrative over the different


362 THE PERFUME OF
phases necessary for my comprehension of the mysteries
which, up to that time, had remained so inexplicable to
every one of us. The first step in his reasoning had
come from the conclusions which he had drawn from
the fact that the paint on the drawing would dry less
than fifteen minutes after it had been laid on, and
following that, the other formidable fact that a lie
must have been told by one of the two manifestations
of Darzac. Bernier, under the cross examination to
which Rouletabille subjected him before the return of
the man who had carried the sack, had reported the
lying words of the man whom everyone had believed to
be Darzac. That was what had astonished Bernier—
that the man who had come in at six o'clock had not
told him that the man who had entered at six o'clock
was not he/ He was trying to conceal the fact that
there existed a second manifestation of Darzac and
he would have had no interest in concealing it, if his
own personality had been the true one. That was
clear as the light of day ! When the horror of the
thing dawned upon Rouletabille, he nearly swooned.
His limbs refused to support him ; his teeth chattered;
everything grew black in front of his eyes. But he was
not entirely without hope, even yet. Bernier might
have been mistaken. Perhaps he had not correctly
understood the words which M. Darzac had spoken in
his amazement and confusion' Rouletabille decided
that he himself would question M. Darzac. Then he
would soon see. How he longed for his return' It
would be for M. Darzac himself to “close the circle.”
He waited impatiently—and when Darzac returned how
the young reporter's feeble hopes were crushed! “Did
you look at the man's face?” he had asked; and when


THE LADY IN BLACK 363
the so-called Darzac replied, “No–I did not look at
him " Rouletabille could hardly hide his joy. It would
have been so easy for Larsan to have answered, “I
saw him. The face was that of Larsan ſ” And the
young man had not understood that this was the last
piece of malice—the furthest limit of hatred in the
nuind of the villain—and, too, one which fitted so well
in to his role. The real Darzac would not have acted
otherwise. He would have gotten rid of his frightful
booty as soon as possible without wishing to look at it.
But what could all the artifices of a Larsan accomplish
against the reasonings of a Rouletabille: The false
Darzac, under the questionings of Rouletabille had
“closed the circle.” He had lied. Now Rouletabille
knew! And besides his eyes, which always looked be-
hind the reason, could see now.
But what was to be done? Could he expose Larsan
immediately and, perhaps, give him a chance to escape?
Could he reveal to his mother the fact that she was
married to Larsan and had helped him to kill Darzac”
No–a thousand times no He felt the need of reflec-
tion—of combining circumstances and possibilities.
He wished to strike a sure blow when he was ready to
strike at all. He asked for twenty-four hours. He
made sure of the safety of the Lady in Black by
begging her to take the unoccupied room in Profes-
sor Stangerson's suite and he made her take a secret
oath that she would not leave the château. He deceived
Larsan by making him think that he was firmly con-
vinced of the guilt of Old Bob. And when Walter
rushed into the château with his empty sack the first
gleam of hope that Darzac might still be alive dawned
upon his mind. At last, he rushed off to find him, dead


364 THE PERFUME OF
or living. He had in his possession the revolver belong-
ing to the real Darzac which he had found in the Square
Tower—a new revolver of which he had noticed the
style in a shop at Mentone. He went to that shop;
he showed the clerk the revolver; he learned that the
weapon had been purchased a few days before by a
man of whom he was given a description—a soft hat,
a loose gray overcoat and a heavy beard. From there
he lost all trace of the man, but he was not discouraged.
He took up another trail, or, rather, he resumed that
one which had led Walter to the gulfs of Castillon.
When he arrived there, he did what Walter had not
done. The latter, as soon as he had found the sack,
looked for nothing more but hurried back to the Fort of
Hercules. But Rouletabille, on the contrary, continued
to follow the scent—and he perceived that this scent
(which consisted of the exceptional clearness of the
impressions left by the two wheels of the little English
cart) instead of going back toward Mentone, after
having stopped at the abyss of Castillon, went toward
the other side, crossing by the mountain toward Sospel.
Sospel ! Had not Brignolles been reported as having
gone to Sospel? Brignolles! Rouletabille remembered
my sudden and interrupted journey. What could Brig-
molles be doing in these parts? His presence might be
closely allied to the solution of the mystery. Certainly,
the reappearance and disappearance of the true Darzac
suggested the idea that he must have been kept some-
where in confinement. But where? Brignolles, who was
undoubtedly in the confidence of Larsan, had not made
the journey from Paris for nothing. Perhaps he had
come at that critical moment to watch over this place
of confinement. Meditating thus and pursuing the


THE LADY IN BLACK 365
logical tenor of his reasoning, Rouletabille had ques-
tioned the landlord of the inn near the Castillon tun-
nel, who had acknowledged to him that he had been
very much puzzled the day before by the passage
through the tunnel of a man who perfectly answered the
description which had been given by the gunsmith. This
man had entered the tavern to drink. His manner
and appearance were so strange that the landlord had
feared that he might have escaped from the sanitarium.
Rouletabille felt that he was on the right track and
asked as indifferently as he could, “You have a sani-
tarium near here then?” “Oh, yes,” replied the land-
lord; “the Mount Barbonnet sanitarium for mental
diseases.” It was at this point that the memory of
the two syllables “bonnet” flashed in full significance
upon the brain of Rouletabille. Henceforth, he had no
longer any doubt that the real Darzac had been immo-
lated by the false one as a madman in the sanitarium
of Mount Barbonnet. He was resolved to know every-
thing and to venture everything! He was certain that
as a reporter of the Epoch he possessed the means of
loosening the tongue of proprietors of sanitariums of
the kind which take college professors as patients and
ask no questions. He hired a carriage and had himself
driven to Sospel, which is at the foot of the mountains.
He realized that he was running the chance of encoun-
tering Brignolles. But, fortunately, nothing of the
kind happened and the young man reached Mount Bar-
bonnet and the sanitarium in safety. His mind was
filled now with the thought that he was at last—definite-
ly—to learn what had become of Robert Darzac' For
at the moment that the sack had been found without
the corpse—from the moment that the tracks of the


366 THE PERFUME OF
a
little carriage descended toward Sospel or elsewhere a-3
lost themselves; from the moment that he had discow-
ered that Larsan had not considered it prudent tº
relieve himself of Darzac by throwing him in the sack
into one of the gulfs of Castillon, Rouletabille had
believed that Larsan might have found it to his interes:
to return the living Darzac to the madhouse at Sospel
And the reasoning powers of Rouletabille showed him:
that this might well be so. Darzac living might be
more useful to Larsan than Darzac dead. What
hostage would he have otherwise on the day when
Mathilde should discover his imposture?
And Rouletabille had guessed aright. At the very
door of the asylum, he had encountered Brignolles.
Immediately, without warning, he had seized him by
the throat and threatened him with his revolver. Brig-
nolles was a coward. He entreated Rouletabille to spare
him, vowing that Darzac was living. A quarter of an
hour later Rouletabille knew the whole story. But the
revolver had not sufficed, for Brignolles, who feared and
hated the thought of death, loved life and everything
which renders life desirable, particularly money. Rou-
letabille had not much trouble to convince him that he
was lost if he did not betray Larsan and that he had
much to gain if he helped the Darzac family to extricate
itself from the present situation without scandal. At
the close of the interview, both men entered the institu-
tion and were there received by the diretor, who listened
to what they had to say with an amazement which was
soon transformed into terror and later to the greatest
affability which showed itself in immediate preparations
for the release of Robert Darzac.
Darzac, by the miraculous chance which I have


TIIl LADY IN BLACK 367
already explained, had sustained only a very slight
injury from a wound which might easily have been
mortal. Rouletabille, almost wild with joy, took him
at once to Mentone. I will pass over the transports
of both the rescuer and the rescued. They had disposed
of Brignolles by agreeing to meet him in Paris for the
settling of the accounts. On the journey, Rouletabille
learned from the lips of Darzac that the Sorbonne Pro-
fessor in his prison had a few days before happened
to see the newspaper which spoke of the fact that M.
and Mme. Darzac, whose wedding had just taken place
in Paris, were guests at the Fort of Hercules. He
had no further to look in order to comprehend why
all his misfortunes had taken place and it was not
difficult to guess who had had the fantastic audacity
to take his place at the side of the unfortunate woman
whose still wavering mind would have rendered so wild
an enterprise not impossible. This discovery secmed to
give him strength which he had not guessed that he
possessed. After having stolen the overcoat of the
director in order to conceal his asylum garb and hav-
ing found a purse containing an hundred francs in the
pocket, he had succeeded, at the risk of his life, in
scaling a wall which under any other circumstances he
would certainly have found insurmountable, and he had
gone to Mentone. He had hastened to the Fort of
IIercules. And he had seen Darzac with his own eyes!
He had seen his very self. He spent a few hours in
making himself so like his double in dress and appear-
ance that the other Darzac himself might have been
puzzled to find out which was which. His plan was
simple. He would make his way into the Fort of Her-
cules in his own proper person—would enter the apart-


THE LADY IN BLACK 360
Lady in Black. This hope alone sustained his steps.
This only was worth the trouble of living and an hour
afterward, when he had had the life of Larsan at his
disposal while the latter sat in the same room with
his back turned to him, writing letters, he had not even
been tempted by the idea of vengeance. After so many
sorrows, there was no room in Robert Darzac's heart for
hatred of Larsan; it was too full of love for the Lady
in Black. Poor dear pitiful M. Darzac'
We know the rest of the adventure. That which
I did not know was the way in which the true M. Darzac
had penetrated a second time into the Fort of Hercules
and had obtained entrance a second time into the recess
hidden by the panel. And Rouletabille told me how on
the same night that he had taken M. Darzac to Men-
tone, he had learned through the flight of Old Bob that
there existed an entrance to the castle through the
oubliette and so he had, by the help of a little boat,
smuggled M. Darzac into the château by the way which
Old Bob had taken in going out. Rouletabille wish d
to be master of the hour when he came to confound
Lars an and strike him down. On that night it was too
late to act, but he felt that he could count upon finish-
ing up the affair on the night following. The only
thing was how to hide M. Darzac on the peninsula.
And with the aid of Bernier, he had found him a quiet,
deserted little corner in the New Château.
At this point of the narrative, I could not hinder
myself from interrupting Roul, tabille with a cry which
had the effect of sending him into a burst of laughter.
“It was really he then " I exclaim, d.
“It really was " answered my friend.
“That was how I was able to find the “map of Aus-


372 THE PERFUME OF
headed cane which Larsan used to carry and the ges-
tures he was in the habit of making with it while we
were at the Glandier? He had a fashion of holding
his cane which was all his own. I wanted to see whether
Darzac would hold an ivory-headed cane as Larsan had
used to do. And this fixed idea pursued me until the
morrow, even after my visit to the insane asylum. Even
after I had seen and felt the true Darzac, I longed to
see the imposter make the gestures of Larsan. Ah,
to see him suddenly brandish his cane like a bandit—
forget the disguise of his figure for one single moment!
throw back his falsely stooped shoulders. ‘Knock it,
please! Knock at the shield of the Mortolas with heavy
blows of the cane, dear, dear M. Darzac” And he
knocked it—and I saw his form—erect—undisguised'
And another man saw it and he is dead! It was
poor Bernier, who was so horrified at the sight that
he stumbled and fell so unfortunately on the ‘oldest
dagger’ that the wound killed him. He is dead because
he picked up the flint which, doubtless, had fallen out
of Old Bob's overcoat and which Bernier had intended
to take to the workshop of the Professor in the Round
Tower! He is dead, because at the same moment that
he picked up the flint he saw Larsan brandishing his
cane—saw the scoundrel's figure and his gestures' All
battles, Sainclair, have their innocent victims?”
We were both silent for a moment. And I could not
keep myself from mentioning the bitterness which I
felt at the knowledge that he had had so little con-
fidence in me. I could not pardon him for having
deceived me as he had done everyone else in regard to
Old Bob.
He smiled.


74 THE PERFUME OF
I feared that some accident might have befallen his
relative. As for myself, all that I could ask was that
the old dandy would not put in an appearance before
I had finished with Larsan, for I wanted the false Dar-
zac to believe that Old Bob was occupying my mind to
the exclusion of everything else. And when I learned
that he really had returned, I was, at first, only half
pleased, but I confess that the news of the wound in
his breast (because of the wound in the breast of the
man in the sack) did not cause me any pain at all.
Thanks to that injury, I might hope to continue my
game a few hours longer.”
“And why should you not have abandoned it imme-
diately?”
“Don’t you understand that it would have been im-
possible for me to have gotten rid of the body of Lar-
san in the daylight? A whole day was necessary to
prepare for the disappearance by night. But what a
day we had with the death of Bernier . The arrival of
the gendarmes only served to simplify the affair. I
waited until I knew that they were gone. The first
rifle shot that you heard when we were in the Square
Tower was to inform me that the last gendarme had
quitted the tavern at Albo, at the Point of Garibaldi:
the second told me that the customs officers had gone
into their cabins and were at supper and that the sca
was frce!”
“Tell me, Rouletabille,” I said, looking into his clear
eyes. “When you left Tullio’s boat at the end of the
gallery of the passageway, for the carrying out of
your plans, did you know already what that boat would
carry away on the morrow?”
Itouletabille bowed his head.


THE I, ADY IN BLACK 375
“No,” he answered, sadly and slowly. “No–do not
think that, Sainclair! I did not expect that it would
carry away a corpse. After all—he was my father!
I believed that the boat would carry the “body too many'
to the madhouse! You understand, Sainclair? I would
only have condemned him to prison—forever. But he
killed himself. It is God who did it. May God forgive
him '''
We never spoke again of that night.
At Laroche I was anxious for a hot supper, but
Rouletabille refused to join me. He bought all the
Paris papers and buried himself in the events of the
day. The journals were filled with news from Russia.
A great conspiracy against the Czar had been discov-
cred at St. Petersburg. The facts related were so won-
derful that they were almost incredible.
I unfolded the Epoch and I read in great black let-
ters on the first column of the first page:
“DEPARTURE OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLE
FOR RUSSIA.”
And underneath:
“T H E CzAR IMP Lor Es HIs AID.”
I passed the paper to Rouletabille, who shrugged his
shoulders and said: “That’s a nice thing! Without
even asking my opinion | What does that fool of an
editor think that I am going to do out there? I’m
not interested in the Czar. Let him and his Nihilists
settle their squabbles for themselves! It is their affair,
not mine! To Russia? I shall apply for a vacation—


376 THE PERFUME OF
that's what I’ll do! I need rest. I’ll tell you, Sain-
clair, you and I will go somewhere together. We'll
take a nice, quiet rest 93.
“Not if I know it!” I cried hastily. “Thanks very
much but I have had enough of your kind of ‘nice, quiet
rest’. I have a wild desire to work!”
“Just as you like. I won’t insist.”
As we drew nearer Paris, he bathed his hands and
face, combed his hair and turned out his pockets. And
in one of them he was surprised to find a red envelope
which had come there without anyone knowing how.
“What nonsense is this?” he remarked carelessly,
tearing it open.
Then he burst into a peal of laughter. I had found
my gay Rouletabille again and I was anxious to know
the reason for this hilarity.
“Why, I’m going, old man!” he exclaimed. “I’m
going to start immediately! When things begin to
come like this, it’s a little different. I shall take the
train to-night.”
“Whore to ?”
“To St. Petersburg.”
He handed me the letter and I read:
“We know, monsieur, that your paper has decided
to send you to Russia, on account of the incidents
which are at this time disturbing the court of Turkoie-
Selo. We are obliged to warn you that you will not
reach St. Petersburg alive.
“(Signed)
“THE CENTRAL REvolutionARY CoMMITTEE.”
I looked at Rouletabille, whose eyes were shining with
delight. “Prince Galitch was at the station,” I re-