A fine spring day in Paris truly makes up for the chilly overcast ones of fall and winter. Strolling one Monday afternoon in early May along the Champ de Mars, I felt that the season had truly changed at last. The sky was a vivid blue, the sun was out and shone on the beautiful pink flowers of the cherry trees in full bloom all along the way, and in the distance stood Eiffel’s tower of dark steel, constructed only a few years past. Michelle and I had arrived on Saturday, and it was certainly different weather from my last visit only a month ago.
I paused before one of the larger trees with spectacular blossoms, the arching dark branches lost in fleecy clouds of pink. The rosy petals formed dense clusters, and a few small yellow-green leaves were just beginning to sprout from the branches. Curious, I stepped off the path onto the grass, then reached overhead to tug down a branch and sniff at some blossoms. Unlike the earlier blooming white ones on a different type of cherry tree, these had no smell.
A couple formally dressed, he in black top hat and frock coat, she in an extravagant purple silk, both smiled at me. “Does it smell good?” she asked. Her gloved hand loosely held her companion’s arm just above the elbow.
I shook my head. “Sadly, no.”
“Ah, dommage,” she said in a mocking tone.
They proceeded on their way, while I touched a petal, ever so gently, with my fingertips. So soft. Almost like a woman’s skin—but no, not really. The texture was completely different, and the firmness provided by the muscle and bone within was missing. There was certainly nothing fragile about Michelle. I had a vivid memory of her from the night before, which stirred a faint longing. Sometimes the more intimate we were, the more I desired her—I simply could not seem to get enough of her.
A faint smile pulled at my lips. We had not had a holiday together in a very long time, and it was wonderful to have her all to myself—or mostly to myself. I would have to share her with Holmes, Angelique, and Lupin for another couple days, and then the two of us were going off alone to Étretat. After all I had told her, she very much wanted to see the Chambre of the Demoiselles and the Needle itself.
First, however, there was to be a formal ceremony the day after tomorrow, Wednesday, during which Holmes and I were to receive a decoration and reward from the French prime minister in recognition of our aid in the recovery of the great treasure. True to his word, Holmes had contacted the French government, and after some frenzied back-and-forth diplomacy, a French ship went to the lighthouse at the Needles and reclaimed the chests. Lupin was certainly also worthy of a decoration, but he preferred to remain anonymous and was content with his “commission,” that fortune in jewels he had taken.
I stepped off the grass back onto the pavement, and a portly man with bushy sideburns gave me a disapproving scowl. Certain Parisians very much believed in following the rules, such as keeping off the grass in the public parks. I strolled slowly, taking in the vivid pink and green of blossoms and grass, the blue and white of sky. The cool air on my face swelled and diminished in its own gentle rhythm. It truly was a perfect day, and I thought that I would rather be there on the Champ de Mars in Paris than any place in the world.
All that was missing was Michelle to share all this with, but I would be seeing her soon enough. I had no doubt she would rather be with me, but she had yielded to Lupin’s entreaties that she join Angelique in a shopping trip to some of the grand fashion boutiques of the city. Michelle was quite gracious in accepting, although I knew that, unlike the vast majority of her sex, that sort of thing did not appeal to her—in fact, she actually loathed it. Of course, Angelique had rather gushingly implored her to come along, so politeness required that she acquiesce.
Lupin had rushed back to Paris and Angelique after our adventure at the Needles, and they were now formally engaged to be married and quite the lovebirds. While Michelle and I had some difficulty keeping our hands off one another in private, we were not given to obsequious displays of affection in public. Only rarely did Lupin and Angelique seem to have both hands free, one hand generally devoted to clasping the other’s. Terms of endearment like mon amour and ma biche were also sprinkled liberally in their conversation. Given Lupin’s comical and histrionic talents, this seemed somewhat out of character, but he appeared quite sincere.
He also confided to Holmes and me that he had told Angelique all about Arsène Lupin. Initially shocked, she had after some consideration declared that it made no difference to her. And indeed, he had dropped the assumed personality of Beautrelet, which I found quite confusing, since he had been Beautrelet for most of the time we had known him. He did keep his own chestnut brown hair—there was no black wig or false mustache—and he wore the same gold-rimmed spectacles. However, his voice had dropped down into the baritone range, and a certain eager silly manner had been replaced with a detached sort of irony.
I came to an empty bench, the classic sort with sculpted wrought iron painted black at either side, and a single long board forming the back. I took off my hat, then sat for perhaps half an hour enjoying the sunshine and watching the passers-by. At last I rose, and when I reached the street near the Eiffel Tower, I hailed a cab to take me back across town to a café near our hotel.
I sat down at a small round table a little before four and ordered a café noir from the waiter in black with a white apron. He was just bringing it when a tall red-headed woman in an electric-blue dress came through the door. Her eyes met mine, even as she smiled and started for my table.
She touched the waiter lightly on the forearm. “May I have one of the same, s’il vous plaît?”
She sat down, then gave my arm a quick squeeze, before she pulled off her gloves, revealing her large shapely white hands. Nothing off the shelf would fit her: all her gloves were made to order. She had been away from the physician’s ritual washing with carbolic acid long enough that her skin was not so red or irritated. She also removed a blue hat with a wide-brim and a large swooping plume and gave her head a slight shake. Her long red-brown hair was pinned up, but as usual, threatened to go astray, one long curl in particular covering her white ear. Her eyes were a clear blue, her nose turned up ever so slightly, and already the Parisian sun had increased the dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose.
Her broad full mouth formed a familiar smile with a certain trace of irony. “What are you smiling at, Henry?”
“You, of course. I am quite content to have one of the most beautiful women in all of Paris walk into a café and sit at my table.”
“You are a hopeless romantic—and a shameless flatterer.”
“Not at all.” I was not exaggerating: I savored just having her close to me, the sense of her physical presence and her beauty.
“All the same, I am hardly in the league of Mademoiselle Chamerac. Parisian men are not subtle. Although not quite so extreme as the Italians, their ogling is rather obvious.”
“I am sure they were ogling you and not her.”
Michelle laughed and briefly gripped my hand. “You are sweet, Henry.”
“And how did the shopping trip go?”
Michelle’s mouth stiffened slightly, even as it straightened. “Well enough—for Angelique.” She shook her head. “She must have spent a small fortune. She seemed to feel an obligation to buy something every place we stopped, either dresses or jewelry.” Familiar creases had formed in her forehead.
I stared briefly at her. “I don’t think you care much for her, do you?”
She gave her head a forceful shake. “I do not.”
“Could this be a certain prejudice against small beautiful blond women?”
“It is true that I have a certain prejudice. I have told you before about the girl Agnes at the convent school. At twelve, I was the tallest in the class, skinny and awkward. Agnes was always the perfect little blond angel before the sisters while, in private, she was my tormentress. All the same, I want to like Angelique, and she did treat me as if we were the best of friends and old acquaintances. Nevertheless…”
“But you do like Lupin?”
She smiled. “Who could help but like him? He is quite charming and oddly… guileless.”
I gazed at her curiously. “But Angelique, instead, has guile?”
Michelle’s fingers spread apart, then she clenched and unclenched them. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps… I don’t like women who act differently around each sex: with men, they are all smiles and sweetness, while with women they assume a sarcastic or ironical mien. They seem to assume we women are all part of some grand conspiracy against the opposite sex.”
“And that is the way she acted? I have not seen that before.”
“Of course not. Also… I especially don’t like it when the target of their mocking seems to be their husband.”
“You must mean Lupin.”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“It wasn’t so much what she said, as her general attitude, although once she did say it was nice that the male of the species felt they had to prove their affection by giving the female a blank check.”
“Speaking of that, did you find anything you wanted?”
She shook her head. “Oh Henry, I already have more than I need.”
I laughed. “Little wonder that you and she did not hit it off.” Michelle was still looking rather grave, and I squeezed her hand. “Luckily Lupin has enough money to keep her content, and perhaps once they are married and know one another better…”
Michelle grew stern. “You know that I do not approve of rushed marriages. It is not a decision to be taken lightly.”
I smiled. “Well, everyone needn’t wait as long as we did.”
Her own smile was gentle. “But in the end we were quite sure.”
“Yes, we were. And I have never had any regrets whatsoever.”
“Nor have I.”
I wanted to kiss her hand, but instead I stroked her knuckles gently with my fingertips. “It was the best decision I ever made in my life.”
The waiter arrived with his tray and set down two small white cups of black coffee and two glasses of water. Michelle’s eyes were still fixed on mine, even as she grasped the handle of one cup. “Let’s drink up and go back to our room. We have over an hour before we need dress for dinner.”
“However shall we pass the time?”
The corners of her mouth rose, along with one red-brown eyebrow.
* * *
Holmes, Michelle, and I went through the doorway into L’Exquis, among the most venerable and exclusive restaurants in Paris, and one normally far out of my price range. However, Lupin had invited us there for a celebratory dinner.
The maître d’ dressed in a formal black suit nodded at us. “Bonsoir, messieurs et madame.”
“Good evening. I believe you have a reservation for—” Holmes faltered for a second “—a Monsieur Beautrelet.”
The man frowned, then glanced at a paper on a nearby clipboard. “There is no one of that name.”
“Perhaps, then, a Monsieur Punil.”
“Ah, yes. He only recently arrived. This way, please.”
We followed him into a grand dining room with a high curved ceiling decorated with paintings of gods and goddesses, similar to what you might see in a ducal palace. The pillars and the curved wooden supports overhead were covered with an elaborate golden frieze. Half the tables were occupied, all set with beautiful china, sparkling silverware, and immaculately white linen tablecloths. The low hum of subdued conversation filled the room, and everyone was formally dressed, the men in black tailcoats and white bow ties, the women in the sort of fancy gowns and jewels one might see at the opera. In a corner was Angelique, a true vision in a dress that showed off her bare arms and her decolletage along with a diamond necklace; and Lupin in evening dress, the variant who had black hair and a mustache, a scar on his cheek, and who sported a monocle.
Michelle looked briefly puzzled. “Who is that with Angelique?”
“That is Lupin—and that is how he usually appears in character as the gentleman-cambrioleur.”
“Oh yes, I see now. I wonder…”
Lupin grinned at us and gestured at the table with his hand. “Here you are, at last! Join us in some champagne. We just ordered a bottle. Monsieur, could you fetch three more glasses and a second bottle?”
Michelle tilted her head slightly to the side, peering at him. “I had to ask Henry who you were. You look quite different.”
He laughed. “And do you approve?”
She shrugged. “It is quite dashing. That scar is a nice touch.”
“Thank you. I did this for Angelique.” He glanced briefly at her. “She wanted to see the true Lupin about whom she has heard so much.”
Angelique grasped his arm with her tiny shapely hand. “And I find him quite swank indeed! He does look much older, doesn’t he?”
We sat down, and a waiter hovering nearby swept in and poured champagne for us all. Lupin raised his glass. “A toast to that most formidable duo of detectives—Holmes and Lupin, and to their essential colleague, Vernier!”
For the first time, a smile flickered over Holmes’s lips. “Indeed!” he said, then joined in the clinking of glasses. To others Holmes might appear inscrutable, but I had learned to sense his moods, his emotions, and he seemed more reserved than usual that evening, somber even, for what was supposed to be a festive event.
After taking a big swallow, Lupin raised his glass again. “And to this lovely young lady soon to be my bride, my dearest Angelique!”
We clinked glasses again, but I think all but the happy pair did so with somewhat less enthusiasm.
Angelique set her hand lightly over Lupin’s. I suspected that all the men present must have eyed her as she crossed the room to the table. Her dress was a pale glacial-blue silk which had puffy fabric covering her shoulders, but which left her arms and much of her chest bare. She was wearing a silver necklace with a big diamond, one of a faintly bluish hue, alongside which were placed smaller gems like carved bits of ice. Similar glittering diamonds were set in the lobes of her small ears, and her ash-blond hair was tightly bound up and secured in place—it was quite a contrast with Michelle’s coiffure, from which all those errant red-brown strands and curls had escaped.
Michelle’s dress was a much darker, more vibrant blue, the hue so different that it was hard to believe both qualified as the same color. She had on long white gloves, but as was de rigueur in a restaurant when dining, she pulled them off, revealing her long, shapely arms. Seated alongside Angelique, you could see how much taller and long-limbed she was, stronger, too—all of which I delighted in. I cherished Michelle’s abundance, the fact that there was so much of her to love!
Lupin put his monocle into his left eye and peered at Michelle. “That is quite a beautiful sapphire ring you have, Dr. Doudet-Vernier. The blue is exquisite.”
“Thank you. It was a gift from my husband.” Michelle smiled at me. “He also gave me a beautiful sapphire necklace, but I rarely wear it in public. It is back home in London, safely stowed away. Bringing it to Paris would be foolish.”
Holmes nodded. “Amen to that.”
“Besides, I don’t like…” She stopped suddenly and bit her lip. “I am… I worry it might be stolen.” I knew she was going to say that she did not like to show off, but of course, that would be an implied criticism of Angelique with her spectacular diamonds. “I mostly only wear it… in private.” Her lips puckered slightly outward as her eyes shifted to mine.
And little else, I reflected.
Angelique gave Lupin’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t think I have to worry about that with Arsène at my side.”
Holmes smiled faintly. “So you call him Arsène now?”
“Yes. Isidore Beautrelet was only a make-believe name, and a rather silly one, actually.”
“I fear he will always be young Isidore Beautrelet to me,” Holmes said.
I nodded. “I feel the same way, but if you prefer…”
Michelle smiled. “Come now, Isidore Arsène Beautrelet Lupin, what should we call you?”
“How about Charles de Batz de Castelmore d’Artagnan?”
We all smiled, although Angelique looked briefly concerned.
“I always admired d’Artagnan, you know—and the Count of Monte Cristo, as well. Indeed, Lupin owes them and Dumas a debt. All the same, as we are all friends and I am not much for formalities, you might call me by a first name, either Arsène or Isidore, as you prefer. As for myself, I would not be comfortable taking such liberty: to me you shall remain Holmes, Dr. Vernier, and Dr. Doudet-Vernier. I have great respect for the medical profession, and you are, after all, my elders.”
Michelle laughed. “How cruel of you to remind us!”
A blush appeared at Lupin’s cheeks. “Oh, I am sorry—I did not mean…”
Michelle raised her hand, spreading her fingers apart. “Oh, do not worry, Isidore. I was only teasing. No offense taken.”
“I am glad to hear it. Angelique was just telling me about your shopping trip.” His eyes shifted to me. “How lucky for you, Dr. Vernier, to have a frugal wife who does not wish to bankrupt you!”
“Arsène!” Angelique exclaimed. “How can you blame me, when it was your idea, after all?”
“Come now, chérie, you must know that I, too, was teasing. I am sure you will look delectable in all your purchases. I can hardly wait to see them.”
Holmes seemed to hesitate briefly. “And is that beautiful necklace you are wearing also a gift from Isidore?”
“No. It is a family heirloom of the Chameracs. My… uncle thought I should have it.”
“That was most generous of him.”
“Yes, it was.” Her pale blue eyes filled with tears. “I know, Monsieur Holmes, that he may have turned out to be a bad man, wicked, even, but he was always most kind to me. I wish he had not had to die in such a terrible way. Blown to pieces!”
“He would have felt nothing at all,” I said. “Given the agonies we doctors often see, a quick and painless death seems a blessing.”
Lupin stroked his chin. “I suppose if it were not for him, we would have never met. I owe him that much, at least.” He grinned. “All the same, I’m glad I didn’t have to pay for that necklace!”
Angelique was definitely not amused. “I did not know you considered me such a profligate.”
Lupin gave her hand a squeeze. “I was only joking. You must know I would deny you nothing, my love. But enough—let’s not talk about money. Such a prickly and troublesome subject! Besides, I now have more than enough for us to live in style for many years to come. That is why I am retiring as gentleman-cambrioleur. As I have sworn, you shall have an honest man as your husband. And I shall pursue my grand dream: to become the greatest detective in… on the continent.” He smiled at Holmes, who gave a slight appreciative nod. “And now, I think we should devote ourselves to a much more serious and immediate subject: the perusal of, and the selection from, the menu.”
After lengthy consideration and some discussion, as well as a query or two to the waiter, we all gave our orders. The waiter scribbled on his notepad, while another poured us more champagne, and then both departed. We chatted idly, and again I noticed that Holmes seemed more reserved than usual. After a few minutes, the waiter returned with a platter of escargot à la bourguignonne which he set in the center of table. Next, he set before us each a small plate, along with two utensils: a snail clamp, or tongs, to hold the shell and a small thin fork with two tines to extract the flesh. When he came to Michelle, she raised her hand and shook her head.
About a dozen snails rested in the special plate with a concave depression for each one. The curving shells were a striated brown and white, with the black lump of the snail showing in the opening. They were swimming in yellow butter which smelled strongly of garlic, and sprigs of green parsley were sprinkled liberally about.
I ate one to be polite, and the butter and garlic did mostly disguise the pungent taste of the chewy creature. Holmes, Lupin, and Angelique ate the others with enthusiasm. I knew my cousin had a great fondness for escargot, and I had watched him consume them on many occasions in France. He handled the clamp and little fork with great skill to meticulously extract the tiny animal and pop it into his mouth. Next, he would pour the garlicky buttery juices from the vacant shell onto some bread.
Lupin also did quite well, but I was surprised that someone so youthful and inexperienced as Angelique seemed such an old hand at eating snails. Given the poverty of her upbringing, she would have had little access to such gastronomic delights. Perhaps the baron had relished them and had had them served often at his table. She handled the fork and tongs every bit as well as Holmes. All the same, something about the sight of a beautiful young woman wearing an elegant gown and a diamond necklace even as she extracted a baked gastropod from a shell, did strike me as absurd! All in all, she had an imposing presence, almost intimidating, much more so than Michelle. Perhaps, too… she was surely more conscious of her beauty and its power than Michelle. When she had finished with the escargot, she moved aside the plate, and again set her hand on Lupin’s larger one.
Evaluations of beauty were always subjective, and as Michelle’s husband, I was naturally biased, but I found her much more appealing. Partly it was because I knew her so well: her beauty and her ready smile with that broad mouth, her good humor and intelligence, her generosity of spirit, her basic goodness, were all inseparable, all part of that combination which made me love her so much. Somehow I was certain Angelique could never measure up to Michelle, but I hoped that she and Lupin could be happy together.
Lupin did most of the talking for a while, relating to the two women more of our adventures on the submarine and at the lighthouse. “I must admit,” he said, “that I greatly enjoyed our time on the submarine.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
He laughed. “Most serious. In fact… I know it is only an idle fancy, but someday I would like to have a submarine of my own! I could range round the Mediterranean, popping up here and there to right wrongs and help damsels in distress.”
I continued to stare at him. “You are joking, after all.”
“Not exactly. If I could wave my hand and have my own submarine, I would gladly do so.”
“I also found our submarine voyage fascinating,” Holmes said, “but Henry clearly does not care for being underwater.”
I nodded. “Yes, if God had wanted people to travel about underwater, he would have given us gills like fish.”
“It is a shame,” Holmes said, “that such a marvel as the Nautilus was destroyed, and so many lives lost, but the world is a much safer place with it gone.”
Shortly after the turtle soup (which Michelle also skipped because of her fond childhood memories of a beloved pet turtle), four waiters descended upon our table and fussed about, serving us each our main dish, and opening and pouring more wine into fresh crystal goblets. We had our choice of superb red or white French vintages. Michelle and I had ordered gigot d’agneau, lamb shanks; Lupin had tournedos of beef; Angelique, lobster; and Holmes, sweetbreads or ris de veau. Holmes was quite fond of this dish, which was some such gland as the thymus of the animal, but after my youthful days in the anatomy lab, I could not eat anything resembling an organ!
While we dined, Holmes and Lupin dominated the conversation, each telling some of their more notable exploits. Lupin listened to my cousin with rapt enthusiasm, his admiration obvious. I could also tell that Holmes was impressed with the younger man and his ingenuity. As we finished our main dishes, the two of them had an extended discussion about the art of the disguise: the various tricks they had used, the special makeup, the creation of false beards and mustaches. It turned out that Lupin’s elderly priest was modeled after one he had seen at Notre-Dame.
I noticed that Angelique was as skillful at dealing with a lobster as with escargot, even though the crustacean was notoriously difficult to eat without making a mess. Her tiny fingers wielded the lobster fork to neatly extract pieces of white flesh, which she dipped into melted butter. Of course, the cook had helped matters by neatly cracking the shells of the big pincers. She was the last to finish.
She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin, then leaned back in the chair and grasped Lupin’s hand. He paused briefly in his discourse, smiling reflexively, then continued on. When he was done, she spoke, staring at me and Michelle. “These two are both so clever—and brave, as well. How dull my existence seems in comparison. But I suppose that is a woman’s lot.”
Michelle and I exchanged a look. I knew she must be metaphorically biting her tongue, if not literally doing so.
Lupin squeezed Angelique’s hand. “Oh, I shall see to it that we also have some adventures together. I know our two doctors there have not had idle lives.” He glanced again at Holmes. “What an honor this has been, to—so to speak—compare notes with Sherlock Holmes.” His smile encompassed us all. “This has been a wonderful dinner. I shall always treasure the memory of our time together here. And dessert is yet to come! Their profiteroles are said to be the best in all of Paris. But first, a final toast—to all of us!”
He raised his glass, we did the same, clinked glasses, then sipped at our wine.
Holmes drank, then held up his glass again. “And a special thanks to our young host, who I suspect may someday—God help him—obtain the same notoriety as Sherlock Holmes!”
We all smiled, then joined in the toast.
Lupin set down his glass. “Before we order dessert, I have an announcement to make. Angelique and I have decided upon our wedding date—the day after tomorrow! Neither of us wants to wait, and that way you three can also attend the ceremony. Moreover, unbeknownst to her, I have something for her, a very special gift.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a brittle-looking old beige envelope, which looked somehow familiar. Next his hand slipped into his trouser pocket.
Holmes was sitting beside him, and his hand shot out and seized Lupin’s wrist before he could withdraw it from his pocket. “Wait—just wait.”
Lupin stared at him, astonished. He hesitated, then set his hand back on the table. “What is it?”
Holmes sat upright and sank back into his chair. His mouth formed a straight tense line, even as he inhaled through his nostrils. The sudden pallor of his thin face contrasted dramatically with his swept-back black hair and his black jacket. His gray-blue eyes were anguished.
“Well, what is this all about?” Lupin sounded annoyed.
Holmes raised both long slender hands, then clasped his fingers together. “I need to speak with you—alone.” He dropped his hands and stood up. “Let’s go outside for a moment.”
Lupin was more puzzled than ever, but he rose.
Angelique grasped at his wrist. “Oh, do not go.”
“We shall not be long—shall we, Holmes?”
“No.”
“If this is serious, I must come, too,” Angelique said.
Holmes gave his head a brusque shake. “No.” He almost pushed Lupin away from the table, and then the two of them started across the room.
Angelique shook her head. “Men and their secrets.” Her sudden smile was both bitter and ironic.
Michelle glanced at me. “Do you know what this is all about, Henry?”
“I do not. Not exactly.”
I had remembered suddenly where the envelope came from: it must be the one we had found at the entrance to the secret passage at the Château de l’Aiguille. And along with the note, had been a silver locket, the memento to his beloved wife that a man, long dead, had left behind hoping that some future person might pass it on as a symbol of love and fidelity. Lupin had kept both. Obviously, he had been about to give the locket to Angelique.
Angelique raised her glass and nodded at the waiter, who quickly swooped in to pour her more white wine. She gave a nod of thanks, then took a sip and set down her glass. I noticed that her hand was trembling slightly. She sat up stiffly and forced a smile.
“Well, as Arsène was about to tell you, we hope to be married the day after tomorrow. It is to be a small wedding. Arsène’s friend Maurice Leblanc will be the best man. I had thought of asking you, Michelle, to be my bridesmaid.”
Michelle, like myself, seemed quite bewildered by the sudden turn in events. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“It is true we have only just met, but I fear I have no real friends or old acquaintances here in Paris.”
“Well, if you are certain, I shall gladly do so.”
I knew Michelle did not really want to.
Angelique smiled. She had mostly regained her composure, but there was a certain expression in those pale blue eyes… She gazed out across the room, and her small full mouth suddenly stiffened.
Lupin strode across the room with long forceful steps. His eyes were wild, the monocle dangling from its chain and bouncing slightly as he came. He reached his chair and clutched at the back. His eyes showed a strange combination of dullness and wildness, the two opposing forces somehow mixed. Angelique stared up at him, her expression grave.
“Is it true?” Lupin’s voice was ominously quiet, almost a whisper.
“Is what true?” she asked.
He hesitated, then spoke more softly yet. “That you were not the baron’s niece, but his mistress.”
The corners of Angelique’s mouth rose briefly, then fell. “Does it matter so much?”
“It does.”
She drew in her breath resolutely, then shrugged. “Yes.”
Lupin grimaced as if he had been stabbed, then staggered around the chair and collapsed into it. “Oh dear God,” he moaned. He started to run his fingers back through his hair, then stopped as he realized he had on a wig which he might dislodge.
“And you had no suspicions whatsoever? Not even an iota?”
“None.” He shook his head wildly. “I was an idiot.”
“So the famed Arsène is not so clever as he thought.” The irony in her voice was bitter.
“I thought you were… I thought you were innocent. How could I be so stupid? And now I see… How old are you, anyway? Certainly not twenty, as I believed.”
“I am twenty-five. The same as you.” She drew in her breath in something like a laugh. “We are a match.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, Arsène, we each had our secrets. We each pretended to be someone we were not. You were Isidore Beautrelet, the insipid young man, and I was Angelique, the virtuous young demoiselle rescued from a hard life by her uncle. We each had our role to play. But underneath it… we are the same, you and I.” Again she made a sound like a laugh. “We were made for one another.”
He shook his head more wildly this time. “No, no, it’s not true—I told you the truth about myself—I told you who I really was. You lied to me—it has been nothing but lies.”
“And if I had told you the truth, would you have wanted to marry me?”
He stared at her, his eyes still wild. “Of course not.”
“There! You see? You can have your false life and enjoy yourself as a man, but when it comes to marriage, you must have your vacuous virgin. Men are all the same. The baron could keep me around as his niece, but he could never divorce his wife and actually marry me. He was much too respectable for that! I went along with his silly game. It was a small price to pay to live like royalty. My story about growing up in poverty: that was not a lie. It was only too true. The part about the roaches and the rats… You made yourself into a thief as a boy to avenge the way your mother was treated; later, you became Arsène Lupin; and yet you blame me for becoming Angelique Chamerac. Can’t you see that it was the same ingenuity at work, the same drive and determination?”
“I don’t care,” he murmured. “I don’t care.”
She made that sound like a laugh again. “I suppose this means the marriage is off?”
He stared at her a long while, then gave his head a single emphatic nod.
“You are a fool, after all. You will never find another woman so much your equal as me. But…” She shrugged. “As you wish.” She glanced up at Holmes who had been standing silently behind Michelle and myself. “Are you happy with your work now, Monsieur Sherlock Holmes, the great detective?”
Holmes was still very pale. He said nothing. I noticed that our little drama had caught the attention of two nearby tables. Our waiter was also transfixed.
“Ah well…” Angelique—or whoever she really was—stood up. “I bear you no ill will. Perhaps, too, marriage would not have suited either one of us. Goodbye, my little…” She reached out toward his cheek with her hand, but he drew away. “That bad, is it?” She shook her head, then tried again. He let her touch his cheek with the fingertips of her small shapely hand.
“So in the end, you are not the clever rogue Arsène Lupin, after all, but only that foolish little boy, the insipid Isidore Beautrelet. Adieu, Isidore. Adieu.” She drew in her breath, her chest swelling slightly, nodded to the rest of us, then started across the room. Most of the men paused in their eating or talking to watch her depart.
Holmes sank down into his chair. His eyes were still anguished. “I felt I had to tell you, Isidore. I could not let you give her the locket without knowing the truth.”
Lupin nodded. “I understand. I can’t say I’m exactly glad you did, but… I suppose it is always difficult to awake from a fool’s paradise.” He drew in his breath, gave a long sigh, then smiled weakly at the waiter. “Quite a spectacle, wasn’t it? Could you please bring me a brandy?”
“I would like one, too,” Holmes said.
“You had best make it four brandies.” I glanced at Michelle, who gave a quick nod.
The waiter bowed slightly, then left.
Lupin wiped briefly at his brow, hesitated, then reached into his pocket, withdrew the heart-shaped silver locket, and set it on the table. The side with the two lovebirds engraved was showing. He looked at me. “I think you should have it, Dr. Vernier. That would best honor the old man’s wishes. He wanted it to go to someone worthy, someone who had prospered in love. Clearly you two have done so. Take it.”
I shook my head gently. “No. I do not need it, but I think you do. Keep it as a reminder that love is always possible. Besides, you are a young man. You will meet someone worthy of all your fine qualities and your affection. Almost every man has had at least one disastrous love affair. Lord knows, I did! And yet I am happier than I had ever imagined possible. You will meet someone who deserves it, I am certain.”
He stared gravely at me. “You are quite sure you don’t want it?”
“No. Keep it.”
“Henry is absolutely right,” Michelle said.
He regarded us both. “You are very kind, you know.” He grasped the locket and thrust it back into his pocket. The waiter arrived with a tray with four brandies. Lupin took his and downed it in a single swallow. “Another, if you please.” The waiter nodded. Lupin drew in his breath, exhaled, and his brow furrowed briefly. “I think… I think perhaps I shall live after all, although I still feel as if someone has diced up my heart and lungs into little pieces. My stomach, too, I think. Or maybe all my insides simply went through some grinder.” He stared at Holmes. “I suppose you suspected her from the very first?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why, exactly?”
“There was her spectacular beauty, and then there was the baroness. Clearly something was gnawing at her. And what could be worse than having your husband’s mistress live under the same roof with you? I made some inquiries among those who knew all the gossip of Paris, and there were rumors.”
“Was there a moment when you were certain?”
Holmes swirled his brandy, then took a quick sip. “Yes. At the opera, at Manon. The way she was dressed, her bearing, those spectacular jewels she was wearing—it was obvious—she was no mere niece.”
“Yes, it was obvious. And how appropriate that you realized it during Manon! But I did not see it. I saw only her beauty.”
“If it’s any consolation to you,” I said, “I didn’t see it either.”
Lupin smiled ever so faintly. “I told you once, as Beautrelet, that Lupin had a weakness for the ladies. That was an understatement. They are my… blind spot. And I wanted to be a detective! I cannot deduce what is right before my nose.”
Holmes shook his head. “You are too hard on yourself. Do you think I have never made any mistakes—especially as pertains to women? No, you have a great natural talent and a formidable mind. You will be a great detective. I am certain of it.” His sardonic smile appeared. “And in the end, it is a better career than that of gentleman-cambrioleur.”
Lupin stared at him, then nodded at last. “Thank you, Holmes.”
The waiter set another brandy before Lupin, who reached for it. Holmes set his hand on his wrist. “Sip it this time, Isidore.”
“Yes.” He swallowed some, then drew in his breath. His lips pulled into a brief fierce grimace of a smile. “I’m afraid I’ve rather spoiled the party! I think… I think… perhaps we should have some dessert after all—perhaps those profiteroles I was telling you about.”
Michelle smiled gently and set her large white hand on Lupin’s. “Oh Isidore, I promise that you will have no difficulty at all finding some wonderful woman to love you.”
After all that had happened, Lupin had thus far managed to hold himself together remarkably well, but his mouth contorted even as his eyes teared up. “Oh thank you.” He wiped at his cheek, then turned toward the waiter. “Four orders of those famous profiteroles of yours, monsieur.”
He sipped at his brandy, then stared more closely at the brown liquid. “This is very good, isn’t it? I suppose now… yes, the case of the great treasure of France is truly and officially finished, the case of all the needles: the Château de l’Aiguille at Creuse, l’Aiguille at Étretat, and the Needles off the Isle of Wight. How would you rank the case, Holmes?”
“Near the very top—au sommet. It was very challenging, and took so many twists and turns. There was the submarine and the lighthouse, and perhaps most amazing of all, the ancient interior of l’Aiguille out off the coast at Étretat. It was a case I shall never forget.”
“Nor shall I,” I exclaimed.
Lupin smiled at us both, the raised his glass. “À la prochaine,” he exclaimed, which was a little tricky to translate, but “until next time” was closest, or perhaps more appropriately, “until the next case.”
“À la prochaine,” Holmes and I exclaimed in unison.
Michelle laughed. “And on that occasion you must bring me along!”