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アルセーヌ・ルパン「結婚指輪」下

物語の終盤です。イヴォンヌが夫と姑の前で追い詰められ、結婚指輪が決定的な証拠として切り取られようとする場面から、ホラス・ヴェルモンの正体と、指輪に刻まれた名前の秘密までを扱います。証拠・心理戦・救出・種明かしに関わる語句を多めに色分けしています。

動作・展開 感情・心理 危険・恐怖 場面・描写 陰謀・推理 重要表現

She could not tell, when she woke, how long she had slept.

But the broad light of day was filling the boudoir.

And she perceived, at the first movement which she made, that her bonds were cut.

Then she turned her head and saw her husband standing beside her, looking at her:

“My son … my son …” she moaned. “I want my son….”

He replied, in a voice of which she felt the jeering insolence:

“Our son is in a safe place.”

“And, for the moment, it’s a question not of him, but of you.”

“We are face to face with each other, probably for the last time, and the explanation between us will be a very serious one.”

“I must warn you that it will take place before my mother. Have you any objection?”

Yvonne tried to hide her agitation and answered:

“None at all.”

“Can I send for her?”

“Yes. Leave me, in the meantime. I shall be ready when she comes.”

“My mother is here.”

“Your mother is here?” cried Yvonne, in dismay, remembering Horace Velmont’s promise.

“What is there to astonish you in that?”

“And is it now … is it at once that you want to …?”

“Yes.”

“Why?… Why not this evening?… Why not to-morrow?”

“To-day and now,” declared the count.

“A rather curious incident happened in the course of last night, an incident which I cannot account for and which decided me to hasten the explanation.”

“Don’t you want something to eat first?”

“No … no….”

“Then I will go and fetch my mother.”

He turned to Yvonne’s bedroom.

Yvonne glanced at the clock. It marked twenty-five minutes to eleven!

“Ah!” she said, with a shiver of fright.

Twenty-five minutes to eleven!

Horace Velmont would not save her and nobody in the world and nothing in the world would save her.

For there was no miracle that could place the wedding-ring upon her finger.

* * *

The count, returning with the Comtesse d’Origny, asked her to sit down.

She was a tall, lank, angular woman, who had always displayed a hostile feeling to Yvonne.

She did not even bid her daughter-in-law good-morning, showing that her mind was made up as regards the accusation.

“I don’t think,” she said, “that we need speak at length. In two words, my son maintains….”

“I don’t maintain, mother,” said the count, “I declare.”

“I declare on my oath that, three months ago, during the holidays, the upholsterer found the wedding-ring which I gave my wife.”

“He found it lying in a crack in the floor, when laying the carpet in this room and the boudoir.”

“Here is the ring. The date of the 23rd of October is engraved inside.”

“Then,” said the countess, “the ring which your wife carries….”

“That is another ring, which she ordered in exchange for the real one.”

“Acting on my instructions, Bernard, my man, after long searching, ended by discovering the little jeweller to whom she went.”

“This man remembers perfectly and is willing to bear witness that his customer did not tell him to engrave a date, but a name.”

“He has forgotten the name, but the man who used to work with him in his shop may be able to remember it.”

“This working jeweller has been informed by letter that I required his services.”

“He replied yesterday, placing himself at my disposal.”

“Bernard went to fetch him at nine o’clock this morning. They are both waiting in my study.”

He turned to his wife:

“Will you give me that ring of your own free will?”

“You know,” she said, “from the other night, that it won’t come off my finger.”

“In that case, can I have the man up? He has the necessary implements with him.”

“Yes,” she said, in a voice faint as a whisper.

She was resigned.

She conjured up the future as in a vision: the scandal, the decree of divorce pronounced against herself, the custody of the child awarded to the father.

And she accepted this, thinking that she would carry off her son.

She thought that she would go with him to the ends of the earth and that the two of them would live alone together and happy….

Her mother-in-law said:

“You have been very thoughtless, Yvonne.”

Yvonne was on the point of confessing to her and asking for her protection.

But what was the good?

How could the Comtesse d’Origny possibly believe her innocent?

She made no reply.

* * *

Besides, the count at once returned, followed by his servant and by a man carrying a bag of tools under his arm.

And the count said to the man:

“You know what you have to do?”

“Yes,” said the workman. “It’s to cut a ring that’s grown too small….”

“That’s easily done…. A touch of the nippers….”

“And then you will see,” said the count, “if the inscription inside the ring was the one you engraved.”

Yvonne looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to eleven.

She seemed to hear, somewhere in the house, a sound of voices raised in argument.

And, in spite of herself, she felt a thrill of hope.

Perhaps Velmont had succeeded….

But the sound was renewed; and she perceived that it was produced by some costermongers passing under her window and moving farther on.

It was all over.

Horace Velmont had been unable to assist her.

And she understood that, to recover her child, she must rely upon her own strength.

For the promises of others are vain.

She made a movement of recoil.

She had felt the workman’s heavy hand on her hand; and that hateful touch revolted her.

The man apologized, awkwardly.

He was an elderly man, very fat, with a face of which the lower part was covered by a thick beard.

“Come,” said the count, “make haste.”

“Madame is perhaps afraid?” asked the man.

“You won’t hurt me?” said Yvonne, entreatingly.

“Not at all, madame. It will be done in a second.”

He took her hand again, but this time very gently.

And, while he seemed to be examining the ring, he said in a low voice, so low that Yvonne alone could hear:

“Fear nothing…. I am here.”

She almost fainted again.

Those few words, whispered by the unknown workman, had restored her courage.

For she had recognized Horace Velmont.

The nippers snapped.

The ring was cut.

The man removed it from the finger and handed it to the count.

The count seized it eagerly.

He looked inside the ring.

Then he stood motionless, dumbfounded, with a face that changed suddenly.

“Well?” asked the Comtesse d’Origny.

“Well?” repeated Yvonne’s husband, in a voice that had lost its assurance.

The workman bent over the ring and read:

“The 23rd of October.”

There was a silence.

The count snatched the ring from him and looked for himself.

The date was there.

The date of the wedding.

The proof which he had counted upon had vanished.

The accusation collapsed.

The Comtesse d’Origny turned to her son with a severe look.

“What does this mean?”

The count did not answer.

He was looking at the workman with a suspicious and furious expression.

But the workman had already picked up his tools and was bowing respectfully.

“There is no mistake, monsieur le comte,” he said.

“The inscription is a date, and the date is perfectly clear.”

“I have done what I was asked to do.”

He bowed again and went out.

Bernard followed him.

Yvonne sat motionless, crushed by the suddenness of her deliverance.

She dared not speak.

She dared not even rejoice.

The Comtesse d’Origny rose.

“My son,” she said coldly, “you have made a very grave mistake.”

“You have insulted your wife in my presence.”

“You will at once restore her child to her.”

The count tried to protest.

But his mother stopped him with an imperious gesture.

“At once,” she repeated.

And, turning to Yvonne, she added:

“Forgive me, my child.”

Yvonne bent her head.

She could not yet believe in her happiness.

A little later, the child was brought back to her.

She took him in her arms and covered him with kisses.

And that was all that mattered to her.

* * *

“Well,” I said to Lupin, when he had finished the story, “and the explanations?”

Lupin burst out laughing:

“My dear old chap,” Lupin sometimes condescends to address me in this affectionate manner, “you may be rather smart at relating my exploits, but, by Jove, you do want to have the i’s dotted for you!”

“I assure you, the countess did not ask for explanations!”

“Very likely. But there’s no pride about me,” I added, laughing.

“Dot those i’s for me, will you?”

He took out a five-franc piece and closed his hand over it.

“What’s in my hand?”

“A five-franc piece.”

He opened his hand. The five-franc piece was gone.

“You see how easy it is!”

“A working jeweller, with his nippers, cuts a ring with a date engraved upon it: 23rd of October.”

“It’s a simple little trick of sleight-of-hand, one of many which I have in my bag.”

“By Jove, I didn’t spend six months with Dickson, the conjurer, for nothing!”

“But then …?”

“Out with it!”

“The working jeweller?”

“Was Horace Velmont! Was good old Lupin!”

“Leaving the countess at three o’clock in the morning, I employed the few remaining minutes before the husband’s return to have a look round his study.”

“On the table I found the letter from the working jeweller.”

“The letter gave me the address.”

“A bribe of a few louis enabled me to take the workman’s place.”

“And I arrived with a wedding-ring ready cut and engraved.”

“Hocus-pocus! Pass!… The count couldn’t make head or tail of it.”

“Splendid!” I cried.

And I added, a little chaffingly, in my turn:

“But don’t you think that you were humbugged a bit yourself, on this occasion?”

“Oh! And by whom, pray?”

“By the countess?”

“In what way?”

“Hang it all, that name engraved as a talisman! The mysterious Adonis who loved her and suffered for her sake!”

“All that story seems very unlikely.”

“And I wonder whether, Lupin though you be, you did not just drop upon a pretty love-story, absolutely genuine and … none too innocent.”

Lupin looked at me out of the corner of his eye:

“No,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“If the countess made a misstatement in telling me that she knew that man before her marriage, and that he was dead, I at least have a positive proof.”

“It was an ideal love, and he did not suspect it.”

“And where is the proof?”

“It is inscribed inside the ring which I myself broke on the countess’s finger … and which I carry on me.”

“Here it is. You can read the name she had engraved on it.”

He handed me the ring. I read:

“Horace Velmont.”

There was a moment of silence between Lupin and myself.

And, noticing it, I also observed on his face a certain emotion, a tinge of melancholy.

ルパンの告白

アルセーヌ・ルパン「結婚指輪」中 アルセーヌ・ルパン「影の印」上