Don Luis uttered all these words in a strong voice, but without emphasis, with the very simple emotion and pride of a man who has done much and who knows the value of what he has done.  There were but two ways of replying to him:  by a shrug of the shoulders, as one replies to a madman, or by the silence that expresses reflection and approval.

The Prime Minister and the Prefect of Police said nothing, but their looks betrayed their secret thoughts.  And deep down within themselves they felt that they were in the presence of an absolutely exceptional specimen of mankind, created to perform immoderate actions and fashioned by his own hand for a superhuman destiny.

Don Luis continued: 

“It was a fine curtain, was it not, Monsieur le President du Conseil?  And the end was worthy of the work.  I should have been happy to have had it so.  Arsene Lupin dying on a throne, sceptre in hand, would have been a spectacle not devoid of glamour.  Arsene Lupin dying with his title of Arsene I, Emperor of Mauretania and benefactor of France:  what an apotheosis!  The gods have willed it otherwise.  Jealous, no doubt, they are lowering me to the level of my cousins of the old world and turning me into that absurd creature, a king in exile.  Their will be done!  Peace to the late Emperor of Mauretania.  He has strutted and fretted his hour upon the stage.

“Arsene I is dead:  long live France!  Monsieur le President du Conseil, I repeat my offer.  Florence Levasseur is in danger.  I alone can rescue her from the monster who is carrying her away.  It will take me twenty-four hours.  In return for twenty-four hours’ liberty I will give you the Mauretanian Empire.  Do you accept, Monsieur le President du Conseil?”

“Well, certainly, I accept,” said Valenglay, laughing.  “What do you say, my dear Desmalions?  The whole thing may not be very orthodox, but, hang it!  Paris is worth a mass and the Kingdom of Mauretania is a tempting morsel.  We’ll risk the experiment.”

Don Luis’s face expressed so sincere a joy that one might have thought that he had just achieved the most brilliant victory instead of sacrificing a crown and flinging into the gutter the most fantastic dream that mortal man had ever conceived and realized.

He asked: 

“What guarantees do you require, Monsieur le President?”

“None.”

“I can show you treaties, documents to prove—­”

“Don’t trouble.  We’ll talk about all that to-morrow.  Meanwhile, go ahead.  You are free.”

The essential word, the incredible word, was spoken.

Don Luis took a few steps toward the door.

“One word more, Monsieur le President,” he said, stopping.  “Among my former companions is one for whom I procured a post suited to his inclinations and his deserts.  This man I did not send for to come to Africa, thinking that some day or other he might be of use to me through the position which he occupied.  I am speaking of Mazeroux, a sergeant in the detective service.”