The Son of Monte-Cristo The Son Of Monte Cristo Part 40

Tears came into the eyes of Fanfar as he spoke. His nerves were thoroughly shaken by the exertions he had made to save Gudel and himself.

Bob.i.+.c.hel here lifted himself up.

"Fanfar," he said, "let me help you!"

At these kind words uttered by this honest, faithful voice, Fanfar started. He had no right to despair, he said to himself, when he had such friends.

"You are right, Bob.i.+.c.hel," he cried. "I have no right to talk of my energy, for I am trembling like a woman!"

"I should like to tell you what I think, sir," the clown stammered, "though I do not wish to take a liberty, but didn't you say you thought you had found your sister?"

"Oh! do not say that!"

"Yes, I must say it, and I think it would be best if you made up your mind that it was she, and acted on that supposition."

"I think you are right. I am told that this girl lives with a poor paralytic. I will go to her and question her. From her replies I shall be able to judge if chance has really put me on the track of her whom I lost so long ago. But we ought to follow these scoundrels at once!"

"I will see to them!" said Iron Jaws.

"Can you give me the smallest clue?"

"Only that of Robeccal's name."

"Robeccal's name!" exclaimed Bob.i.+.c.hel. "If he has anything to do with this matter I will soon finish him up."

Fanfar laid his hand on Gudel's shoulder.

"My friend," he said, "I hesitate to touch an unhealed wound, but we must speak frankly to each other. La Roulante and this Robeccal went away together. This woman was thoroughly vicious; it is difficult to imagine the scale of vice to which she would not fall. I am sorry to pain you, but I feel sure if Robeccal has a.s.sisted in carrying away this girl that he has placed her with La Roulante. Therefore, while I go to see Cinette's sick friend, you will hunt up this woman and her accomplice. Will you do this, Gudel?"

Gudel, whose face had been buried in his hands, now looked up.

"Fanfar," he said, "were I to die of shame and grief, I will obey you, for I should be doing a good act."

"This girl must be saved! I dare not indulge in the hope that she is Cinette, and, moreover, I need all my courage. Gudel, your hand.

Bob.i.+.c.hel, I rely on you!"

These friends in a cordial grasp of their hands, exchanged a solemn oath which bound them to the sacred cause of justice.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CINETTE! CINETTE!

Francine's chamber is dark. The little bed with its white curtains looks as if it were built of marble. There is not a sound. The room is empty.

The hours pa.s.s on, and still Francine does not return. Her absence excites great wonder in the house, for she is always in very early.

"Could anything have happened to her?" one person asked another, but not a voice breathed a word reflecting on the girl's purity. Had any one known where she had gone, some one would have started in search of her.

The porter looked once more down the street; the clock had struck twelve. No one came.

In the gray, chilly dawn, a hand slowly pushed open the door of Cinette's room. It is the mad woman. She instinctively knows that Francine never goes to sleep at night without kissing her. She has not felt those dewy lips touch her forehead this night. Restless and uneasy this sick woman, who for years has hardly left her bed, has crawled to Cinette's room. She is familiar with it, for she has many times implored Francine to take her there; and when the girl succeeded in doing so, the old woman laughed to see the curtains so white and the flowers so gay.

She reaches the bed, and feels with her poor withered hands for the girl's head. Cinette is not there, and the poor creature realizes it and weeps in agony. She would have reminded one of an Hindoo idol had she been seen. An hour elapsed, but the poor deformed woman still lies there.

Suddenly she raises her head. She hears rapid steps on the stairs. When Cinette went out she had locked the door of her room. The porter to be sure had another key. When some one knocked at the porter's lodge he was not yet up, and answered gruffly that the Marquise had not come in and the old woman could not move. There were several rapid knocks on the door.

"Open! open!" a voice called.

The voice had a strange, familiar tone. She listens. And Fanfar, for it is he, repeats his demand.

"In the name of Francine, I beg you to open the door. It is for her sake."

By what miracle did this paralyzed frame struggle to her feet? She takes a step--then another.

"Make haste!" said Fanfar.

The woman obeys. She turns the key in the lock, with many efforts, but it is done. Fanfar enters, and in the pale morning light is confronted by this horrible apparition. He contemplates her with horror and pity.

"Madame," he said, "is not Francine here?"

She did not reply. She is looking at him earnestly.

"She has been carried off, by a man named Talizac."

The sick woman tried to repeat this name.

"Tell me," continued Fanfar, "the life of this girl, who cares for you, who loves you, may depend on what you tell me. Have you ever seen any man by the name of Talizac here? And a woman of great size known as La Roulante, has she never been here to propose an infamous bargain?"

But he is interrupted. The paralytic falls upon her knees, and stretching out her arms, cries:

"Jacques! Jacques!"

"Who is this terrible creature," asks Jacques, "who calls me by the name of my boyhood?"

Suddenly a strange idea flashes into his mind. He looks eagerly into the eyes of the poor woman. He recognizes her; he leans over her.

"You called me Jacques, did you not? Yes, that was my name, when I was a boy in a village among the mountains. My father's name was Simon, Simon Fougere, and I had a little sister Cinette."

The woman quivered from head to foot. She threw her arms around his neck.

"Jacques! my child! My name is Francoise, and I am the widow of Simon Fougere."

"Mother! dear mother!"

This shock has been so great that the vail that obscured the poor woman's brain was rent in twain. She sees, she knows, she understands.

It is he--it is the boy she held on her knees, in those days so long ago. He took her tenderly in his arms, and both weep.

"Ah! dear mother," he said, "you braved death for the sake of your children. How did you escape?"