The Son of Monte-Cristo The Son Of Monte Cristo Part 13

"Mother! Mother!" cried the boy.

There was no time to lose. Lasvene lifted him by the collar and dropped him into the dark hole, and closed the cover. Francoise extended her arms to the old man. "Thanks!" she said.

"We are caught like rats in a hole!" he growled.

The Cossacks began to tear down the walls.

"Can you walk?" said the old soldier to Francoise.

"No!"

"Then you must die!"

"Will the children be saved?"

"Yes."

"Then do what you will!"

Lasvene s.n.a.t.c.hed a burning log from the fire and threw it into the middle of a pile of brushwood.

"Fan it!" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

And Francoise dragged herself forward and fanned the flames with her dying breath.

"Brave woman!" cried Lasvene. "And now, welcome death! Vive la France!"

He poured his flask of powder on the floor. There was a terrible explosion.

Francoise and old Lasvene have done their duty ere they died. The walls of the hut fall, and hide the trap door.

CHAPTER XI.

CHILDREN IN DARKNESS.

The trap door closed on the two children, leaving them in total darkness. Lasvene had not thought of that.

The boy hesitated. His mother had bidden him save Francinette--here was safety, even if there were also darkness. He kissed his little sister tenderly.

"Can you walk, dear?" he said.

"No--I am afraid!"

Jacques remembered that he was ten, and that Francinette, who was only six, had a right to be afraid.

"Afraid!" he repeated, "what is there to fear? I am not afraid!"

He was not speaking the truth, but he had a vague idea that it was not wrong to tell a falsehood on this occasion. He placed Francinette on the ground, and she clung to his legs. He pa.s.sed his hand over the wall, and they slowly crept on. The ground was slippery and the air foul. Suddenly Jacques tripped and fell. The little girl began to cry. Her brother had lost his hold on the wall, and when he gathered himself up, he missed the touch of those little hands.

"Cinette! Cinette!" he cried.

She replied with sobs, and he suddenly realized that these sobs were becoming fainter and fainter. Where was she?

"Cinette! stand still."

The voice replied:

"Jacques! Oh! mamma! I want mamma!"

It was plain that the child was lost, and that several paths ran from the point where he stood. He called to his sister again--no reply. He began to run, and came up against the wall. He started again, then stopped. He saw a red light at the end of a long gallery. This light came from the funeral pyre of Francoise and the old man.

The boy smiled--he fancied that aid was coming. He called: "Mamma!

Mamma!" Suddenly his hurrying feet encountered an obstacle, and he fell from a height. His head struck a rock, and he felt the blood stream over his face. Then he fainted.

How long he lay there he never knew. After a while he struggled to his feet, and then hurried on, always away from the red light, not toward it. Suddenly he felt the air strike his face, and he saw the sunshine.

The subterranean pa.s.sage ended. He emerged upon a plain. An old chateau stood on the brow of a hill opposite.

"If I go there," he said to himself, "I can find people who will look for Francinette with me."

He tried to run; his foot slipped. He looked down and beheld a pool of blood. A dead body lay near, and then another, and another--death and slaughter everywhere!

These were French soldiers who had been surprised and shot. Three guns were fastened together, holding a pot over a fire not yet entirely gone out.

Jacques was now wild with terror; he wished he were back in the darkness of the subterranean pa.s.sage, but still he struggled on for his little sister's sake. Suddenly he started. Around the neck of a soldier he saw a cord to which hung a bugle. Jacques made his way to the body. He extended his arm, then pulled it back, but impelled by the hope of safety, he at last succeeded in reaching the bugle without touching the body, but he could not take it away because of the cord. Then Jacques closed his eyes, and supporting himself on one hand, he placed his lips to the mouth of the bugle. His face was very near that of the dead soldier. He remembered the lessons he had received from Simon.

"Tarara! Tarara!"

The sound came rich and full, but the exertion had been too great.

Jacques fainted, and his pale face lay on the stiff, outstretched arm of the dead soldier.

CHAPTER XII.

THE RISING SUN.

That morning the worthy Schwann, whose ancestors had kept the inn known as the Rising Sun for one hundred and fifty years, said that in all his experience he had never been so busy. Three travelers, three guests in February! It was most amazing. And the worthy innkeeper knew that this was not all. Six more strangers might arrive at any moment; but when he was asked who these strangers were, he winked mysteriously, but looked highly pleased. At the hour when this chapter opens, Master Schwann had just witnessed a veritable slaughter in his poultry yard; pots and saucepans were smoking on the fire, and vigorous preparations were made in the kitchen.

The door was suddenly thrown open, and loud laughter made the windows rattle. The innkeeper started, but before he could speak, he was lifted off his feet by the long arms of a vigorous looking young man, with a most enormous mouth. His costume was something wonderful; a startling combination of colors; a red coat, a yellow vest trimmed with huge black b.u.t.tons, green breeches and long black hose.

"Iron Jaws!" cried the innkeeper, struggling in the grasp of the Colossus.