The Son of Monte-Cristo The Son Of Monte Cristo Part 22

Caillette uttered a little cry, and would have fallen had not a hand caught her. She turned, and saw it was Irene.

"Will you give these salts to Monsieur Fanfar?" said Irene.

"Ah! thanks!" cried Fanfar, without waiting for Caillette to give it to him, and took it, as he spoke, from the young lady's hand.

"Pshaw! I have something better than that," said Bobichel, and dashing to the inn he returned with a bottle of brandy.

"Two drops of this," he said, "will do more than all the salts in the world."

Fanfar administered a few drops to Gudel, who presently uttered a long sigh.

"Living!" cried Fanfar.

"Heaven be praised!" shouted Bobichel. Then, turning swiftly toward La Roulante, he added,

"Made a mistake, eh?"

The giantess started.

"Ah! he is better," said a treacherous voice. It was Robeccal who spoke.

He feared lest his absence would look badly, and he had come back.

"A physician is wanted," exclaimed Fanfar, turning to Schwann, who was weeping like a child.

"There is none in the village, none nearer than Vagney, a league away."

"Then I will go for him."

"But the inundation. Fanfar, you can't do it."

"I must try it, at all events."

"Monsieur Fanfar," said Irene, "I beg you to take my horse. She is a splendid animal, and goes like the wind!"

Madame Ursula raised her hands to heaven. "A splendid animal indeed!"

she thought, "it cost two thousand francs."

Caillette wrung her hands in despair.

"I accept your kindness," answered Fanfar, simply. "You are very good, Mademoiselle, and I thank you."

"I remembered your words of advice," she replied.

Fanfar looked at her a moment. Then, pa.s.sing his hand over his brow, he seemed to try to shake himself together.

"Let him be carried to the inn, and the doctor shall see him as quickly as possible," he said.

The peasants slowly raised the injured man, and as they crossed the Square, they beheld a singular scene. Bobichel had Robeccal by the throat, and pressed his knees on his adversary's chest.

"Ah! Bobichel," cried Schwann, "is this the time to fight?"

Bobichel rose, and seemed to hesitate, then he flung the scoundrel from him, with contempt and loathing.

Fanfar leaped upon Irene's horse, and dashed off in the direction of Vagney.

"My father, and he," murmured Caillette, "all that I love and have in the world."

And with her handkerchief to her eyes, she followed the sad procession.

CHAPTER XVIII.

PIERRE LABARRE.

We have left the Marquis and his most excellent servant Cyprien going toward Vagney, but it was not without anxiety that they ventured on this expedition. Both these men valued their lives highly, and felt no fears of ordinary foes, but with an inundation no cunning would prevail.

Cyprien was extremely uncomfortable, and held his breath to listen to the rush of waters. He heard it soon enough, and saw it too. The water looked brown and had a silver foam upon it, but high as was the torrent it was still confined to its rocky bed. The intendant's courage returned. The Marquis stopped short to look at the cataract in admiration, but Cyprien urged him on, for it was growing late.

Suddenly, Cyprien laid his hand on the arm of the Marquis, who started.

Criminals are subject to these involuntary starts.

"We are here," said Cyprien.

"Ah!" answered the Marquis.

"Do you see on that side hill a tiny house, which seems to hold its equilibrium almost by a miracle? It is there that we shall find Pierre Labarre."

"But he may not be at home?"

"He never goes out, this hermit." And Cyprien laughed.

The house that Cyprien pointed out was much more like a hut--it consisted of one story. Before the door were two or three worn stone steps. The door was of oak, and looked strong. On each side of the door was a window, which had heavy shutters that could be bolted at night.

These were now open.

There was not a sound nor a movement about the house, at the back of which was an enclosure of moderate dimensions most carefully cultivated.

The Marquis hastened on, impatiently. He struck two or three blows with his cane on the door.

A voice within called out, "Who is there?"

The two accomplices exchanged a glance. Their expedition promised well.

"The Marquis de Fongereues."

Instantly the door opened, and an old man appeared. It was the man whom we saw in the Black Forest in the beginning of our narrative, the man who then escaped from the a.s.sa.s.sin, and who told the old Marquis of Simon's retreat. But the ten years that had since elapsed had left their traces on his brow; and perhaps it was not years alone that had lined his brow, faded his eyes, and bent his form. His face was sad--a shadow rested upon it.

"Enter, sir," said the former servant of the Fongereues family.