The Son of Monte-Cristo The Son Of Monte Cristo Part 37

"Who speaks of Talizac and de Fongereues?" he asked.

"Ah! Monsieur Fanfar! heaven has sent you to my a.s.sistance. My establishment is ruined, but that is nothing to the ruin of this poor girl!"

"What poor girl?" asked Fanfar. "Pray explain yourself, Monsieur Aube."

Montferrand had heard that this Fanfar was only a rope-dancer; but his air and manner, his dress, too, proclaimed him to hold a very different position, and he was greatly attracted by his appearance.

"It is a disgraceful piece of business, sir," he answered, "in which, I am sorry to say, I am in a measure concerned;--the Vicomte de Talizac--"

"I knew it!" murmured Fanfar.

"And his friend, Fernando de Vellebri--"

"The Italian spy, who betrayed his brothers, the Carbonari, and is now the slave of the Jesuits."

"All of which I knew nothing of; but at all events these two men, whom I have called my friends, to my shame, have carried off a young girl, a street singer--

"A most odious crime; but have you any idea where they have taken her?"

"No, not the slightest."

"And this girl, has she no father, no mother?"

"She is an orphan, and is called the Marquise."

"Ah! but her real name? Where does she live?"

"Only a little way from here, but a man named Robeccal can tell you exactly."

"Robeccal! A miserable scoundrel!"

"You know him then?"

"Only too well!"

"I know that the Marquise boards with a woman who is bed-ridden, and I remember that she is sometimes spoken of as Cinette, or Francine."

"Cinette!" cried Fanfar, "how old is she!"

"Fifteen or sixteen, I should say."

"Merciful Heavens! Can it be she! Am I going mad?"

"What are you saying, sir?" and Montferrand seemed to feel a real interest.

"You can't understand, but I shall save her. If I chance to meet that Talizac, I will crush him as I would a venomous reptile!"

"You are going in pursuit of the girl?" asked Aube.

"Most certainly, nor will I rest until I have rescued her!"

"Accept my services," said Montferrand.

"Where am I to turn? What shall I do first? My head is dizzy." He held himself more erect. "But this is no time to give way. Thank you, sir, for your generous offer, of which I may avail myself later."

"I regret to have seemed, even for a moment, the accomplice of these men. My name is Arthur, son of the Marquis de Montferrand. Here is my card."

Fanfar took the bit of shining pasteboard.

"And here is my hand!" added Arthur.

"And now," said Fanfar, after a vigorous exchange of handshaking, "and now we have not a moment to lose!"

There was another disturbance below. A great noise, and a voice shouting, "Open! in the name of the law!"

Fanfar started.

"At last!" cried Aube. "It is the police; probably by this time the men are arrested."

Fanfar laid his hand on his shoulder, and said rapidly, "No, no; the police of Louis XVIII. do not disturb themselves for such trifles; they are after other game than criminals--"

"Open, in the name of the king! If not, we force the door!"

"These officers are in pursuit of men who have sworn eternal war against oppression and corruption--who detest a despotic monarchy and demand a free and honest republic!"

"Do you speak of yourself?" asked Montferrand, quickly.

Aube opened his eyes wide. Certainly, this was a most extraordinary evening!

"You are lost!" cried Montferrand.

"Not yet!" answered Fanfar. "Pray, Monsieur Aube, hold them in conversation, a few minutes. Good-bye, but remember that I shall rescue Francine." As he spoke, he ran lightly up the upper stairs.

Aube, according to his instructions, slowly raised the bars of the door, at which the police were impatiently knocking. When at last the door was opened, a crowd poured in, headed by a Police Commissioner.

"Keeping me waiting in this way will cost you dear, let me tell you!"

foamed this important functionary.

"But why are you here?" stammered the proprietor of the restaurant.

"I don't suppose we are bound to tell you that, are we? But first, who is that man?" and he pointed to Arthur, who pale and covered with blood, was not especially rea.s.suring in appearance.

"That man, sir, of whom you speak so rudely," said Arthur, with some heat, "is the son of the Marquis de Montferrand."

"I beg ten thousand pardons!" said the official, in the most obsequious tone, "but this house is a den--"

"A den!" gasped Aube.

"Yes, a den where the enemies of our beloved king plot together."