The Son of Monte-Cristo

by Jules Lermina

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  THE NEST.

  Two white beds stood near each other. Muslin curtains tied with blueribbons covered the windows with billowy folds. Among the pillows of oneof the beds lay a beautiful face, and a young girl at her side held herfrail hands.

  This chamber was that of Irene de Salves, and very unlike it was to thechamber of the spoiled child in the Chateau des Vosges. There she hadcreated a mixture of all colors--violent reds and yellows. Noweverything was delicate and calm. The sweet face among the pillows wasFrancine's. The two young girls were like sisters. Irene felt that tolove, protect, and care for Francine, was to love Fanfar. The shockFrancine had experienced was terrible; she hardly knew what had takenplace--whether she deliberately threw herself into the water, or whetherfaint and dizzy, she fell in; when Fanfar leaped to her rescue she clungto him convulsively. Then came the fever and delirium, and when she wasat last conscious she beheld a sweet face bending over her, and Irenesaid, "Courage, sister, courage!"

  Francine, surprised and touched, extended her thin hands, but suddenlyimagining that she was again in the house where she had suffered somuch, she shrieked "Let me die! Let me die!"

  A relapse took place, and for several days her life hung on a thread.Irene was indefatigable in her care, and finally she began to recoververy slowly.

  She questioned Irene as soon as she was able. What had become of thepoor woman, the care of whom she had assumed? Hardly had she escapedfrom the jaws of death, than she began to think of others. Irene couldtell her little. Ever since the violent scene of the ball, Arthur deMontferrand, without confessing his real motives, for he loved Francine,had placed himself at the disposal of Irene. He had divined her secret,and prevented her from betraying it to the curious crowd.

  Fanfar was in prison. His trial was soon coming on. It was believed thathis condemnation was certain. The disturbance to the health of the king,consequent on the attempted assassination at the Tuileries, had, it wassaid, greatly embittered the monarchists. A report was in circulationthat an infamous comedy had been enacted by this Fanfar and his sisterin order to break off the marriage between Talizac and Mademoiselle deSalves, a money-making scheme, worthy of a street singer and amountebank.

  The sick woman had disappeared. This intelligence drove Francine todespair. Who was this Caillette, who had pretended to take her place,and then disappeared, leaving no trace behind her?

  "But," said Francine, "who was it who saved me?"

  "Do you not know?" answered Irene, coloring deeply.

  "No, I heard you mention a name that I do not know."

  "Yes, that of Monsieur Fanfar."

  "Who is he?"

  Irene looked at her and wondered if in her fever the girl's reason haddeserted her.

  "I do not understand. Do you not know your brother?"

  "My brother!"

  Irene passed her hand over her troubled brow.

  "My brother. Ah! what is it you say? I never had but one brother, dearlittle Jacques, who was always so good and kind to me!"

  "Jacques! but that is the name of--Monsieur Fanfar!"

  "I tell you," answered Francine, "that I never met any one of that name.Stop a moment, I remember a company of mountebanks on the Square; theywere under the management of a man called Iron Jaws, and with him wasthis Fanfar, if I don't mistake."

  "Precisely, and this Fanfar is your brother, I heard him say so,himself, when I went to help you. He said to me, 'she is my sister--'"

  "Where is he? I must see him. He saved my life. Suppose that he isJacques! But no, poor Jacques is dead!"

  Irene could not help the poor girl; although she fully believed in thetruth of what Fanfar had said, she could offer no proof.

  Suddenly Francine exclaimed, "If he is my Jacques, he ought to be abouttwenty. He ought to be very handsome."

  Irene colored, as she said, "He is handsome!"

  "With black eyes, and brown curling hair?"

  Irene was unwilling to admit that she had studied Fanfar in all thesedetails, but she stammered out, "Yes, that describes him."

  "For pity's sake, tell me all you know!"

  Irene asked herself why she should hesitate. After all there was nothingto be ashamed of in her sentiments towards Fanfar.

  "I will tell you all," she said, in a low voice.

  "Why are you so disturbed?" asked Francine. "When you mention the nameof this Fanfar, you have tears in your eyes."

  Irene buried her face on her friend's shoulder: "I love him!" shewhispered, "and I love you as if you were my sister!"

  The two young girls embraced each other tenderly.

  "But where is he?" said Francine, disengaging herself, "I wish to seehim."

  Irene started. Alas! amid all these emotions she had forgotten the sadtruth that the brother, whom Francine ardently desired to embrace, wasin a narrow cell, crushed under the accusation of an attempt on the lifeof the king.

  "Why do you not tell me where I can find him?" asked Francine, her eyesbright with fever.

  At this moment the door opened, and a tall and stately individual, knownas Madame Ursula, made a sign to Irene, who instantly obeyed thesummons, glad to avoid the necessity of replying to Francine'squestions.

  "What is it?" she said.

  Madame Ursula was unchanged. She was still in a constant state of horrorat Irene's conduct and defiance of conventionalities.

  "A very strange looking man wishes to speak to the young lady."

  "She can not receive him," replied Irene, promptly.

  "So I supposed, but I delivered the message because I thought she knewthis person, and I myself have seen him before." Madame Ursula lookeddown in some confusion. "He was pretending to be a frog, on a certainoccasion--"

  "I do not understand you."

  "He is one of those clowns who amused the peasants at Saint Ame."

  "His name! his name!" cried Irene, impatiently.

  "I don't know his name. He wore a gray hat--"

  "Bobichel! It must be Bobichel!"

  Irene had forgotten none of these names.

  "Let him come in!" she cried. "Let him come in!"

  In another moment Bobichel appeared. Was this the poor clown? No; therewere no smiles on his lips, no quips and cranks on his tongue. Histhinness had become emaciation.

  Irene went forward.

  "You come from him?" she said, hastily.

  "From Fanfar? Oh! no--not directly, at least. They won't let me see him,you know."

  "Who sends you here, then?"

  "Gudel--Iron Jaws, you know."

  "Why did he not come himself?"

  "Ah! that I can't say. Gudel bade me give this note to you."

  Irene broke the seal. The envelope contained two letters. One wasdirected to "Miss _Irainne_," the other to "Mademoiselle de Salves." Whydid she open the latter? Did she know from the defective orthographythat the first could not come from Fanfar? The letter she opened wasfrom Fanfar. This was it:

  "You, who are so good and kind, be doubly so to the sister I found when too late. The hour draws near when the so-called justice of man will strike an innocent person. You do not doubt me, I know. I am not one who would dishonor a sacred cause. Say to my sister that little Jacques has endeavored to be worthy of his father--Simon Fougere.

  "I beg my adopted father, Gudel, to explain to you in detail the singular events of my life. I place entire confidence in you. I leave to your care poor Francoise and little Cinette. Love them, and they will return your affection. You have not forgotten the words addressed to you so long ago: 'Make yourself beloved.'

  "I do not know whether I should now bid you an eternal farewell. I recognize the fact that I am the object of venomous hatred to some one, but to whom? Let no one seek to solve this mystery. I forgive this enemy, whomsoever he may be.

  "In a few days--to-morrow, perhaps--my fate will be decided. Do not despair."

  Tears filled Irene's eyes as she finished this letter.

  Bobichel wat
ched her all the time, restraining his sobs with difficulty.

  "You love him!" he said softly, "and you are right, for he is the bestman I ever knew!"

  Irene extended her hand, and the clown knelt to kiss it.

  "But we must save him!" cried Irene. "He shall not be condemned--"

  "Condemned?" said a voice. "Of whom do you speak?"

  Francine, obeying an impulse, had thrown on a peignoir of whitecashmere, and appeared, white and trembling, at the door. Irene ran toher side.

  "Courage! sister," she cried, "courage!"

  Then Irene herself gave way, and burst into passionate weeping. Francinetook her brother's letter and read it slowly, but when she came to thewords "little Jacques" and "Cinette," her eyes closed, and she wouldhave fallen had not Bobichel caught her.

  "You must not cry like that!" he said. "You must not weep. We will saveFanfar! Please, Mademoiselle Irene, read the letter Iron Jaws sends you.He has an idea, and he knows what he is about. He will save Fanfar!"

  Bobichel's confidence was so great, his honest affection was soapparent, that the two girls exchanged a hopeful glance.

  "Read!" said Francine.

  Iron Jaws' letter was not faultless in respect to orthography. Itserrors we will not repeat:

  "Fanfar must be saved! I know your attachment for him. You have great influence with people in power. Try to see him, and give him something that Bobichel will hand you. I rely on your doing this."

  "What am I to say to Iron Jaws?" asked Bobichel.

  "Tell him that I will do all he asks. But you have another note for me?"

  "No, not a note." And Bobichel, with infinite care, took from the flapof his coat a pin, an ordinary pin though of large size, not largeenough, however, to excite the smallest suspicion.

  "Do you see that?" cried the clown, with much of his former gayety. "Doyou see that, ladies and gentlemen? This pin does not look like much,does it, now? But you can screw off the head, and then you will find atiny note--"

  "It is most ingenious," said Irene, with a smile "and it shall bedelivered as you desire."

  "Ah! you are a brave creature, and if some day you want some one toamuse your children--that is, when you have any, you know--send for me,and I will be frogs for them all day long!"

  And with this somewhat startling promise, Bobichel departed.