The Son of Monte-Cristo The Son Of Monte Cristo Part 47

he cried.

"Monsieur," said Fanfar, "a crime has been committed, the guilty must be punished, and this guilt is upon your son's head. You, gentlemen, seem to think that to your rank everything is permitted. Behold a young girl who, pure and industrious, toiled for her daily bread. This Vicomte de Talizac abducted her with the a.s.sistance of his paid emissaries. The poor creature, driven to despair, committed suicide. This is what your son has done, Marquis! Can you conceive of a more cowardly or infamous act?"

And Fanfar, with head erect and lightning in his eyes, looked with contempt on the people about him.

Arthur rushed to his side. "Dead!" he cried, "is she dead?"

Fanfar gently laid Francine upon the floor. "Is there no one among all these ladies who will see if this girl lives? Beats there not one heart under all this silk and velvet?"

A woman advanced and knelt by the side of Francine. It was Irene de Salves.

"What does this senseless comedy mean?" asked the Marquis de Fongereues, angrily.

"It is no comedy, it is a horrible tragedy," answered Fanfar, coldly.

"Ask what explanations you please from your son; he must answer you. See how he trembles; ask him if what I have said is not true?"

Talizac made a violent effort, and turning to his father, said, "This man lies!"

"And I, sir, swear that he speaks the truth!" cried Arthur de Montferrand. "Ah! Monsieur de Talizac, you forget too quickly; but my memory recalls the fact that the marks now on your face were imprinted yesterday by my hand, when you attacked me with a knife, because I endeavored to prevent you from committing this crime!"

"Liar!" shouted Talizac. Then turning to the crowd of spectators: "Gentlemen," he said, "I am the victim of a most monstrous calumny, and I call on you to treat this scoundrel with his trumped-up tale as he deserves!"

Not one moved. Fanfar, with folded arms, stood looking at them.

"She lives!" cried Irene. "She breathes! Mother, dear mother, permit this girl to be carried to our home. I will bring her back to life; you will give me permission?" she asked, turning to Fanfar.

"She is my sister!" said Fanfar.

Irene imprinted a kiss on Francine's brow. This was her reply to Fanfar's words.

Talizac ran to the door of the salon and summoned the lacqueys. "Here, take this man away!"

And, as they crowded in, Fanfar said: "Who dares lay a hand on me?"

"I do!" answered a voice behind him, as a hand was laid on his shoulder.

"In the name of the king, I arrest you!"

The man who uttered these words wore a white scarf, fringed with gold.

Soldiers filled every doorway.

"Monsieur," said the Magistrate, to Fongereues, "a man has just been found endeavoring to conceal himself in the apartments of His Majesty.

He had arms concealed about his person, and did not hesitate to confess that he came with the intention of killing the king."

A cry of horror ran around the room. Fongereues was overjoyed. Cyprien had kept his word.

"And this man," continued the Magistrate, "when summoned to name his accomplices, said that he obeyed the instructions of a secret society, of which this Fanfar is the chief."

"An infamous falsehood!" exclaimed Fanfar.

"An a.s.sa.s.sin! never!" murmured Irene, as she rose from her knees, hastily.

Arthur held her back. He had divined her secret. "Do not betray yourself," he whispered, "rely on me."

Fanfar looked around. Escape was impossible. He turned to Irene. "Save my sister!" he said to her.

She bowed a.s.sent. Then Fanfar spoke to the Magistrate. "This unfounded accusation will recoil on the heads of my calumniators. I have been against the monarchy, but I have had no hand in any plot with murder as its object. I am at your service, gentlemen!"

Arthur whispered in the ear of de Talizac:

"To-morrow, if you are not a coward, I shall expect you!"

"And I will kill you!" answered the Vicomte.

In another hour the guests had left the Hotel de Fongereues.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

LEIGOUTTE.

The kind reader who has followed thus far, has not forgotten a certain little village among the Vosges mountains, where in January, 1814, brave peasants fought and died in the defence of their country.

When Simon left Leigoutte with Sergeant Michel, he had no idea that the fury of the invaders would lead them to commit the crime of killing women and children, and to burn their homes. The Cossacks and the emigres avenged themselves on French flesh and blood, and French homes and firesides.

While the Russians burned the cottage where Francoise and the children had taken shelter, Talizac, in order to ensure his possession of the t.i.tle and Fongereues estates, set fire to the inn which was Simon's home. The emigres took fiendish delight in destroying the school-room.

Was it not there that the Republicans talked of duty and their country to the children? And when this band of royal thieves had pa.s.sed, desolation settled down upon the valley.

The king was proclaimed at the Tuileries, and lying on his bed embroidered with purple _fleur de lis_, never condescended to think of the villages in the East that had welcomed the invaders with powder and shot.

By degrees Leigoutte, like its neighbors, began to hold up its head once more, and the few survivors agreed to take care of the women and children who had been left without protectors. The oldest among them remembered Simon's teachings, and repeated them to their children.

One day they experienced a great surprise. It became known that a stranger had purchased the land on which had formerly stood the inn and the school of Simon Fougere. Every one wondered what the old man, who seemed to be an intendant, meant to do with this place, about which hung so many sad legends. Then came an architect, who employed the workmen in the village. They were paid well and promptly. The older inhabitants were consulted as to the plan of the old inn and the school.

When wonder had pa.s.sed, the villagers were amazed to find the inn had been built exactly like the old one that had been burned by the emigres.

Yes, there was the large, well-lighted room where Francoise, with her little girl in her arms, had cordially welcomed the travelers, while little Jacques flew about with bright cheeks and brighter eyes. The sign, too, was just the same as the old one. The only difference was that the tri-colored flag did not wave in the morning breeze. The new proprietor was named Pierre Labarre. Who was he? No one knew. He had a benevolent face, and he liked to talk of Simon Fougere, and made the villagers tell him the story of his death over and over again. Sometimes he was seen to listen with tears in his eyes.

"He knew him, that's sure!" said the peasants.

He selected a man and his wife to keep the inn. They had two children, a boy and a girl. The girl was named Francine. This completed the resemblance to the past. As a schoolmaster, Pierre appointed an old soldier, who was intelligent and honest.

Once more Leigoutte began to take heart. Pierre Labarre spent several days each year in the village, and yet the good people knew nothing of him more than his name. Pierre Labarre was not the real benefactor, who slept in his tomb, but when dying he had said to his old servant:

"I have been unfaithful to my duty toward Simon. I have been cowardly toward him. I have a large amount for my grandchildren, where, you alone will know. Seek these children, and make them rich. If Fate be against us, if you cannot find these children, consecrate this fortune to making the name of Simon beloved. Go to the poor village of Leigoutte, and let those who loved him, that is, all who knew him, be the heirs of that son whom the Marquis de Fongereues adored in his heart."

For many years he sought in vain for the smallest clue, but one day, after much discouragement, a new hope sprang to life in his heart. It was when the so-called Marquis de Fongereues came to demand at his hands the secret entrusted to the old man by his master. The very violence of the two men on that day proved that Simon's son was living. Had he been dead, the heirs of the Fongereues would have applied to the courts.