Aube, now quite rea.s.sured, hastened back to his duties below.

Francine began a prelude to a simple song, when suddenly she stopped, her guitar slipped from her hands. She saw Frederic de Talizac gliding into the room.

"Go on, _ma belle_" he said, "surely you are not afraid of me!" And he tried to take her by the waist.

"No," she replied, "I shall sing no more."

Frederic, though very tipsy, threw himself in front of the door.

"Yes, you will sing, and for each one of your sweet notes I will give you a kiss."

The girl drew back from his extended arms, and turning to the two men who stood looking on, she cried, with infinite contempt:

"Cowards! will neither of you interfere to prevent a woman from being insulted?"

Arthur's heart was stirred by this appeal.

"You are right," he replied. "Come, Frederic, no more of this!"

"Are you talking to me?" hiccoughed Frederic. "Take her from me if you dare!" And he put his arm around her.

"Help!" cried Francine. "Help!"

At the same moment, Frederic received a tremendous blow from Montferrand.

The Vicomte s.n.a.t.c.hed a knife from the table, and the two men engaged in a hand to hand contest.

Francine was so terrified that she could not move.

Why had not Aube heard this noise? We will return to the lower floor.

Robeccal was disgusted when he saw Francine go up-stairs. He felt that the ground was cut from under his feet, and that he was to lose the reward he had been promised. He stole partly up the stairs and listened.

He went on, and when the quarrel burst out and he saw the knife in the hand of the Vicomte, he rushed down the stairs, and summoned the men at the table, who were on the watch for a signal from him.

Aube had heard Francine's cry and ran to her aid, but two of the men summoned by Robeccal stood before the door.

"Let me pa.s.s!" cried Aube.

"Softly, good sir," was the reply. "Don't meddle in what does not concern you."

Furious at being thus braved in his own establishment, Aube thrust the men aside, but was driven back by repeated blows.

He turned to his customers.

"Gentlemen!" he cried, "they are insulting a poor girl up-stairs. Help me to save her; it is the Marquise--the singer!"

A number of men started up at this appeal.

The two bandits stood on the stairs with knives in their hands, and feet and hands ready to repel any one who attempted to ascend the stairs.

"Help! Murder!" shouted Aube.

Women screamed, and clung to the arms of their husbands to prevent them from taking part in the contest. Others, less courageous, threw bottles and gla.s.ses at the scoundrels who promptly returned them.

In the meantime, Arthur had thrown Frederic on the floor. Fernando endeavored to separate them, but they were no more amenable to reason than if they had been wild beasts.

Pale and trembling, Francine leaned against the wall. Robeccal went to her.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "this is not my fault. Why did you come up here?"

"Why did I?" she repeated in agony.

"I got you into this trouble unintentionally, and now I must get you out!"

She did not distrust him, she was too good for that.

"Follow me!" said Robeccal. "I know a way into the street. No one will see you."

Arthur and Frederic were still fighting; the tumult below had not decreased.

Robeccal took the girl's hand, and led her to the door which opened into the private apartments of Aube. They pa.s.sed through these until they reached another flight of stairs. Down these the girl ran, closely followed by Robeccal. They went out through a narrow alley. Suddenly, Francine heard a whistle, and she was seized, a handkerchief over her head stifled her cries, and she felt that she was being carried away by vigorous arms.

"Well done!" said Robeccal, "and now for La Roulante!"

CHAPTER XXVI.

A MAN CHASE.

When the men on the stairs heard the whistle blown by Robeccal, they rushed through the crowd brandishing their knives. They disappeared in the street.

Aube hurried up-stairs. Francine had disappeared. Fernando had finally succeeded in separating the combatants, and pushed Frederic out of the door.

Arthur, foaming with rage, called out to Aube:

"Make haste, the girl has been carried off by the order of these people!

I know what I say!"

Aube hastened to his private rooms; he found the door that led to the stairs unlocked and open.

"What scoundrels they are!" cried Aube.

"Yes," answered Montferrand, "but scoundrels who bear the best names in France--one is the Vicomte de Talizac, son of the Marquis de Fongereues."

A young man suddenly appeared on the stairs.