Fanfar pa.s.sed his hand over his troubled brow. "My dear old friend," he said, "take pity on me, and tell me all you know; do not compel me to ask so many questions."

"Well, then, listen. You as well as I, became a little anxious because we had heard nothing of Monsieur Esperance for so long. I have found out that the night of the _soiree_, while we were saving those two old people in there, he was also doing something of the same kind."

"Did he not go home then, as we supposed?"

"Not he! He did not go home for over two hours, then he and Monsieur Goutran had a person with them who had been wounded--a young girl--she had been shot!"

"What preposterous tale is this?"

"It is true, sir. I did not believe it myself, at first, and as I felt sure you would doubt the story, I took the liberty of bringing the witnesses with me. Caraman and Coucon are here, sir."

"Oh! Bobichel, why could you not have said this before? Let me see them at once, and I swear that I will get at the truth!"

Fanfar, in addition to his impatience, felt a certain remorse. If any accident happened to Esperance he felt in a measure responsible.

Caraman and Coucon came in. They were in great trouble.

"My good friends," said Fanfar, taking Madame's hand. She was sobbing fit to break her heart, while Coucon was gnawing the ends of his moustache, in order not to imitate her example. "My good friends, I do not yet believe that what Bobichel tells me is true. He says that the Vicomte has disappeared."

"Yes, sir," growled Coucon.

"Then, Madame Caraman, this is no time for tears. Tears remedy nothing, and we must have all our wits about us."

Madame held out her arms to Fanfar, as she fell on her knees before him.

"I am the one in fault, and I shall never forgive myself."

"Pray tell me the whole."

"I have broken all my promises in not sending to you before, and yet all the time I had a presentiment of evil."

She wept and sobbed to such a degree that Fanfar could scarcely understand her, but he finally managed to soothe her. She had little to explain, however. She told how Esperance and Goutran had come in late at night, and brought with them a young girl who had been wounded by a pistol shot, and who seemed to be dying. How she herself had watched over this girl night and day. She told how, in obedience to the Vicomte, she had gone to lie down, being very weary and sleepy.

"I can't say how it happened," she sighed. "I had been greatly fatigued.

I only meant to rest, not to sleep, but when I opened my eyes it was broad daylight. I jumped up, and ran to the door and listened, but all was silent; then I stole to the bed, I thought she was asleep, of course. Suddenly it occurred to me that the silence was too profound. I tore open the curtain, the bed was empty. At first I thought the girl might have been carried to some other room, she was too weak to walk, you understand, and perhaps Coucon had helped, so I went to him and he rubbed his eyes and yawned."

"Madame Caraman!" exclaimed Coucon.

"Yes, you did, and were as stupid as possible. At all events, he had heard nothing, seen nothing. Then I took it into my head that the Vicomte had taken her away. And--and--I can't tell you what I thought, but did not like to go to the Vicomte. I knew if she was in his room, that he would not like any one to know it. This was an infamous thought on my part, for she is a good girl, I am sure."

"Pray, go on with your story, my dear lady," said Fanfar, with a shade of impatience. "We are losing a great deal of precious time."

"You are right! Well, I finally decided to go to the Vicomte's door. He was sitting at the table studying some books on medicine, and I told him. Oh! how sorry I was for him. I had no idea that he would care, but he became deadly pale, and thrusting me aside, a little rudely I must confess, he ran to the room I had just left, and when he found I had told him the simple truth he went nearly crazy. Even if, as I first thought might be the case, the girl had an attack of delirium, she could not have opened the window, besides it was fastened inside. The doors were all bolted too. I did not know what to think. Monsieur Esperance was in such a rage that I don't like to think of him. But after all he was right, I had no business to sleep in that way."

"Go on; tell me about Esperance. When did he go away?"

"We have not seen him since last evening. He put his hat on his head, and went out without saying a word to us."

Fanfar reflected.

"You have no idea where he went?"

"Not the slightest. Oh! what will the Count say to us!"

"You have been very imprudent, but there is no use in recriminations. We must look for Esperance at once. Do you know how the girl was wounded?"

"No, but Monsieur Goutran does."

"I will go to him immediately."

"Oh! we have been there, and he has gone away for the day. Here is a little bag which we found in the young lady's room, and it may tell you something."

And Madame, as she spoke, handed Fanfar one of those little morocco bags so much in vogue to be hung at the belt. Fanfar opened the bag, and found a letter without address.

"We must look at this," he said.

The letter was only a few lines of thanks written to the young girl by Goutran, when she consented to sing at his _soiree_. The note began with the words "Miss Jane!"

"Miss Jane!" cried Fanfar, a sudden recollection flashing over him.

To this cry there was a response. The door opened, and Sanselme tottered in.

"Jane! Jane! Did you say Jane?"

Fanfar ran to his a.s.sistance.

"Don't trouble yourself about me," cried Sanselme. "Tell me, did I hear you speak the name of Jane?"

"That is certainly the name on this note," answered Fanfar, extending the paper in his hand, which Sanselme s.n.a.t.c.hed from him.

"Yes, it is hers. It is my dau--" He stopped even in his delirium he had strength to conceal his secret. "It is Jane's," he added.

"Then you know this girl?" Fanfar asked, excitedly.

"Do I know her? Was it not she who wished to die? Was it not she whom I rescued?"

"No, calm yourself. You are mistaken. You must try and tell me what I wish to know. Terrible dangers threaten those whom perhaps we both love."

"Is Jane in danger?" asked Sanselme, frantically. "Let me go! I must leave this place at once."

He started from his chair, but his strength failed him, and if Fanfar had not caught him he would have fallen.

"Ah!" he half sobbed, "I might have known it! That wretch Benedetto is always a signal of misfortune to me."

"Who speaks of Benedetto!" said a hoa.r.s.e voice.

Every one started. Before them stood the mad woman in torn and shabby garments, with her white hair in disorder. And as Sanselme looked up he saw her. A terrible cry escaped from his lips, and he recoiled with staring eyes riveted on the spectre before him.

"It is she!" he murmured. "The dead, it seems, are permitted to revisit the earth!"