A MEETING
Fanfaro had urged Irene's horse on at great speed, and while it flew
along like a bird, the most stormy feelings raged in his heart.
The gaze of the pretty girl haunted him; he heard her gentle voice and
tried in vain to shake off these thoughts. What was he, that he should
indulge in such wild fancies? A foundling, the adopted son of an
acrobat, who had picked him up upon the way, and yet--
Further and further horse and rider flew; before Fanfaro's eyes stood
Girdel's pale, motionless face, and he thought he could hear Caillette's
bitter sobs. No, he must bring help or else go under, and ceaselessly,
like lightning, he pushed on toward the city.
The marquis and Simon ran breathlessly along. Their only thought was to
get far from the neighborhood of the old man and his wolf-hound. Neither
of the two spoke a word. The stormy, roaring Cure was forgotten, the
danger to life was forgotten; on, on they went, like deer pursued by a
pack of bloodthirsty hounds, and neither of them paid any attention to
the ominous noise of the overflowing mountain streams.
Suddenly Simon paused and seized the marquis's arm.
"Listen," he whispered, tremblingly, "what is that?"
A thunderous noise, ceaseless, rolling, and crashing, reached their ears
from all sides; from all sides frothy, bubbling masses of water dashed
themselves against the rocks, and now--now an immense rock fell crashing
in the flood, which overflowed into the wide plain like a storm-whipped
sea.
Despair seized the men; before, behind, and around them roared and
foamed the turbulent waters; they turned to the right, where a huge
rock, which still projected above the waves, assured them safety, but
just then the marquis struck his foot against a stone--he tumbled and
fell with a half-smothered cry for help, "Help--I am sinking!" into the
dark depths.
Simon did not think of lending his master a helping hand; he sprang from
rock to rock, from stone to stone, and soon reached a high point which
protected him from the oncoming waters.
The marquis had been borne a short distance along by the raging waters,
until he succeeded in clambering upon a branch of an evergreen tree. The
flood still rolled along above his body, but with superhuman strength he
managed to keep his head above water and despairingly cry, "Help, Simon!
Rescue me!"
Suddenly it seemed to the half-unconscious man as if he heard a human
voice calling to him from above:
"Courage--keep up."
With the remainder of his strength the marquis gazed in the direction
from which it came, and recognized a human form which seemed to be
hanging in the air.
"Attention, I will soon be with you," cried the voice, now coming
nearer.
The marquis saw the form spring, climb, and then the water spurted up
and the marquis lost consciousness.
Fanfaro, for naturally he was the rescuer, who appeared at the hour of
the greatest need, now stood up to his knees in water, and had just
stretched his hand out toward the marquis, when the latter, with a
groan, let go of the tree branch, and the next minute he was borne along
by the turbulent waters.
Fanfaro uttered a slight cry, but he did not hesitate a moment. Plunging
into the seething waves, he parted them with muscular strokes, and
succeeded in grasping the drowning man. Throwing his left arm about him,
he swam to the rocky projection upon which the evergreen tree stood.
Inch by inch he climbed toward the pathway which was upon the top of the
hill. Perspiration dripped from his forehead, and his wind threatened to
give out, but Fanfaro went on, and finally stood on top. Putting the
marquis softly on the ground, Fanfaro took out a small pocket-lantern
which he always carried with him. With great trouble he lighted the wet
wick, and then let the rays fall full on the pale face of the motionless
man. Seized by an indescribable emotion, the young man leaned over the
marquis. Did he suspect that the man whom he had rescued from the stormy
waters, at the risk of his life, was the brother of the man who had
taken mercy on the helpless orphan, and was at the same time his father?
The marquis now opened his eyes, heaved a deep sigh, and looked wildly
around him.
"Where am I?" he faintly stammered. "The water--ah!"
"You are saved," said Fanfaro, gently.
The sound of the voice caused all the blood to rush to the marquis's
heart.
"Did you save me?"
"Yes."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Fanfaro, and I am a member of Girdel's troupe, which is at
present in Sainte-Ame. Can you raise yourself?"
With the young man's assistance, the marquis raised himself up, but
uttered a cry of pain when he put his feet on the ground.
"Are you wounded?" asked Fanfaro, anxiously.
"No, I do not think so; the water knocked me against trees and stones,
and my limbs hurt me from that."
"That will soon pass away. Now put your arm about my neck and trust
yourself to me; I will bring you to a place of safety."
The marquis put his arms tightly about the young man's neck, and the
latter strode along the narrow pathway which led to the heights.
Soon the road became broader, the neighing of a horse was heard, and
drawing a deep breath the young man stood still.
"Now we are safe," he said, consolingly; "I will take you on the back of
my horse, and in less than a quarter of an hour we will be in
Sainte-Ame. I rode from there to Vagney, to get a physician for my
foster-father, Girdel, who injured himself, but unfortunately he was not
at home, and so I had to return alone. Get up, the road is straight
ahead, and the mountains now lie between us and the water."
In the meantime Fanfaro had helped the marquis on the back of the horse,
and now he raised his lantern to untie the knot of the rope with which
he had bound the animal to a tree. The light of the lamp fell full upon
his face, and the marquis uttered a slight cry; his rescuer resembled in
a startling way the old Marquis of Fougereuse.
Had he Jules's son before him?
A satanic idea flashed through the brain of the noble rogue, and when
Fanfaro, after putting out his lantern, attempted to get on the horse's
back, the marquis pressed heavily against the horse's flank and they
were both off like the wind in the direction of the village.
Fanfaro, who only thought that the horse had run away with the marquis,
cried in vain to the rider, and so he had to foot the distance,
muttering as he went:
"If the poor fellow only doesn't get hurt; he is still feeble, and the
horse needs a competent rider."