THE CANAL
By what miracle had Louison escaped? In his anxiety to make the young
girl harmless, Robeckal had given her such a strong dose that the
narcotic had just the opposite effect, and before an hour had passed, a
hammering and beating of her temples awakened her again. The excited
state in which she was made her unable to grasp a clear thought; but one
thing stood plainly before her--she must leave this horrible house at
any price.
Slowly rising, she felt for the door; it was locked. She then walked
softly to the window and looked at the street. It was deserted and empty
of pedestrians, a fog hung over it, and if Louison could only reach the
street she would be safe.
Through the broken pane the fresh air entered, and she tried then to
collect her thoughts. The horrible woman had spoken about Belleville; if
she were only in the street she would soon reach the Boulevard du
Temple, and then--further than this she did not get with her plans.
Away, only away, the rest would take care of itself.
What had the virago said? "Too late, too late, too late!" The horrible
words rang in her ears like a death-knell; every pulse-beat repeated,
"Too late!"
Pressing her hand to her temples, Louison began to sob. Just then the
coarse laughter of her torturers sounded from the basement and her tears
immediately dried.
Softly, very softly, she opened the window, stood on the sill and swung
herself to the outer sill. A pole which served to support a grapevine
gave her a hold. She carefully climbed down its side, reached the street
and ran as if pursued by the Furies.
The fog grew denser, and more than once Louison knocked against a wall
or ran against passers-by, but these obstacles did not hinder her from
running on.
How long she had been going in this way she did not know, but suddenly a
blast of cold air grazed her burning face, and looking up she perceived
that she had reached the Canal St. Martin. She had only to cross the
bridge to reach those quarters of the great city which were known to
her, but still she did not do it. A short while she stood there not
knowing what to do. Then she strode on, timidly looking around her and
walked down the damp stone steps leading to the water.
For a long time she stood on the last step. All around everything was
still, and only the monotonous ripple of the waves reached the deserted
girl's ears. With her arms folded across her bosom, she gazed at the
black waters; the murmuring waves played about her feet and then she
paused so long--long--
Robeckal and Rolla hurried through the streets with feverish haste. The
ground burned under their feet, and they did not dare to breathe before
they had turned their back upon the capital. They were just turning into
the Rue St. Denis, when an iron fist was laid upon Robeckal's shoulder,
and forced the frightened man to stand still.
"What does this mean?" he angrily cried, as he turned around, "a--"
He paused, for he had recognized Fanfaro. Bobichel had clutched Rolla at
the same time, and shaking her roughly, he cried:
"Monster, where is the street-singer?"
"What do I know of a street-singer?" cried Rolla, boldly. "Let me go or
I shall cry out."
"Cry away," replied Bobichel. "You must know best yourself whether you
desire the interference of the police or not."
Rolla thought of the well-filled pocket-book and kept silent. Robeckal,
in the meantime, had almost died of strangulation, for Fanfaro's fingers
pressed his throat together; and when he was asked if he intended to
answer, he could only nod with his head.
"Where is Louison?" asked Fanfaro, in a voice of thunder.
"No. 16 Rue de Belleville."
"Alone?"
"I do not know."
"Scoundrels, God help you, if all is not right," hissed Fanfaro, "bring
us quickly to the house named."
"Oh, it is very easy to find," began Rolla, but Bobichel threatened her
with his fist and cried:
"So much the better for you, forward march!"
Robeckal and the Cannon Queen, held in the grips of Fanfaro and the
clown, proceeded on the way to Belleville. They stopped in front of No.
16, and it required the application of force to get them to enter.
Rolla, in advance of the others, went to the top story. The door was
wide open and the room empty.
"Really, he has taken her along?" she exclaimed in amazement.
"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Fanfaro, trembling with fear.
"Of whom else but the little vicomte."
"His name?"
"Talizac."
"The villain!" muttered Fanfaro to himself.
Bobichel was still holding Rolla by the arm. His gaze, roving about the
room, had espied a note on the table. Rolla saw it, too, but before she
could take it the clown had called Fanfaro's attention to it.
"You have swindled me," the young man read; "you have helped her to
escape, confound you!"
"Thank God all is not lost yet," whispered Fanfaro, handing Bobichel the
paper.
"One moment," said the clown; "I have an idea which I would like to
carry out."
With a quick movement Bobichel threw Robeckal to the ground, bound him
with a thick rope and threw him into a closet. He locked it and putting
the key in his pocket, he turned to Rolla.
"March, away with you," he said, roughly, "and do not attempt to free
him; he can ponder over his sins."
Rolla hurried to leave the house. If Robeckal died she would be the sole
possessor of the twenty thousand francs. Bobichel and Fanfaro left the
house likewise, and Robeckal remained crying behind.