FACE TO FACE.
The hotel of the Marquis de Fongereues was ablaze with lights. Magdalena
having determined that her son's triumph should be dazzling, invitations
had been sent to every one of distinction. For a long time rumors had
been in circulation adverse to the Fongereues family, and the gay crowd,
always ready to desert a falling house, had shown great coolness to them
all. But as soon as the favors shown by the king became known at the
clubs, the family were quickly reinstated in public opinion.
About nine o'clock carriages began to roll through the streets near the
hotel, the doors of which were thrown wide open to welcome the coming
guests, who bore the oldest and noblest names of France.
Fongereues, under an air of great dignity, concealed the joy and pride
that swelled his heart. Magdalena was superb in her matronly beauty and
her diamonds. Talizac was excessively pale, his worn face telling the
story of his excesses and the excitement of the previous night.
Francine's flight, which he believed to have been arranged by the man
and woman whom he had employed as his tools, had driven him nearly mad
with rage, from which he had not yet recovered.
Suddenly a murmur of admiration ran around the room. Mademoiselle de
Salves had just come in. Her mother had with difficulty risen from her
sick bed to witness the triumph of her child.
Irene was certainly very beautiful, and her toilette was characterized
by exquisite simplicity. But her face was sad, and the brilliancy of her
eyes was due to fever. Why had she come? Why had she not resisted the
wishes of her mother? A great change had come over the girl. All her
former energy and innumerable caprices had given way to a charming
timidity. She was all the time conscious that she concealed a secret in
her heart, and that since a certain memorable day she thought of but one
person. Her vanity, her patrician pride, all revolted against this
truth. The name she repeated over and over again, was that of Fanfar.
Whenever she closed her eyes she saw him, haughty and courageous,
risking his life to save that of his adopted father. She heard his rich
voice and the words he uttered:
"Make yourself beloved."
She struggled with all her power against this infatuation, and had come
to Paris. There she saw him again, no longer in his theatrical costume,
but dressed like the young men she met in society. He had saved her from
being killed by the heavy timber. He had held her a minute in his arms,
and she had felt his heart beat against her own. A hundred times since
then she had seen him ride past the house, and over and over again she
knew that he had thrown flowers over the wall. With trembling joy she
had carried these flowers to the privacy of her own rooms. She
questioned them, but they were mute and kept the secret that Fanfar had
undoubtedly confided to them.
Who was this Fanfar? Irene's imagination ran riot. She heard him called
a conspirator whom the police watched. He belonged to the party who
aimed at the overthrowal of the royal power. How did one so lowly
venture to menace one so high? Irene meditated and studied; her youthful
mind awoke to great truths, and she realized that men like Fanfar were
working for a great cause, and her soul was filled with noble wrath
against those persons who were ruining and dishonoring France. How
solitary she felt herself! How ignorant! How she longed to interrogate
Fanfar on these great subjects. But she well knew that this was an
impossible dream. He was far away from her, and love had made her timid.
She ceased to struggle, but all the time asked herself why he did not
come to save her from the fate hourly drawing nearer. She knew that her
mother had promised her hand to the Vicomte de Talizac, and she knew
that if she made any resistance it would break her mother's heart; but
as the hour drew near when her sacrifice was to be consummated, Irene
felt herself very weak.
She entered the Fongereues salon in a state of suppressed excitement,
very pale but very beautiful. The Marquis met her and drew her arm
through his. This marriage was his salvation. He, too, thought of Fanfar
with a certain pity, for he knew that this mountebank, as he scornfully
called him, was the only man who had the right to call himself the
Marquis de Fongereues.
Irene's arrival was the signal for the opening of the ball. The
orchestra began to play a waltz. Then came a sudden silence. A
magnificent person entered, an officer of the Royal Guard, in his white
and gold uniform. He was received by the Marquis de Fongereues.
"Marquis," he said, "I come in the name of the king."
Every one listened with bated breath. Fongereues was radiant.
"Desirous of recompensing services rendered to the holy cause of
monarchy, His Majesty has condescended to lend a favorable ear to
certain applications, and, Monsieur, I am the bearer of the commission
which confers on your son the rank of lieutenant in the King's Guards."
Magdalena laid her hand on Frederic's shoulder.
"Talizac," she said, "remember that your life and the lives of the
Fongereues belong to the king."
Talizac bowed low, and as he turned he gave Irene a look of triumph.
She, poor girl, knew that her fate was sealed.
"How happy you will be!" whispered her mother, tenderly.
"Happy!" repeated Irene, drearily.
But this was not all. The Royal Envoy had not completed his mission. La
Vicomte de Talizac was made a Chevalier de Saint-Louis.
"_Vive le Roi!_" cried the women, gayly.
Monsieur de Montferrand turned to his son Arthur. "You see, sir," he
said, in a severe tone, "how our King, a worthy son of Henri IV.,
rewards those whom he finds worthy of his protection."
Arthur de Montferrand had, in obedience to his father's wishes,
accompanied him to this entertainment. The two young men exchanged a few
words of feigned cordiality, but Arthur felt the most profound contempt
for the Vicomte; while the image of Francine in the power of those
scoundrels haunted him perpetually.
Fernando did not make his appearance, and Arthur dared not talk to any
one else of this miserable affair in which he had been engaged. He
listened with a shudder to the congratulations and compliments showered
upon the Vicomte, who finally had the audacity to go up to Arthur and
demand his felicitations.
Arthur started, and said low in his ear, "I will congratulate you, sir,
when the mark upon your cheek, which I imprinted there, is no longer to
be seen."
Talizac uttered an exclamation, but Monsieur de Montferrand, suspecting
what was going on, stepped forward.
"Arthur," he said sternly, "apologize to the Vicomte for your rash
words, or leave this house!"
Arthur looked reproachfully at his father, and moved toward the door. At
the same moment a great tumult was heard in the hall.
"What can it be?" said De Fongereues, nervously.
A door was flung open, servants were thrust aside, and a man bearing the
inanimate form of a young girl, entered the ball-room.
"Fanfar!" cried Arthur de Montferrand. It was, indeed, Fanfar.
Standing in the centre of the ball-room, for no man ventured to oppose
his progress, he addressed himself to the crowd.
"Gentlemen," he said, "behold the body of the unhappy girl whom the
Vicomte de Talizac has murdered!"
There was a moment of silence, then the women screamed and fled, while
the men turned pale and looked at each other.
Talizac caught at the mantel for support. Fongereues had heard Arthur
utter the name of Fanfar, and shuddered at the ill-omen.
From Francine's drenched garments water was dripping upon the floor, and
the pale face rested on Fanfar's shoulder.
The Marquis hastened forward. "Who is this man? What is he doing here?"
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 assistance 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 assassin! 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 assent. 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.