THE NEST.
Two white beds stood near each other. Muslin curtains tied with blue
ribbons covered the windows with billowy folds. Among the pillows of one
of the beds lay a beautiful face, and a young girl at her side held her
frail hands.
This chamber was that of Irene de Salves, and very unlike it was to the
chamber of the spoiled child in the Chateau des Vosges. There she had
created a mixture of all colors--violent reds and yellows. Now
everything was delicate and calm. The sweet face among the pillows was
Francine's. The two young girls were like sisters. Irene felt that to
love, protect, and care for Francine, was to love Fanfar. The shock
Francine had experienced was terrible; she hardly knew what had taken
place--whether she deliberately threw herself into the water, or whether
faint and dizzy, she fell in; when Fanfar leaped to her rescue she clung
to him convulsively. Then came the fever and delirium, and when she was
at last conscious she beheld a sweet face bending over her, and Irene
said, "Courage, sister, courage!"
Francine, surprised and touched, extended her thin hands, but suddenly
imagining that she was again in the house where she had suffered so
much, she shrieked "Let me die! Let me die!"
A relapse took place, and for several days her life hung on a thread.
Irene was indefatigable in her care, and finally she began to recover
very slowly.
She questioned Irene as soon as she was able. What had become of the
poor woman, the care of whom she had assumed? Hardly had she escaped
from the jaws of death, than she began to think of others. Irene could
tell her little. Ever since the violent scene of the ball, Arthur de
Montferrand, without confessing his real motives, for he loved Francine,
had placed himself at the disposal of Irene. He had divined her secret,
and prevented her from betraying it to the curious crowd.
Fanfar was in prison. His trial was soon coming on. It was believed that
his condemnation was certain. The disturbance to the health of the king,
consequent on the attempted assassination at the Tuileries, had, it was
said, greatly embittered the monarchists. A report was in circulation
that an infamous comedy had been enacted by this Fanfar and his sister
in order to break off the marriage between Talizac and Mademoiselle de
Salves, a money-making scheme, worthy of a street singer and a
mountebank.
The sick woman had disappeared. This intelligence drove Francine to
despair. Who was this Caillette, who had pretended to take her place,
and then disappeared, leaving no trace behind her?
"But," said Francine, "who was it who saved me?"
"Do you not know?" answered Irene, coloring deeply.
"No, I heard you mention a name that I do not know."
"Yes, that of Monsieur Fanfar."
"Who is he?"
Irene looked at her and wondered if in her fever the girl's reason had
deserted her.
"I do not understand. Do you not know your brother?"
"My brother!"
Irene passed her hand over her troubled brow.
"My brother. Ah! what is it you say? I never had but one brother, dear
little Jacques, who was always so good and kind to me!"
"Jacques! but that is the name of--Monsieur Fanfar!"
"I tell you," answered Francine, "that I never met any one of that name.
Stop a moment, I remember a company of mountebanks on the Square; they
were under the management of a man called Iron Jaws, and with him was
this Fanfar, if I don't mistake."
"Precisely, and this Fanfar is your brother, I heard him say so,
himself, when I went to help you. He said to me, 'she is my sister--'"
"Where is he? I must see him. He saved my life. Suppose that he is
Jacques! But no, poor Jacques is dead!"
Irene could not help the poor girl; although she fully believed in the
truth of what Fanfar had said, she could offer no proof.
Suddenly Francine exclaimed, "If he is my Jacques, he ought to be about
twenty. He ought to be very handsome."
Irene colored, as she said, "He is handsome!"
"With black eyes, and brown curling hair?"
Irene was unwilling to admit that she had studied Fanfar in all these
details, but she stammered out, "Yes, that describes him."
"For pity's sake, tell me all you know!"
Irene asked herself why she should hesitate. After all there was nothing
to be ashamed of in her sentiments towards Fanfar.
"I will tell you all," she said, in a low voice.
"Why are you so disturbed?" asked Francine. "When you mention the name
of this Fanfar, you have tears in your eyes."
Irene buried her face on her friend's shoulder: "I love him!" she
whispered, "and I love you as if you were my sister!"
The two young girls embraced each other tenderly.
"But where is he?" said Francine, disengaging herself, "I wish to see
him."
Irene started. Alas! amid all these emotions she had forgotten the sad
truth that the brother, whom Francine ardently desired to embrace, was
in a narrow cell, crushed under the accusation of an attempt on the life
of the king.
"Why do you not tell me where I can find him?" asked Francine, her eyes
bright with fever.
At this moment the door opened, and a tall and stately individual, known
as Madame Ursula, made a sign to Irene, who instantly obeyed the
summons, glad to avoid the necessity of replying to Francine's
questions.
"What is it?" she said.
Madame Ursula was unchanged. She was still in a constant state of horror
at Irene's conduct and defiance of conventionalities.
"A very strange looking man wishes to speak to the young lady."
"She can not receive him," replied Irene, promptly.
"So I supposed, but I delivered the message because I thought she knew
this person, and I myself have seen him before." Madame Ursula looked
down in some confusion. "He was pretending to be a frog, on a certain
occasion--"
"I do not understand you."
"He is one of those clowns who amused the peasants at Saint Ame."
"His name! his name!" cried Irene, impatiently.
"I don't know his name. He wore a gray hat--"
"Bobichel! It must be Bobichel!"
Irene had forgotten none of these names.
"Let him come in!" she cried. "Let him come in!"
In another moment Bobichel appeared. Was this the poor clown? No; there
were no smiles on his lips, no quips and cranks on his tongue. His
thinness had become emaciation.
Irene went forward.
"You come from him?" she said, hastily.
"From Fanfar? Oh! no--not directly, at least. They won't let me see him,
you know."
"Who sends you here, then?"
"Gudel--Iron Jaws, you know."
"Why did he not come himself?"
"Ah! that I can't say. Gudel bade me give this note to you."
Irene broke the seal. The envelope contained two letters. One was
directed to "Miss _Irainne_," the other to "Mademoiselle de Salves." Why
did she open the latter? Did she know from the defective orthography
that the first could not come from Fanfar? The letter she opened was
from Fanfar. This was it:
"You, who are so good and kind, be doubly so to the sister I found
when too late. The hour draws near when the so-called justice of man
will strike an innocent person. You do not doubt me, I know. I am not
one who would dishonor a sacred cause. Say to my sister that little
Jacques has endeavored to be worthy of his father--Simon Fougere.
"I beg my adopted father, Gudel, to explain to you in detail the
singular events of my life. I place entire confidence in you. I leave
to your care poor Francoise and little Cinette. Love them, and they
will return your affection. You have not forgotten the words addressed
to you so long ago: 'Make yourself beloved.'
"I do not know whether I should now bid you an eternal farewell. I
recognize the fact that I am the object of venomous hatred to some
one, but to whom? Let no one seek to solve this mystery. I forgive
this enemy, whomsoever he may be.
"In a few days--to-morrow, perhaps--my fate will be decided. Do not
despair."
Tears filled Irene's eyes as she finished this letter.
Bobichel watched her all the time, restraining his sobs with difficulty.
"You love him!" he said softly, "and you are right, for he is the best
man I ever knew!"
Irene extended her hand, and the clown knelt to kiss it.
"But we must save him!" cried Irene. "He shall not be condemned--"
"Condemned?" said a voice. "Of whom do you speak?"
Francine, obeying an impulse, had thrown on a peignoir of white
cashmere, and appeared, white and trembling, at the door. Irene ran to
her side.
"Courage! sister," she cried, "courage!"
Then Irene herself gave way, and burst into passionate weeping. Francine
took her brother's letter and read it slowly, but when she came to the
words "little Jacques" and "Cinette," her eyes closed, and she would
have fallen had not Bobichel caught her.
"You must not cry like that!" he said. "You must not weep. We will save
Fanfar! Please, Mademoiselle Irene, read the letter Iron Jaws sends you.
He has an idea, and he knows what he is about. He will save Fanfar!"
Bobichel's confidence was so great, his honest affection was so
apparent, that the two girls exchanged a hopeful glance.
"Read!" said Francine.
Iron Jaws' letter was not faultless in respect to orthography. Its
errors we will not repeat:
"Fanfar must be saved! I know your attachment for him. You have great
influence with people in power. Try to see him, and give him something
that Bobichel will hand you. I rely on your doing this."
"What am I to say to Iron Jaws?" asked Bobichel.
"Tell him that I will do all he asks. But you have another note for me?"
"No, not a note." And Bobichel, with infinite care, took from the flap
of his coat a pin, an ordinary pin though of large size, not large
enough, however, to excite the smallest suspicion.
"Do you see that?" cried the clown, with much of his former gayety. "Do
you see that, ladies and gentlemen? This pin does not look like much,
does it, now? But you can screw off the head, and then you will find a
tiny note--"
"It is most ingenious," said Irene, with a smile "and it shall be
delivered as you desire."
"Ah! you are a brave creature, and if some day you want some one to
amuse your children--that is, when you have any, you know--send for me,
and I will be frogs for them all day long!"
And with this somewhat startling promise, Bobichel departed.