In almost the last hour, when hope had deserted them, and they hourly
expected death, succor had arrived. Van Zandt's singing had attracted
attention at last, and now help was at hand.
When that ringing halloo came down the ventilating pipe, he almost
swooned with the suddenness of his joy and relief; and it was Marie,
who, with a sudden accession of frantic joy, screamed shrilly back:
"Halloo!"
A voice came quickly back--a familiar voice:
"Who is down there?"
This time Van Zandt answered:
"Two prisoners--Eliot Van Zandt and a lady. We are starving, dying! For
God's sake, cut a hole quickly through the floor, and come to our aid!"
"Ay, ay!" said a hearty voice that belonged to none other than Pierre
Carmontelle; and then the iron will that had sustained Van Zandt
through those four dreadful days gave way, and he fell in a heavy swoon
to the floor.
Marie could only moan helplessly:
"Hurry, hurry! he has fallen down. I fear he is dead!"
With all the haste that several eager men could make, it was almost
half an hour before a square opening appeared in the ceiling large
enough to admit a man's body. Then a faint light streamed into the dark
underground chamber, fairly dazzling Marie's weak eyes.
Several eager pairs of eyes looked down, but they could detect nothing
yet, so intense was the gloom below.
"It is dark as Erebus," said a voice--Markham's, Marie thought. "Van
Zandt, where are you?"
Marie answered, with a sob:
"He is down on the floor, but he is very still, and I fear he is dead
from starvation."
A lantern at the end of a rope came quickly down the aperture. A man's
body followed it quickly--Carmontelle!
He came up to the bedside and looked with amazement into the wan, sweet
face of the girl.
"_Mon Dieu_, it is Little Nobody! But what does it mean? I thought you
dead. I saw you entombed!"
But he had to wait for his answer, for Marie very provokingly fainted
dead away, and he had to halloo to Markham above for water and wine.
"I think fresh air would do better than either just now," was the
reply. "_Peste_! what a hot, musty smell comes up that hole! Take her
in your arms, Carmontelle, stand on a chair, and hand her up to me."
As the ceiling was low, this plan was effected without much difficulty;
and Markham took the slight figure in his arms and carried her out to
the cool, green garden, where the last beams of sunset were glinting on
the shining leaves of the orange-trees and the tinkling waters of the
fountains. The cool air and the refreshing water soon brought her back
to life and hope again.
But Van Zandt was longer in recovering. He had kept up the longer, but
his collapse, when it came, had been more complete. They found that the
wound on his breast was still unhealed, and that there was a mysterious
fresh wound upon his arm. The bandage had been knocked off in his fall,
and the blood was pouring out in a crimson tide.
They stanched the wound, and at last brought him around so that, with
the aid of three men, he could be hoisted through the hole in the wall.
He was too weak to answer questions at first, and it was not until the
next day that they learned the particulars of his imprisonment by Mme.
Lorraine.
They were inclined to chaff him considerably over the madame's
fatal _penchant_ for his handsome face, and he bore it with all the
equanimity he could. Indeed, their mirth seemed pleasant, although
directed against himself, after those four solemn days in that dark,
underground prison.
But interesting as they found his romantic story, it was tame beside
that of Little Nobody, who, having had a good night's sleep, nourishing
food, and a good woman to watch and soothe her restless slumbers, was
so much refreshed by the next morning that she could tell her strange
story with far more vivacity than could Van Zandt, whose lungs, from
his constant singing and hallooing without food for four days, had
terribly taxed his strength and endurance.
"If you had come even one hour later, I fear it would have been too
late for me," he said, with a somber look in his gray eyes.
But it was owing to his persistent singing that he had been rescued
at last, for, although Carmontelle had never given up the search for
him, he had not dreamed that the wounded man was concealed in madame's
house, although it was believed that she was cognizant of his fate.
"And this is how we chanced to find you," he said. "It was determined
to arrest Madame Lorraine upon suspicion of complicity with Remond
in making away with you. Markham and I volunteered to come with the
officers to serve the warrant. As repeated ringings elicited no
response, we thought something was wrong, and forced an entrance."
"And then?" Van Zandt queried, curiously.
"Oh, then we found not a living soul in the house, and were in a
little, stuffy back room, like a servants' bedroom, debating what to
do next, when the sound of your unearthly singing made the hair rise
upon our heads in terror. We thought at first that it was something
supernatural, it sounded so sweet and strange, coming, as it seemed,
from the bowels of the earth, but presently Markham said that Van Zandt
was a fine singer, and a wild suspicion came to me. I looked about and
found a pipe fixed cleverly into the wall to secure ventilation, as it
seemed to me, to some cellar-like apartment. I put my mouth to the hole
and hallooed down it as loud as I could."
"And thereby saved two lives that were almost ended. How can I ever
thank you and bless you enough, Carmontelle!" Van Zandt exclaimed, with
emotion.