A FIRST MEETING.

Just as Fanfar mounted his horse, an incident occurred which passed unperceived by the others.

Irene went up to the groom who held her horse, and with the air of giving him some directions, she said to Fanfar, in a low voice:

“Are you not wounded? Are you not risking your life to save that of your father?” She emphasized the word father, as if to make amends for having previously called him master.

“I am always ready to die for those I love!” answered Fanfar, as he examined the animal with attention.

Irene was silent for a moment. She admired the courage and the devotion of this man, but was at the same time irritated at the attraction she felt toward him. Obeying her sarcastic impulse, she said, quickly:

“I have christened my horse since I saw you. His name is Fanfar!”

Fanfar smiled.

“Very good!” he answered, as he patted the animal’s glossy side. “We two Fanfars must not shrink from any danger!”

Irene remembered the inundation, but before she could speak the animal and rider were away.

“The carriage is waiting for you,” said Madame Ursula, approaching.

“Yes, let us go,” answered the girl, with feverish haste, and as she took her seat in the carriage, she said to herself: “Yes, I see what he means make myself beloved, is what he said!”

Fanfar, directed by some peasants, was now far on the road. He tore off his hat and flung it away. His brow was burning. Was it his violent exertions that had given him this fever? Or was it the anxiety he felt for his adopted father? But Gudel’s pale face was obscured by a mocking though sweet face, which flitted between him and all else. How beautiful she was!

The two men, when they fled from the cottage of old Labarre, were entirely routed and discomfited. It was not the Marquis who was afraid of the pistol he fled from the echo of his father’s words, which the old servant had repeated.

Cyprien could hardly draw a breath without pain, for the dog had wounded him on the throat.

The Marquis was enraged with himself that he had taken no arms with him. He had supposed that he would not have the smallest difficulty in bending the old man to his will. Why had he not leaped at the fellow’s throat when he opened the door?

They had reached the rocks near the cataract, when Cyprien, seizing the arm of the Marquis, cried:

“Listen!”

The cataract roared through the narrow passage, but this was not all. What was that sound of crashing rocks? They soon discovered. Huge blocks of granite had rolled down from above, diverting the course of the water, which now tumbled down on the highway like a sheet of foam. And what was this behind them? Another great sheet of water coming on. The flood was pursuing them. The two men began to run. Suddenly the Marquis stumbled and fell. The water swept over him and carried him toward the abyss.

“Help! Help!” cried Fongereues.

Cyprien gathered together all his strength for one mighty effort he was saved!

The Marquis clung to the trunk of a pine tree that grew close to the precipice. The water rolled over his head and blinded him, but did not succeed in washing him away. Suddenly, from the summit of the rocks, came a voice.

“Courage!” it cried, “courage!”

The voice came from a man, but how did any man maintain a foothold there? He descended the rock, crying all the time: “Courage! Courage!” Suddenly his hands ceased to clutch the rocks, and he dropped. The water rose to his knees, but tempestuous as was the rush, he maintained his footing.

The voice that had shouted for assistance was growing weaker. But Fanfar, for he it was, soon found the Marquis, but just as he had succeeded in reaching him he slipped, and believed himself lost.

No, a strong hand grasped his arm and drew him up, but the burthen was heavy, for the Marquis was unconscious. Slowly, very slowly, Fanfar raised his load and himself, and finally sank upon the turf above, nearly as unconscious as the Marquis.

Fortunately, a small lantern, which Fanfar wore at his belt, was not broken; he lighted it and examined the face of the man he had rescued.

Yes, Fanfar, the resemblance is great. This is the brother of the man who died at Leigoutte. This is the man who outraged a woman one terrible night, and that woman was the sister of Simon’s wife, and this man, who was then the Vicomte de Talizac, is to-day the Marquis de Fongereues. This man is your father! Does Fanfar know all this? Not he!

The Marquis opens his eyes, he sees Fanfar in the darkness.

“You have saved me!” he murmured.

“Can you stand? Can you walk?” asked Fanfar.

The Marquis struggled to his feet, but uttered a cry of pain.

“Are you hurt?”

“I think not, but I seem to have no strength left.”

“Wait!” said Fanfar.

He went to the side of the rock, and examined it with his lantern. He uttered a joyous exclamation.

“Most men,” he said to himself, “would find this rock impracticable, but Fanfar can do it.”

He returned to the Marquis.

“Put your arms about my neck,” he said, “and trust to me.”

The Marquis obeyed, and Fanfar, weighed down again by this burthen, climbed the path heretofore trodden only by goats. They reached the top in safety, there they found Irene’s horse.

“I am going to take you on the saddle with me,” he said to the Marquis. “I had been to a neighboring village for a physician, and returning I am only too thankful that accident brought me in this direction.”

He assisted the Marquis to the saddle, and that his hands might be free requested the Marquis to hold the lantern.

He did so, and, with instinctive curiosity, flashed the light into the face of his preserver. He started back, for he saw before him the living image of the old Marquis de Fongereues. He must know the truth at any price. He fought against his fatigue, and just as Fanfar was about to leap into the saddle, the Marquis pressed the animal with his knee, and the animal was off like the wind. Fanfar believed that the horse had ran away.

“I hope he will get to the inn in safety,” said Fanfar, anxiously. “I must get back on foot, it seems!”