SURPRISES.

By what miracle had Francine vanished? How could she with her frail strength escape from that room, situated as we have said on the second floor of this house, and from the garden surrounded on all sides by walls which no man could climb.

When these wretches gave Francine the narcotic, they in their eagerness gave her too much, and the girl was utterly prostrated. She lay for an hour motionless while her jailers played cards and drank; and then her pulse began to flutter and nervous contractions shook her frail form, still she did not open her eyes. Her brain was over-excited. Suddenly she started up with eyes wide open, but eyes that saw not. She moved slowly and noiselessly. Did she reason? Not in the least. Instinct was her only guide.

Have you ever when half asleep heard the same words repeated over and over again? In Francine’s brain the words “too late! too late!” were repeated with the regularity of a pendulum. The old woman had struck a cruel blow. The girl had believed for a few moments that she was dishonored and this thought now haunted her vaguely. She placed her feet on the floor, then glided toward the door. She tried it and found it locked. She turned to the window; she slowly and gently opened the blinds, and then stepped upon the cornice outside; then she feels her way down to another projection where she places one foot and then the other until she finds herself on the ground. She then glides on until she reaches the wall.

Ah! child, it is useless for you to try! Not so! The clinging vines form a rope-ladder for her light weight. She reaches the top of the wall, and easily descends on the other side. She is saved! But she does not know this, and her pale lips murmur,

“Too late! Too late!”

Where is she going? Ah! she knows not. She feels no fatigue, but goes on and on. She has crossed the outer Boulevard, and moves swiftly on through the now crowded streets, where no one seems to notice her pallor. The fog is so thick that she is but dimly seen. She reaches the bridge over the Saint Martin Canal; here she stops, and leaning over the parapet seems to contemplate the dark water running below. While she stands there, we will see what is taking place in the house she has left.

Robeccal and La Roulante when they left the house, went to take the diligence in the Rue Saint Denis. Their plans had been long made; they meant to return to Robeccal’s former home. They were groping their way through the fog, when suddenly Robeccal was lifted from the ground, and then flung some distance, while a voice shouted:

“Scoundrel! I have you at last!”

At the same moment, an iron grasp nailed the giantess to the spot where she stood. The two wretches gasped out the names:

“Fanfar! Bobichel!”

“Where is Francine?” said Fanfar, sternly.

La Roulante laughed, and would not reply.

“Speak!” said Fanfar. “I know the whole story. Where is that girl?”

La Roulante knew that Fanfar was not to be trifled with, and after all why should she not now tell? She wanted to be free, that she and Robeccal might go far away.

“Take your hand away, and I will tell you.”

“The truth, you understand, and make haste.”

“Well, the girl is not far away.”

“Alone?”

“I do not know.”

“Show me the house.”

“It is easy enough to find.”

“Show me the way.”

“No, it was not in the bargain.”

“Show me the way.”

Bobichel looked upon this delay as worthy of being celebrated, by lifting Robeccal by the skin of his neck as he would have lifted a cat.

These people now took their way to the deserted house.

La Roulante uttered a cry as they reached the house, for the door was open. She ran into the house, and flew toward the stairs. Fanfar was behind her. She beheld the window open.

“Look!” she cried, “he has taken her away!”

“Of whom do you speak?”

“Of the Vicomte de Talizac.”

“Talizac!” exclaimed Fanfar, “would that I could kill that man!”

The house was searched, and found entirely deserted.

A folded paper lay on the table in the lower room. She snatched it up. It contained only these words from Talizac:

“You have infamously swindled me. You have taken the girl away, but I shall find her and be even with you.”

“The man lies!” yelled the woman.

Fanfar was nearly stunned. He now had not the smallest clue to Francine.

“Bobichel,” he said, sadly. “Fate is against us. Come with me.”

“But what am I to do with him?” asked Bobichel, pointing to Robeccal, “Ah! I have it.”

He seized a rope and bound Robeccal firmly, and then bundled him into a closet, which he locked and put the key into his pocket. They drove La Roulante out of the house, and locked that door also, and then hurried back to the city.

La Roulante when she was thus left hesitated a moment.

“No,” she said, “if I let him out I shall have to divide the money.”

And without more thought of Robeccal she too went away.