CHAPTER VIII
A MEETING
Fanfaro had urged Irene's horse on at great speed, and while it flewalong like a bird, the most stormy feelings raged in his heart.
The gaze of the pretty girl haunted him; he heard her gentle voice andtried in vain to shake off these thoughts. What was he, that he shouldindulge in such wild fancies? A foundling, the adopted son of anacrobat, who had picked him up upon the way, and yet--
Further and further horse and rider flew; before Fanfaro's eyes stoodGirdel's pale, motionless face, and he thought he could hear Caillette'sbitter sobs. No, he must bring help or else go under, and ceaselessly,like lightning, he pushed on toward the city.
The marquis and Simon ran breathlessly along. Their only thought was toget far from the neighborhood of the old man and his wolf-hound. Neitherof the two spoke a word. The stormy, roaring Cure was forgotten, thedanger to life was forgotten; on, on they went, like deer pursued by apack of bloodthirsty hounds, and neither of them paid any attention tothe ominous noise of the overflowing mountain streams.
Suddenly Simon paused and seized the marquis's arm.
"Listen," he whispered, tremblingly, "what is that?"
A thunderous noise, ceaseless, rolling, and crashing, reached their earsfrom all sides; from all sides frothy, bubbling masses of water dashedthemselves against the rocks, and now--now an immense rock fell crashingin the flood, which overflowed into the wide plain like a storm-whippedsea.
Despair seized the men; before, behind, and around them roared andfoamed the turbulent waters; they turned to the right, where a hugerock, which still projected above the waves, assured them safety, butjust then the marquis struck his foot against a stone--he tumbled andfell with a half-smothered cry for help, "Help--I am sinking!" into thedark depths.
Simon did not think of lending his master a helping hand; he sprang fromrock to rock, from stone to stone, and soon reached a high point whichprotected him from the oncoming waters.
The marquis had been borne a short distance along by the raging waters,until he succeeded in clambering upon a branch of an evergreen tree. Theflood still rolled along above his body, but with superhuman strength hemanaged to keep his head above water and despairingly cry, "Help, Simon!Rescue me!"
Suddenly it seemed to the half-unconscious man as if he heard a humanvoice calling to him from above:
"Courage--keep up."
With the remainder of his strength the marquis gazed in the directionfrom which it came, and recognized a human form which seemed to behanging in the air.
"Attention, I will soon be with you," cried the voice, now comingnearer.
The marquis saw the form spring, climb, and then the water spurted upand the marquis lost consciousness.
Fanfaro, for naturally he was the rescuer, who appeared at the hour ofthe greatest need, now stood up to his knees in water, and had juststretched his hand out toward the marquis, when the latter, with agroan, let go of the tree branch, and the next minute he was borne alongby the turbulent waters.
Fanfaro uttered a slight cry, but he did not hesitate a moment. Plunginginto the seething waves, he parted them with muscular strokes, andsucceeded in grasping the drowning man. Throwing his left arm about him,he swam to the rocky projection upon which the evergreen tree stood.Inch by inch he climbed toward the pathway which was upon the top of thehill. Perspiration dripped from his forehead, and his wind threatened togive out, but Fanfaro went on, and finally stood on top. Putting themarquis softly on the ground, Fanfaro took out a small pocket-lanternwhich he always carried with him. With great trouble he lighted the wetwick, and then let the rays fall full on the pale face of the motionlessman. Seized by an indescribable emotion, the young man leaned over themarquis. Did he suspect that the man whom he had rescued from the stormywaters, at the risk of his life, was the brother of the man who hadtaken mercy on the helpless orphan, and was at the same time his father?The marquis now opened his eyes, heaved a deep sigh, and looked wildlyaround him.
"Where am I?" he faintly stammered. "The water--ah!"
"You are saved," said Fanfaro, gently.
The sound of the voice caused all the blood to rush to the marquis'sheart.
"Did you save me?"
"Yes."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Fanfaro, and I am a member of Girdel's troupe, which is atpresent in Sainte-Ame. Can you raise yourself?"
With the young man's assistance, the marquis raised himself up, bututtered a cry of pain when he put his feet on the ground.
"Are you wounded?" asked Fanfaro, anxiously.
"No, I do not think so; the water knocked me against trees and stones,and my limbs hurt me from that."
"That will soon pass away. Now put your arm about my neck and trustyourself to me; I will bring you to a place of safety."
The marquis put his arms tightly about the young man's neck, and thelatter strode along the narrow pathway which led to the heights.
Soon the road became broader, the neighing of a horse was heard, anddrawing a deep breath the young man stood still.
"Now we are safe," he said, consolingly; "I will take you on the back ofmy horse, and in less than a quarter of an hour we will be inSainte-Ame. I rode from there to Vagney, to get a physician for myfoster-father, Girdel, who injured himself, but unfortunately he was notat home, and so I had to return alone. Get up, the road is straightahead, and the mountains now lie between us and the water."
In the meantime Fanfaro had helped the marquis on the back of the horse,and now he raised his lantern to untie the knot of the rope with whichhe had bound the animal to a tree. The light of the lamp fell full uponhis face, and the marquis uttered a slight cry; his rescuer resembled ina startling way the old Marquis of Fougereuse.
Had he Jules's son before him?
A satanic idea flashed through the brain of the noble rogue, and whenFanfaro, after putting out his lantern, attempted to get on the horse'sback, the marquis pressed heavily against the horse's flank and theywere both off like the wind in the direction of the village.
Fanfaro, who only thought that the horse had run away with the marquis,cried in vain to the rider, and so he had to foot the distance,muttering as he went:
"If the poor fellow only doesn't get hurt; he is still feeble, and thehorse needs a competent rider."
The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume II Page 8
