CHAPTER XVIII
THE CANAL
By what miracle had Louison escaped? In his anxiety to make the younggirl harmless, Robeckal had given her such a strong dose that thenarcotic had just the opposite effect, and before an hour had passed, ahammering and beating of her temples awakened her again. The excitedstate in which she was made her unable to grasp a clear thought; but onething stood plainly before her--she must leave this horrible house atany price.
Slowly rising, she felt for the door; it was locked. She then walkedsoftly to the window and looked at the street. It was deserted and emptyof pedestrians, a fog hung over it, and if Louison could only reach thestreet she would be safe.
Through the broken pane the fresh air entered, and she tried then tocollect her thoughts. The horrible woman had spoken about Belleville; ifshe were only in the street she would soon reach the Boulevard duTemple, and then--further than this she did not get with her plans.Away, only away, the rest would take care of itself.
What had the virago said? "Too late, too late, too late!" The horriblewords rang in her ears like a death-knell; every pulse-beat repeated,"Too late!"
Pressing her hand to her temples, Louison began to sob. Just then thecoarse laughter of her torturers sounded from the basement and her tearsimmediately dried.
Softly, very softly, she opened the window, stood on the sill and swungherself to the outer sill. A pole which served to support a grapevinegave her a hold. She carefully climbed down its side, reached the streetand ran as if pursued by the Furies.
The fog grew denser, and more than once Louison knocked against a wallor ran against passers-by, but these obstacles did not hinder her fromrunning on.
How long she had been going in this way she did not know, but suddenly ablast of cold air grazed her burning face, and looking up she perceivedthat she had reached the Canal St. Martin. She had only to cross thebridge to reach those quarters of the great city which were known toher, but still she did not do it. A short while she stood there notknowing what to do. Then she strode on, timidly looking around her andwalked down the damp stone steps leading to the water.
For a long time she stood on the last step. All around everything wasstill, and only the monotonous ripple of the waves reached the desertedgirl's ears. With her arms folded across her bosom, she gazed at theblack waters; the murmuring waves played about her feet and then shepaused so long--long--
Robeckal and Rolla hurried through the streets with feverish haste. Theground burned under their feet, and they did not dare to breathe beforethey had turned their back upon the capital. They were just turning intothe Rue St. Denis, when an iron fist was laid upon Robeckal's shoulder,and forced the frightened man to stand still.
"What does this mean?" he angrily cried, as he turned around, "a--"
He paused, for he had recognized Fanfaro. Bobichel had clutched Rolla atthe same time, and shaking her roughly, he cried:
"Monster, where is the street-singer?"
"What do I know of a street-singer?" cried Rolla, boldly. "Let me go orI shall cry out."
"Cry away," replied Bobichel. "You must know best yourself whether youdesire the interference of the police or not."
Rolla thought of the well-filled pocket-book and kept silent. Robeckal,in the meantime, had almost died of strangulation, for Fanfaro's fingerspressed his throat together; and when he was asked if he intended toanswer, he could only nod with his head.
"Where is Louison?" asked Fanfaro, in a voice of thunder.
"No. 16 Rue de Belleville."
"Alone?"
"I do not know."
"Scoundrels, God help you, if all is not right," hissed Fanfaro, "bringus quickly to the house named."
"Oh, it is very easy to find," began Rolla, but Bobichel threatened herwith his fist and cried:
"So much the better for you, forward march!"
Robeckal and the Cannon Queen, held in the grips of Fanfaro and theclown, proceeded on the way to Belleville. They stopped in front of No.16, and it required the application of force to get them to enter.
Rolla, in advance of the others, went to the top story. The door waswide open and the room empty.
"Really, he has taken her along?" she exclaimed in amazement.
"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Fanfaro, trembling with fear.
"Of whom else but the little vicomte."
"His name?"
"Talizac."
"The villain!" muttered Fanfaro to himself.
Bobichel was still holding Rolla by the arm. His gaze, roving about theroom, had espied a note on the table. Rolla saw it, too, but before shecould take it the clown had called Fanfaro's attention to it.
"You have swindled me," the young man read; "you have helped her toescape, confound you!"
"Thank God all is not lost yet," whispered Fanfaro, handing Bobichel thepaper.
"One moment," said the clown; "I have an idea which I would like tocarry out."
With a quick movement Bobichel threw Robeckal to the ground, bound himwith a thick rope and threw him into a closet. He locked it and puttingthe key in his pocket, he turned to Rolla.
"March, away with you," he said, roughly, "and do not attempt to freehim; he can ponder over his sins."
Rolla hurried to leave the house. If Robeckal died she would be the solepossessor of the twenty thousand francs. Bobichel and Fanfaro left thehouse likewise, and Robeckal remained crying behind.
The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume II Page 18
