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ngereues, nervously. A door was flung open, servants were thrust aside, and a man bearing the inanimate form of a young girl, entered the ball-room. "Fanfar!" cried Arthur de Montferrand. It was, indeed, Fanfar. Standing in the centre of the ball-room, for no man ventured to oppose his progress, he addressed himself to the crowd. "Gentlemen," he said, "behold the body of the unhappy girl whom the Vicomte de Talizac has murdered!" There was a moment of silence, then the women screamed and fled, while the men turned pale and looked at each other. Talizac caught at the mantel for support. Fongereues had heard Arthur utter the name of Fanfar, and shuddered at the ill-omen. From Francine's drenched garments water was dripping upon the floor, and the pale face rested on Fanfar's shoulder. The Marquis hastened forward. "Who is this man? What is he doing here?" he cried. "Monsieur," said Fanfar, "a crime has been committed, the guilty must be punished, and this guilt is upon your son's head. You, gentlemen, seem to think that to your rank everything is permitted. Behold a young girl who, pure and industrious, toiled for her daily bread. This Vicomte de Talizac abducted her with the assistance of his paid emissaries. The poor creature, driven to despair, committed suicide. This is what your son has done, Marquis! Can you conceive of a more cowardly or infamous act?" And Fanfar, with head erect and lightning in his eyes, looked with contempt on the people about him. Arthur rushed to his side. "Dead!" he cried, "is she dead?" Fanfar gently laid Francine upon the floor. "Is there no one among all these ladies who will see if this girl lives? Beats there not one heart under all this silk and velvet?" A woman advanced and knelt by the side of Francine. It was Irene de Salves. "What does this senseless comedy mean?" asked the Marquis de Fongereues, angrily. "It is no comedy, it is a horrible tragedy," answered Fanfar, coldly. "Ask what explanations you please from your son; he must answer you. See how he trembles; ask him if what I have said is not true?" Talizac made a violent effort, and turning to his father, said, "This man lies!" "And I, sir, swear that he speaks the truth!" cried Arthur de Montferrand. "Ah! Monsieur de Talizac, you forget too quickly; but my memory recalls the fact that the marks now on your face were imprinted yesterday by my hand, when you attacked me with a knife, becaus
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