d?"

"Not he! He did not go home for over two hours, then he and Monsieur
Goutran had a person with them who had been wounded--a young girl--she
had been shot!"

"What preposterous tale is this?"

"It is true, sir. I did not believe it myself, at first, and as I felt
sure you would doubt the story, I took the liberty of bringing the
witnesses with me. Caraman and Coucon are here, sir."

"Oh! Bobichel, why could you not have said this before? Let me see them
at once, and I swear that I will get at the truth!"

Fanfar, in addition to his impatience, felt a certain remorse. If any
accident happened to Esperance he felt in a measure responsible.

Caraman and Coucon came in. They were in great trouble.

"My good friends," said Fanfar, taking Madame's hand. She was sobbing
fit to break her heart, while Coucon was gnawing the ends of his
moustache, in order not to imitate her example. "My good friends, I do
not yet believe that what Bobichel tells me is true. He says that the
Vicomte has disappeared."

"Yes, sir," growled Coucon.

"Then, Madame Caraman, this is no time for tears. Tears remedy nothing,
and we must have all our wits about us."

Madame held out her arms to Fanfar, as she fell on her knees before him.

"I am the one in fault, and I shall never forgive myself."

"Pray tell me the whole."

"I have broken all my promises in not sending to you before, and yet all
the time I had a presentiment of evil."

She wept and sobbed to such a degree that Fanfar could scarcely
understand her, but he finally managed to soothe her. She had little to
explain, however. She told how Esperance and Goutran had come in late at
night, and brought with them a young girl who had been wounded by a
pistol shot, and who seemed to be dying. How she herself had watched
over this girl night and day. She told how, in obedience to the
Vicomte, she had gone to lie down, being very weary and sleepy.

"I can't say how it happened," she sighed. "I had been greatly fatigued.
I only meant to rest, not to sleep, but when I opened my eyes it was
broad daylight. I jumped up, and ran to the door and listened, but all
was silent; then I stole to the bed, I thought she was asleep, of
course. Suddenly it occurred to me that the silence was too profound. I
tore open the curtain, the bed was empty. At first I thought the girl
might have been carried to some other room, she was too weak to walk,
you understand, and perhaps Coucon had helped, so