the fever and delirium, and when she was
at last conscious she beheld a sweet face bending over her, and Irene
said, "Courage, sister, courage!"

Francine, surprised and touched, extended her thin hands, but suddenly
imagining that she was again in the house where she had suffered so
much, she shrieked "Let me die! Let me die!"

A relapse took place, and for several days her life hung on a thread.
Irene was indefatigable in her care, and finally she began to recover
very slowly.

She questioned Irene as soon as she was able. What had become of the
poor woman, the care of whom she had assumed? Hardly had she escaped
from the jaws of death, than she began to think of others. Irene could
tell her little. Ever since the violent scene of the ball, Arthur de
Montferrand, without confessing his real motives, for he loved Francine,
had placed himself at the disposal of Irene. He had divined her secret,
and prevented her from betraying it to the curious crowd.

Fanfar was in prison. His trial was soon coming on. It was believed that
his condemnation was certain. The disturbance to the health of the king,
consequent on the attempted assassination at the Tuileries, had, it was
said, greatly embittered the monarchists. A report was in circulation
that an infamous comedy had been enacted by this Fanfar and his sister
in order to break off the marriage between Talizac and Mademoiselle de
Salves, a money-making scheme, worthy of a street singer and a
mountebank.

The sick woman had disappeared. This intelligence drove Francine to
despair. Who was this Caillette, who had pretended to take her place,
and then disappeared, leaving no trace behind her?

"But," said Francine, "who was it who saved me?"

"Do you not know?" answered Irene, coloring deeply.

"No, I heard you mention a name that I do not know."

"Yes, that of Monsieur Fanfar."

"Who is he?"

Irene looked at her and wondered if in her fever the girl's reason had
deserted her.

"I do not understand. Do you not know your brother?"

"My brother!"

Irene passed her hand over her troubled brow.

"My brother. Ah! what is it you say? I never had but one brother, dear
little Jacques, who was always so good and kind to me!"

"Jacques! but that is the name of--Monsieur Fanfar!"

"I tell you," answered Francine, "that I never met any one of that name.
Stop a moment, I remember a company of mountebanks on the Square; they
were under the management of a man called Iro