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Updated: June 9, 2025
A word of natural compassion escaped Emily to Francine's surprise. "Oh, my dear, you needn't pity her! She came to us, by inheritance, with the estates and the rest of it; and took a fancy to me, when she found out I didn't get on well with my father and mother. 'I owe it to my father and mother, she used to say, 'that I am a slave.
"Silence!" said Robeccal, passing the table. "Watch and be ready!" Meanwhile the people in the restaurant began to grumble at Francine's departure. She looked back from the stairs. "Have a little patience," she said, with her lovely smile, "when I come back very shortly, I will sing you my best songs." She followed Aubé to No. 11.
There she had created a mixture of all colors violent reds and yellows. Now everything was delicate and calm. The sweet face among the pillows was Francine's. The two young girls were like sisters. Irène felt that to love, protect, and care for Francine, was to love Fanfar.
The most beautiful girl in the school was not an object of interest to a young lady with an obstinate chin and unfortunately-placed eyes. Pouring warm from the speaker's heart the story ran smoothly on, to the monotonous accompaniment of the moaning wind. By fine degrees Francine's eyes closed, opened and closed again.
It drove the rain a heavy downpour by this time rattling against the windows. "Almost a storm, isn't it?" Emily said Francine's last question had not been answered yet. She took the earliest opportunity of repeating it: "Never mind the weather," she said. "Tell me about your father and mother. Are they both alive?" Emily's reply only related to one of her parents.
She had so much difficulty in doing so, that Robeccal took a knife from his pocket, and inserted it between Francine's close shut teeth. As soon as the liquid disappeared down the girl's throat she started. "You are not poisoning her?" asked Robeccal. "Am I a fool? Hark! I hear a carriage. Take this girl up-stairs." Robeccal snatched Francine from the sofa, and ran lightly up the stairs.
Francine's chamber is dark. The little bed with its white curtains looks as if it were built of marble. There is not a sound. The room is empty. The hours pass on, and still Francine does not return. Her absence excites great wonder in the house, for she is always in very early.
"And she seems to be rather in a hurry," Cecilia remarked. Francine's satirical smile showed itself for a moment. Did this appearance of hurry in Emily's movements denote impatience to resume the recital of "the dagger-scene"? She had no book in her hand; she never even looked toward Francine. Sorrow became plainly visible in her face as she approached the two girls. Cecilia rose in alarm.
"Must you leave me?" he asks tenderly, when there is a dancing man at liberty, and it is Francine's turn to claim him. She leaves her seat not very willingly. For a while, the place is vacant; Miss Plym seizes the opportunity of consulting the ladies' bosom friend. "Dear Mr. Mirabel, do tell me what you think of Miss de Sor?" Dear Mr. Mirabel bursts into enthusiasm and makes a charming reply.
He went on, and when the quarrel burst out and he saw the knife in the hand of the Vicomte, he rushed down the stairs, and summoned the men at the table, who were on the watch for a signal from him. Aubé had heard Francine's cry and ran to her aid, but two of the men summoned by Robeccal stood before the door. "Let me pass!" cried Aubé. "Softly, good sir," was the reply.
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