The woman did not answer; she looked steadily at him and plunged her fingers in her gray hair.
"Madame, listen to me. Louison has been abducted. Don't you know anything?"
The poor thing still remained silent, even though her lips trembled convulsively, and the deep-set eyes gazed steadily at the young man.
"Madame," began Fanfaro, desperately, "listen to my words. Can you not remember where Louison told you she was going? You know who Louison is; she nurses and cares for you. Can you not tell me anything?"
At length a word came from the burned woman's breast.
"Jacques, Jacques!" she stammered, clutching the young man's knees and looking at him.
Fanfaro trembled. Who was this horrible woman who called him by the name of his childhood?
"Louison! Jacques!" uttered the toothless lips, and hot, scalding tears rolled over the scarred cheeks.
A flood of never-before-felt emotions rushed over Fanfaro; he tenderly bent over the poor woman, and gently said:
"You called me Jacques. I was called that once. What do you know of me?"