Montferrand hurried toward him and cordially shook him by the hand.
"Is she dead—is she really dead?" he asked.
"I fear so," replied the young man, slowly, "yet I do not like to give up all hope. Is there no lady here who will take care of the poor child and try to soften the vicomte's crime?" continued Fanfaro, raising his voice. "Does not a heart beat under these silks and satins?"
From the group of timid ladies came a tall figure clad in a white silk dress, and kneeling next to Louison she softly said:
"Here I am."
"The farce is becoming uproarious," cried the Marquis of Fougereuse, nervously laughing.
"Do not call it a farce; it is a drama, a terrible drama, my lord," replied Fanfaro, earnestly. "Ask your son, who is leaning pale and trembling against the wall, whether I am telling you the truth or not?"
"Yes, it is a lie!" exclaimed Talizac, hoarsely.
"It is no lie," declared Arthur de Montferrand, stepping in front of Talizac. "Vicomte, you have a bad memory, and if my hand had not fortunately stamped your face you might have even denied it to my face. Look at the vicomte, gentlemen; the traces which burn on his pale cheeks he owes to me, for I was present when he made the first attempt to scandalize this poor girl. I chastised him, and he stabbed me."