"It will be all right," he assured her; "Fanfaro has swallowed a strong narcotic which makes him appear as if dead. To-morrow he will be buried; we shall dig him up again, and then bring him away as soon as possible."
At this moment Bobichel breathlessly rushed into the room, and Irene uttered a cry of terror when she saw his pale face.
"What has happened?" she cried, filled with gloomy forebodings.
"O God—he is lost!" stammered the clown.
"Who is lost?"
"Fanfaro."
"Speak clearly," cried Girdel, beside himself.
"They have brought—Fanfaro—to the—Hotel Dieu," said Bobichel, sobbing.
"Well, that isn't such a misfortune," said the athlete, breathing more freely. "You need not have frightened us."
"But the worst is to come—they want to hold an autopsy over him to find out the cause of death."