He hurried out. In the corridor he was stopped by the superintendent of the hospital, who asked him to put his signature under the burial certificate. Albaret signed it standing, got into the carriage which was waiting at the door, and rode rapidly away, while the royal servant, who was no other than Girdel, ran in an opposite direction, and took off his livery in a little house where Bobichel was awaiting him.
"Bobi, just in time," he breathlessly cried, "five minutes more and Fanfaro would have been done for."
Girdel's further arrangements were made with the utmost prudence. Irene de Salves had given him unlimited credit, and the well-known proverb that a golden key opens all doors was conclusively proved in this particular case. The man whose duty it was to bury those who died in the Hotel Dieu had, for a good round sum, consented to allow Girdel to do his work, and so the athlete had nothing else to do than to clothe himself appropriately and hurry back to the hospital.
The superintendent had just ordered the hearse to be put in readiness, when the Marquis of Fougereuse was announced. On the upper corner of the visiting card was a peculiar mark, and hardly had he seen it than he hurried to meet the marquis.
The nobleman leaned on Pierre Labarre's arm, and returning the superintendent's greeting, he tried to speak, but his voice was broken by sobs, and so he handed the official a folded paper and looked inquiringly at him.
Hardly had the official read the paper, than he respectfully observed that the marquis's wish should be complied with, and that he would give the necessary orders at once.
The note contained an order from the Minister of Justice to hand over to the Marquis of Fougereuse the body of Fanfaro; thus it will be seen that the marquis's present of a million to the Society of Jesus had already borne fruit, and Pierre Labarre felt his anger diminish when he saw for what purpose the marquis had demanded the money. He no longer thought of the cabinet position, he had bought the right with his million to have the son who had never stood near to him in life buried in the Fougereuse family vault.
"I should like—to see—the deceased," stammered the broken-down father.
The official bowed, and accompanied his guide up to the operating room where Fanfaro's body still lay.
The marquis sank on his knees beside the dead man, and murmured a silent prayer; how different was the son who had fallen in a duel to the brother whom the father had sacrificed for him.