"Faithless parents, I curse you with my dying breath!"
These words, coming from beyond the tomb, were terrible.
At this moment the door opened. An old man, with head uncovered and long, white hair, stood there.
"The Vicomte de Talizac is dead!" whispered one of the servants.
The stranger started, and, with a compassionate look, laid his hand on the shoulder of the Marquis, who was kneeling by the body of his son. The Marquis looked up and shrank back, saying:
"Pierre Labarre!"
It was, indeed, the old servant, sad eyed and hopeless. He had come to Paris as quickly as possible, leaving Françoise and Caillette to follow. He went at once to the court-room, and there heard that Fanfar had been carried to one of the lower rooms. Physicians had been sent for, who had attributed his death to an aneurism.
"You are avenged, Pierre!" cried the Marquis. "Why are you here? Leave this house at once!"
But the old man did not move.
"No!" he said, "you must hear me. We have not done with each other." He extended his hand toward the dead body. "You may well weep for your son, Marquis, but you may also weep for Fanfar."