"I am but a poor fellow, dear lady, only a strolling player, but I swear to you that Fanfar shall be saved!"
Irène was comforted.
CHAPTER XL.
BETWEEN CHARYBDIS AND SCYLLA.
The situation was indeed a terrible one. Bobichel's words were true.
When Fanfar fell as if dead, it was supposed that it was an attack of apoplexy, and some good people ventured to call it a judgment from heaven for his crimes. Others again spoke of poison, and arraigned the governor of the prison for carelessness. There was one physician among those who were called in who could not agree with the others. He used a number of scientific expressions, but the fact remained the same—Fanfar was dead. But there was so much discussion that a post-mortem examination was deemed essential. The body, therefore, was carried on a litter to the hospital, where he was examined by a crowd of curious medical students, who declared that he was so splendidly developed that he ought to have lived to be a hundred years old.
A messenger was sent to Dr. Albant, and the dissecting table was prepared.
This time the plan of the heroes of the right had failed. Fanfar was alive, but he would certainly be killed now, as his torpidity was so great that he would not utter a cry or a groan until the instruments touched some vital organ.