She lays a hand upon his arm, and he turns back half reluctantly.

"Wot's struck ye?" he asks, resentfully. "Maybe it's occurred to ye that I may have got a bit o' money about me. If that's yer lay, ye're left.

An' I may as well tell ye that if ye can't help a fellow to a little of the necessary, there's no good o' my stoppin' here."

And shaking her hand from his arm, this affectionate Prodigal strides past her, and peers eagerly into the broken gla.s.s upon the table.

"Empty, of course," he mutters; "I might a-known it."

Then his eyes fix upon the tin cup containing Mamma's choice brew.

Striding forward, he seizes it, smells its contents, and with a grunt of satisfaction raises it to his lips.

In an instant Mamma Francoise springs forward, and seizing the cup with both hands, holds it away from his mouth.

"Stop, Franz! you mustn't drink that."

A string of oaths rolls from his lips, and he wrests the cup from her hand, spilling half its contents in the act.

"Stop, Franzy!" calls Papa, excitedly; "that stuff won't be good for you."

And hurrying to one of the pallets he draws from under it a bottle, which, together with the broken tumbler, he presents to the angry young man.

"Here, Franzy, drink this."

But the Prodigal shakes off his father's persuasive touch, and again seizes upon the cup of warm liquor.

"Franzy!" cries Papa, in a tremor of fear, "drop that; _it's doctored_."

The Prodigal moves a step backward, and slowly lowers the cup.

"Oh!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es, musingly, "it's doctored! Wot are ye up to, old uns? If it's a doctored dose, I don't want it--not yet. Come, sit down and let's talk matters over."

Taking the bottle from the old man's hand, he goes back to the table, seats himself on the chair recently occupied by the elder Francoise, motioning that worthy to occupy the only remaining chair. And courtesy being an unknown quality among the Francoises, the three are soon grouped about the table, Mamma accommodating herself as best she can.

"Franzy," says Mamma, after refreshing herself from the bottle, which goes from hand to hand; "before you worry any more about that medicine, an' who it's for, tell us how came yer out?"

"How came I out? Easy enough. There was three of us; we worked for it five months ahead, and one of us had a pal outside. Pa.s.s up the bottle, old top, while I explain."

Having refreshed himself from the bottle, he begins his story, interluding it with innumerable oaths, and allotting to himself a full share of the daring and dangerous feats accompanying the escape.

"It's plain that ye ain't read the papers," he concludes. "Ye'd know all about it, if ye had."

CHAPTER XXVII.

FRANZY FRANCOISE'S GALLANTRY.

While this reunited family, warmed to cordiality by the contents of the aforementioned bottle, exchanged confidences, the evening wore on.

Franz had related the story of his escape and his subsequent adventures, and finished by telling them how, by the merest accident, he had espied Mamma and Nance upon their return from the Warburton mansion; and how, at the risk of being detained by a too-zealous "cop," he had followed them, and so discovered their present abode.

In exchange for this interesting story, Papa had briefly sketched the outline of the career run by himself and Mamma during the ten years of their son's absence, up to the time of their retreat from the scene of the Siebel tragedy.

"We were doing a good business," sighed Papa, dolefully, "a very good business, in that house. But one night there were two or three there with--goods, and while the old woman and I were attending to business, the others got into a fuss--ah. We had no hand in it, the old woman and me, but there was a man killed, and it wasn't safe to stay there, Franzy."

"Umph!" muttered the hopeful son; "who did the killin'?"

Papa glanced uneasily at the old woman, and then replied:

"We don't know, Franzy. The fight began when we were out of the room, and--we don't know."

"That's a pity; wasn't there any reward?"

"Yes, boy," said Mamma, eagerly; "a big reward. An' if we could tell who did the thing, we would be rich."

"Somebody got arrested, of course?"

"N--no, Franzy; n.o.body's been arrested--not yet."

"Oh, they're a-lookin' fer somebody on suspicion? I say, old top, if n.o.body knows who struck the blow, seems to me ye're runnin' a little risk yerself. S'pose they should run yer to earth, eh?"

"We've been careful, Franzy."

"S'pose ye have--look here, old un, don't ye see yer chance?"

"How, Franzy?"

"How! If I was you, I'd clear my own skirts, and git that reward."

"How? how?"

"_I'd know who did the killin'._"

And he leaned forward, took the bottle from Mamma's reluctant hand, and drained it to the last drop, while Papa and Mamma looked into each other's eyes, some new thought sending a flush of excitement to the face of each.

"Ah, Franzy," murmured Mamma, casting upon him a look of pride, such as a tiger might bestow upon her cub, "ye'll be a blessin' to yer old mother yet!"

Then she turns her head and listens, while Franz, casting a wistful look at the now empty bottle, rises to his feet the movement betraying the fact that he is physically intoxicated, although his head as yet seems so clear.

Again footsteps approach, and Mamma hastens to the door, listens a moment, opens it cautiously, and peers out.

"It's that gal," she mutters, setting the door wide open. "Come in, you Nance! Where have you been, making yourself a nuisance?"

Then she falls back a pace, staring stupidly at the strangely-a.s.sorted couple who stand in the doorway.

A girl, a woman, young or old you can hardly tell which; with a face scarcely human, so bleared are the eyes, so sodden, besotted and maudlin the entire countenance; clad in foul rags and smeared with dirt, she reels as she advances, and clings to the supporting arm of a black-robed Sister of Mercy, who towers above her tall and slender, and who looks upon them all with sweet, brave eyes, and speaks with sorrowful dignity: