"Ambroisine told me that you were making sport of me when you swore that I should be your wife!"
"Why have you more confidence in another person's word than in my oaths, Bathilde?"
"Ah! I should be very happy if I could believe you!"
"You restore my hope, my life!"
"O mon Dieu! I think I hear my father coughing! adieu! fly!"
Bathilde hurriedly left the balcony, closed the window, took her lamp, and returned to her room, without giving a thought to the poor rosebush, which was the pretext of her nocturnal venture. We are ungrateful creatures; in our happiness, we forget all those to whom we owe it.
And Bathilde was so happy now! he still loved her, he had not for one instant ceased to think of her! His tender oaths intoxicated her heart with joy and love. The love that possessed her was so true, so pure, so sincere, that she no longer felt strong enough to contend against it.
Léodgard went his way no less happy than she; being perfectly certain now of her love, he had but one thought: to possess her person whose heart was already his; and with the young count it was a short interval between the desire and its gratification.
The next night, about half-past eleven, Léodgard was in front of Landry's house. He listened attentively; everything was quiet; not a light was to be seen, and the night was as dark as the preceding one.
But the young count was well acquainted with the position of the balcony, and he had measured its height from the ground beforehand. Taking from beneath his cloak a short silk ladder to which a strong iron hook was attached, he dexterously threw the hook over the balcony rail, satisfied himself that it was firm, then climbed the ladder with the agility of a squirrel, stepped onto the balcony, drew up the ladder, and softly opened the window. On the preceding night, Bathilde in her haste had closed the window without fastening it, so that everything favored Léodgard's audacious enterprise.
But although he was in the linen closet, he must still find the girl's bedroom. He opened the door, stepped into the hall, and cautiously felt his way along, stopping frequently to listen. Something told him that Bathilde herself would point out the direction he must follow.
And so it proved; he heard a sweet voice singing an old villanelle with a slow and melancholy refrain.
Léodgard walked in the direction from which the sound came, and soon spied a light shining through the crack of a door not entirely closed.
It was Bathilde's bedroom.
Suddenly she saw the door open and Léodgard appear before her; she screamed, but her lover fell at her feet; she tried to fly from him, but he already held her in his arms.
Poor Bathilde! she loved him too dearly to be capable of defending herself.
The next morning her rosebush was dead.
Let us allow two months to elapse, during which the lovers rarely passed a night without meeting. The silk ladder remained in Bathilde's room, and she herself fastened it to the balcony at the hour agreed upon with Léodgard, who no longer appeared in the morning in front of Master Landry's abode.
Thus the lovers were able to enjoy their happiness in peace; no one was in their confidence, therefore they feared no treachery.
Ambroisine had come more than once to see her friend, and had asked her if she was beginning to be consoled, to forget Comte Léodgard. And Bathilde had lied; for her lover had told her that their liaison must be kept a profound secret until the time when he could mention it to her father; and to obey Léodgard, Bathilde had pretended, in answer to her friend, to be cured of her love.
But at the end of the two months which had passed so swiftly for Bathilde, a message arrived for Landry: he learned that his wife, having finished her litigation at last and received the amount of her inheritance, was returning to Paris, and that she would arrive in two days.
The thought that she was about to stand once more in her mother's presence made the guilty girl tremble; it seemed to her that her mother would read her shame on her forehead; and on the night following the receipt of the news, being with her lover, she looked up at him with her eyes full of tears, and said:
"Save me! My mother will be here to-morrow! If she learns of my fault, I shall be undone! Oh! I implore you, delay no longer! Ask my father for my hand; avow your love to him, so that I may be your wife, so that I may love you without blushing! Otherwise, my mother will find a way to prevent me from seeing you; and I shall die of shame and grief combined!"
Léodgard tried to allay Bathilde's terror and grief; he did not seem deeply afflicted to learn that Dame Ragonde's return would put an end to those pleasant nocturnal meetings. But for two months he had had nothing more to wish for, and he was only waiting for an opportunity to break off an intrigue in which he had obtained all that he sought.
However, he concealed what was taking place in his mind from the girl, who wept bitterly; he pretended to share her chagrin; he was most lavish of oaths and promises, and swore that before long they would meet to part no more.
The next day Dame Ragonde returned home, bringing the funds which she destined for her daughter's marriage portion.
It was the morrow of a grand reception given at the Hôtel de Mongarcin,—a function which had brought together the most noble dames and the gentlemen of the first families of France then residing in the capital.
Madame de Ravenelle and her niece had done the honors of the fête; but Valentine especially had displayed that grace and refinement of manner which made her a noteworthy figure everywhere.
It was she who had conceived the idea of giving a reception; and her aunt had consented, but on condition that her niece should take it upon herself to arrange and manage everything.
The guests had conversed; they had played lansquenet, brelan, primero, dice, and other fashionable games; they had danced sarabands, passe-pieds, branles, and all the dances then in vogue. In fact, everybody had seemed delighted with the evening's entertainment, and had lavished compliments upon Valentine and Madame de Ravenelle, congratulating the latter upon having a niece who did the honors of her house so gracefully.
And as the givers of a large party are usually very tired on the following day, the old aunt was stretched out on a reclining chair, from which she did not stir; while Valentine sat on a sofa, with her feet on a soft hassock, holding in her hands a piece of embroidery upon which she was not working.
"Are you asleep, aunt?" inquired Valentine, after a very long silence.
"I think not, niece; at all events, if I had been, your question would have waked me!"
"Oh! I see that you were not asleep at all.—Our reception last night was very brilliant, was it not?"
"If it is to ask me that that you interfere with my doze——"
"No; I wanted to ask you also if you noticed that all those whom we invited came?"
"All! do you think so?"
"Yes, aunt, with the exception of a single one.—Oh! I am quite sure that you noticed that, too."
"It is true," said Madame de Ravenelle, partly rising, "that the young Comte de Marvejols did not come."
"He is the one I mean. I trust that now you will not give another thought to my marrying this gentleman, who shows—I will not say so little zeal, for he has shown zeal in avoiding me!—but who is almost discourteous to us!"
"But, Valentine, young Léodgard's father, the Marquis de Marvejols, accepted our invitation; he apologized for his son and said that fatigue, an attack of fever, kept him at home."
"Of course you do not suppose that I believe a word of that! Fatigue! fever! If he were ill, would his father have come to our party?"
"He may be only indisposed; the marquis, his father, was delightfully amiable with me! He is a man of the old school; he stands very well at court; it is said that the king is much attached to him, and that the cardinal himself has the highest esteem for Monsieur de Marvejols."
"Mon Dieu! aunt, I have never ventured to doubt any of monsieur le marquis's estimable qualities, although his manner seems to me rather stern than amiable. That he stands very well at court is possible; but that does not make it any the less true that his son will never be my husband. Upon my word! fancy my taking for my husband a man who despises me!"
"Oh! my dear niece!"
"Why, my dear aunt, since this gentleman does not deign to take the trouble to pay court to me, since he even avoids my society, does it not mean that he disdains an alliance with me?"
"Have you heard of his paying court to any other woman? No!—If you could name some nobly born person, some grande dame, whose assiduous attendant he was, I could understand your irritation. But young Léodgard goes most rarely into society; he likes those parties of young men, where they gamble and drink and fight and raise the deuce with passers-by.—Mon Dieu! niece, such amusements have been indulged in by many young men of illustrious birth. Why, some even go so far as to say that one of our kings took great pleasure in going out at night with his favorites, his mignons, and that they used to steal cloaks from the people they met!"
"Oh! aunt! do you approve of that?"
"No, surely not! But I simply mean to say that young Léodgard may be only a heedless youth, who dreads the moment when he must marry; because he knows that then he will have to reform, to change his mode of life altogether and live in a circle where he must maintain his rank worthily."
Valentine made no reply.
A few moments later she rang, and said to Madame de Ravenelle:
"I am going to tell Miretta to finish this tapestry; the work tires me, and the little Béarnaise does it so beautifully!—She did that corner, and it's much better than I can do. She is running over with talent, that girl—she has excellent taste in everything; she trims a cap with marvellous skill!—Will you allow her to work here, aunt, on my stool? We shall not have any visitors to-day."
The old lady confined herself to a nod of assent.
Miretta entered the salon.
"Come here, Miretta," said Valentine, pointing to the stool; "sit here, and work on my embroidery; this work bores me; in any event, I am in no mood to hold a needle this morning; I am tired. Sit down. Are you comfortable?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Don't hurry, work at your ease; this foot rest is not needed at present.—Did you see everybody last night, Miretta?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; I helped the ladies to take off their cloaks and mantles and shawls in the small reception room."
"Ah! to be sure. There were some very pretty ladies, were there not?"
"Oh, yes! but——"
"Well! finish."
"Mademoiselle will think that I mean to pay her a compliment; but I am not given to flattery—I say just what I think."
"Well, say it; what do you think?"
"That mademoiselle was the most beautiful of all the ladies, married or single, who were at the house last evening."
"Really? Why, that is very prettily said.—Do you hear what Miretta says to me, aunt?"
Madame de Ravenelle did not reply, but they heard a sound as of prolonged breathing.
"Ah! my aunt is asleep this time," continued Valentine; "so much the better; we can talk more freely; but we will speak a little lower.—Well! my poor Miretta, so you consider me beautiful enough to carry the day over many other women. Several gentlemen told me last night what you have just told me. I received a multitude of compliments, attentions, even declarations! I am well aware that I must look upon them as the little courtesies which it is customary to address to ladies, but, after all, I know also that I am not ugly! And, nevertheless, there is one young man who does not choose to see me, for fear that he may be obliged to show me a little attention."
"Oh! that is most surprising, mademoiselle; unless, indeed, this young noble has some other passion in his heart!"
"That is what I thought, myself; but I am told that it is not so!"
"But can anyone know such things?"
"Oh! you are right, Miretta; is it possible to know the secrets of the heart? But look you, Miretta: I am very sure of one thing—that is, that you love someone!"
"I, mademoiselle?" replied the girl, blushing.
"Yes, yes! you! Come, tell me the secrets of your heart; since you have been in my service, I have watched you closely; in the first place, you are not light-hearted and merry, as a girl should be; you sigh very often; and when you think that you are not observed, you raise your eyes to heaven as if in entreaty—for whom? Ah! it can only be for the man whom one loves that one addresses such eloquent glances to heaven! Am I wrong, Miretta? have you not in your heart a love which makes you unhappy? Come, confess it!"
"Yes, mademoiselle, you are not mistaken; it is true that my heart is—is no longer mine."
"Ah! I was perfectly sure of it; but then the man whom you love so dearly does not reciprocate, since you sigh so much?"
"I beg pardon, mademoiselle; the man I love does return my love."
"Then why are you sad so often? Perhaps it is because there are obstacles; you are not allowed to see each other, you are forbidden to love."
"There are many obstacles, mademoiselle, in truth, and I meet him very rarely."
"But he is in Paris, is he?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"And it was to join him that you came hither, I will warrant."
"That is true, mademoiselle."
"See what a power of divination I possess! But what does your lover do? Is he not free? Are you not able to marry?"
Miretta lowered her eyes, her bosom heaved painfully, the pallor of deadly alarm overspread her brow.
"Well! I see that I make you unhappy!" continued Valentine; "let us say no more about it. But still, you do see your lover sometimes, and then you are very happy. Oh! when that happens, I can detect it by your face; you are no longer the same girl that you were the day before; you smile and are almost gay. Because, as I believe it is as difficult to conceal one's happiness as one's suffering.—For my part, I have no love for the man they would like me to marry; no, indeed! I have not the slightest love for him, although he is a very well-favored young man."
"Ah! do you know him, mademoiselle?"
"Very little; I have seen him once or twice in society. He is the son of that old nobleman who was here last night—that tall, thin man with a severe expression, dressed all in black, in the style of the time of Henri IV, with a ruff that concealed his chin—the Marquis de Marvejols, in fact."
"The Marquis de Marvejols! Is it his son whom you are expected to marry, mademoiselle?"
"To be sure! why that exclamation?"
"Because, last night I was in the main vestibule when that old gentleman arrived."
"Well! what then?"
"All your servants were there, and also a clerk from the office of your aunt's solicitor, who had come to give her some information about some business—a debt due her, or something else, I don't know what! But, as you may imagine, they told the little clerk—for he is a very small fellow—they told him that there was a grand reception going on, and that madame could not receive him."
"What relation has all this to the old Marquis de Marvejols?"
"Why, mademoiselle, when Monsieur Bahuchet—that is the little clerk's name—when he found that he could not be received, he put his papers in his pocket, saying: 'Very well; I will return to-morrow.'—But, instead of going away at once, as the guests were arriving, he remained a long while in the vestibule, talking with the major-domo and the servants. He is a great gossip, but he is amusing; for he made comments on everybody who arrived, and I assure you, mademoiselle, that sometimes he said some very comical things.—So, when this old gentleman arrived, and the servant announced Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols, the little clerk cried:
"'Ah! I know that nobleman, and his son too. He had a pretty little pile of debts, had the son; but the father paid them all some time ago; it was my master, my solicitor, who called the creditors together. Comte Léodgard promised to reform, but he doesn't reform; he is beginning to run in debt again; and then, he's a great fellow for midnight intrigues! I'll wager that he won't come here to-night; he is too fully occupied elsewhere!'"
"The clerk said that?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; I was quite near him and I heard him plainly."
"Well! what else did he say? go on!"
"He said nothing more on that subject, mademoiselle; for other persons arrived, and he had comments to make on them. It seems that that young man knows all Paris; but nothing more was said about the son of Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols."
"What a pity! I should be so glad to know something more; and it is very probable that this clerk—what did you call him?"
"Bahuchet, mademoiselle; a bit of a man, not so tall as I am, and with a most original face!"
"This Monsieur Bahuchet must know more; and as he is so talkative, if one had an opportunity to question him——"
At that moment the door of the salon opened, and a servant appeared and said:
"The clerk from the office of madame's solicitor, who came last evening, wishes to know if he may speak to Madame de Ravenelle."
"Oh, yes! yes!" cried Valentine, jumping for joy. "Let him come in; he could not come more opportunely!"
"Eh! mon Dieu! what is it? why this noise, these cries?" demanded the old lady, rudely awakened from her nap. "What is the matter, Valentine?"
"Your solicitor's clerk wishes to speak with you, aunt."
"And that is your reason for shrieking so! Let them send the clerk away; I do not care to attend to any business to-day, I am too tired."
"But, aunt, he came last night; and then, if you knew—he will tell us some very interesting things about the young Comte de Marvejols."
"What! my solicitor?"
"His clerk. I beg you, my dear aunt, let me question him; do not you take the trouble to speak, if it tires you; I will speak for you."
Madame de Ravenelle threw herself back in her reclining chair, and at the same instant Monsieur Bahuchet was ushered into the presence of the ladies.
At sight of that young man of four feet eight, with his enormous head, his huge mouth, his gaping nostrils, and, with all the rest, a self-assured and pretentious air which bordered closely upon impertinence, Valentine turned her head away in order not to laugh in his face.
Bahuchet took four steps into the salon, then made two very low reverences, one to Madame de Ravenelle, the other to her niece. As for Miretta, he simply bestowed a patronizing smile upon her, as if to say:
"I know you, my dear; I know that you are the lady's-maid."
"What do you want with me, monsieur?" inquired the old lady, without moving.
"Madame, I am sent hither by my employer, Maître Pierre-Guillaume Bourdinard, your solicitor before the courts, and am instructed to inform you, on the part of said Bourdinard, that Sieur Benoît-Gervais Cocatrix, your tenant and debtor, now occupying your property on Rue des Lions-Saint-Paul, has not yet paid his rent for the current term, or for previous terms since he has occupied the said property, albeit we have duly and frequently served upon him notices and citations on stamped paper, which citations, engrossed by your humble servant, Nicolas Bahuchet, should be paid for by the debtor, who, however——"
"Enough! enough!" said the old lady, motioning to the little clerk to hold his peace; "you drive me mad with your pettifogger's jargon. Come to the point, if you please; has my tenant paid his rent?"
"I was proceeding to certify the contrary by my peroration, if madame had allowed me to finish.—I continue: And Maître Bourdinard, my worthy employer, having to no purpose threatened your tenant, desires to know whether he shall grant him still more time, or shall force him to vacate the premises ex abrupto."
"How now, monsieur! Are you talking Latin to me? Do you imagine that by any chance I can understand it? Let my solicitor procure my money for me; he may employ whatever method he chooses—that is his affair. But I do not choose to be pestered any more with this business; that, I trust, is understood."
"Perfectly, madame; your orders shall be carried out. I will transmit them to Maître Bourdinard personally, as I now have the honor to speak with you, and the law will take its course. Dixi! Whereupon I have the honor——"
And the little clerk was already preparing to take his leave, when Valentine said to him:
"One moment, monsieur; I have a question or two—some information to request from you. But I would be very glad if, in answering me, you would employ neither Latin nor the phraseology of the courtroom."
"Oh! with pleasure, mademoiselle; now that my employer's errand is done, I become once more a jovial Basochian, master of his acts and his tongue. But when we are performing our duties as clerk, we must needs adopt the manner and language of the office. Moreover, it is always well to show that one has education! That is what I constantly tell Plumard, who thinks of nothing but finding pomades to make his hair grow. Plumard is my fellow clerk, but he is bald and——"
"I do not desire to speak to you of your fellow clerk Plumard, monsieur; but last evening you made comments in a loud tone upon a large number of persons who came to our reception."
"That is quite possible, mademoiselle; comments of no consequence. One must talk and laugh a bit, and show that one has conversational powers."
"All your comments were not without consequence, monsieur; especially those in which you indulged concerning the son of Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols."
"Concerning the marquis's son? Ah, yes! Monsieur le Comte Léodgard; what did I say about him?—In the first place, I do not know him personally; I have never seen him except at a distance; I may have repeated what everybody says: that he was in debt; that his father paid fifty thousand livres for him lately! That is true, for Maître Bourdinard, my employer, called the creditors together in his office, in order to obtain the best conditions and the greatest possible abatement."
"That is not all; you added that Comte Léodgard certainly would not come to our reception.—What made you think so, monsieur?"
Bahuchet smiled cunningly, scratched his forehead, and shifted from one leg to the other like a canary; he seemed to hesitate before replying, and looked now at the old lady, now at her niece, and again at Miretta.
"Well, monsieur, did you not hear my question?" added Mademoiselle de Mongarcin impatiently, and in an imperious tone.
"I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, I heard you perfectly; but there are some things which we young clerks of the Basoche say to one another, or when talking with the common people, which we should not dare to say to a young lady of noble birth."
"Since you have had a good education, monsieur, you should be able to use suitable terms in which to state a fact, and to refrain from saying anything that can offend my ears. So much the worse for you, if you cannot find a way to express yourself becomingly."
Bahuchet's self-esteem was stung to the quick; Valentine had hit upon the way to make him speak. He rested the hand in which he held his hat on his hip, and, striking an attitude like an advocate, said:
"Mademoiselle, I am very well able to express myself, and to select my words according to my audience. Thank heaven, I have fitted myself for the profession! My parents were poor, but poverty is not a vice! I do not know who it was that dared to say: 'It is something much worse!' but I do not share his opinion. Ignorance is a vice, and so is stupidity! Wealth does not always go hand in hand with merit! On the contrary, it seems to take pleasure in sneering at it!—Homer, poor and blind, wandered through the streets and public squares, reciting verses to obtain a crust of bread. Plautus, that original, satirical comic poet, turned the wheel of a mill for his livelihood. Agrippa died in the hospital. And it is said that the illustrious author of Don Quixote, Miguel Cervantes, died of want. Tasso was often reduced to the necessity of borrowing a crown."
"Mon Dieu! will he never be done?" said Valentine, turning to Miretta; "I am sure that my aunt has fallen asleep again."
The little clerk, observing that the beautiful young lady paid no attention to him, decided to return to the subject upon which she had questioned him.
"Pardon me, mademoiselle; I allow myself to be led astray by my schoolboy reminiscences. I return to the question which you did me the honor to ask me. I did say, it is true, that I believed Monsieur le Comte Léodgard to be too much engrossed by new intrigues at this moment to have time to come to your fête. My reason for saying that was that I have a friend—that is to say, a confrère—or a friend, no matter which!—one Plumard, who is bald already, at twenty-six! That is rather early to be bald!—Now, Plumard lives on Rue Dauphine—a small room under the eaves. And a few days ago we were leaning out of his window, looking into the street, and I recognized the young Comte de Marvejols walking back and forth and watching, out of the corner of his eye, the house of a bath keeper, who it seems has a charming daughter, a model of grace, beauty, and innocence. The parents never allow this enchanting creature to go out; the mother especially watches her with the greatest care. But Plumard said to me, laughingly: 'That young gentleman comes prowling about the house every day—he even comes in the evening! and it is probable that he comes late at night! He surely must have seen the bath keeper's daughter, and it is on her account that he passes his time in this quarter.'"
"A bath keeper's daughter!" exclaimed Valentine, with a disdainful air. "Is it possible that the son of the Marquis de Marvejols forgets himself to such a degree as to address his sighs to one so far beneath him!"
"But if the little one is a model of beauty, as they say," murmured the undersized clerk, "that causes much to be overlooked!"
"You know a bath keeper's daughter, Miretta; you go to see her sometimes, do you not? Can it be the same one?"
"No, mademoiselle; the one I know is very good-looking too, but she lives on Rue Saint-Jacques; she lost her mother long ago."
"I know whom you mean!" cried Bahuchet; "you mean Ambroisine, whom they call La Belle Baigneuse. Ah! she's a very handsome girl—tall and well built! She is Master Hugonnet's daughter, whose baths are very popular.—Oh! I know her; I know all Paris, I do! But she isn't the one in question, for my friend Plumard—his name ought to be Plumé [plucked], for before long he will not have three hairs on his scalp—— But, no matter; Plumard told me about the daughter of his neighbor, the bath keeper on Rue Dauphine. His name is Landry; he is an old soldier, who will not look on it as a joke if he learns that a gallant is making love to his daughter, whatever the gallant's name and rank may be!"
"And—was it long ago, monsieur, that you had this conversation at your friend's window on Rue Dauphine?"
"About six weeks, mademoiselle."
"Have you seen your friend again since? Has he told you anything more concerning Monsieur Léodgard de Marvejols's love affairs?"
"I have seen Plumard very often since. We sometimes dine together at the cook shop. A few days, or rather a few nights ago, I escorted my comrade home; it was very late, almost midnight; we had been singing and playing cards and drinking a long, long while, and Plumard, who is not over brave, was afraid to go home alone. He was in dread of falling in with Giovanni the robber—the famous Italian brigand whom our archers, our arquebusiers, our watch, in fact, all our soldiery, have not succeeded in catching. They are not shrewd. To secure that villain's arrest, I shall have to take a hand in it. But I will show them how to catch him. I know how they must go to work to do it, and——"
"You will have Giovanni arrested?" cried Miretta, whose face had turned deathly pale.
"Well, well! what has happened to you, child?" said Valentine, almost alarmed by her maid's abrupt exclamation. "Mon Dieu! how excited you are!"
"I beg pardon, mademoiselle; excuse me; but monsieur said that he knew how they could arrest this Italian—this Giovanni."
"How does that concern you? You do not seem to be afraid of him, for you never go out except at night, and you come home quite late, so Béatrix tells me."
"That is true, mademoiselle; but, for all that, I would like to know——"
"But I wish to know what concerns Monsieur Léodgard. I am not at all interested in this famous robber.—For heaven's sake, Monsieur Bahuchet, go on. You were taking your friend Plumard home, to Rue Dauphine."
"Yes, mademoiselle; we were walking quietly along, arm in arm, talking together, and he was assuring me that he had discovered three more hairs on his head since the night before, and he attributed that capillary recrudescence to some grease made from a man who had been hanged, which an old woman had presented to him."
"Ah! monsieur, you abuse my patience!"
"A thousand pardons, mademoiselle! I continue.—About a hundred yards from the bath keeper's house, Plumard stopped and squeezed my arm.
"'What is it?' I asked, without wincing. 'I am not afraid of anything; I am as brave as a lion. What did you see, Plumard?'
"'What I saw,' he replied, 'was a man climbing into a window on the first floor of yonder house.'
"And he pointed to Master Landry's house.
"'Let us hurry,' said I; 'we must make sure of the fact.'
"And I pulled Plumard along by the arm; but he did not go any more quickly for that. When we drew near the window in question, at which there is a balcony, we thought that we saw a rope, or a rope ladder, which someone hastily drew up. When we were in front of the house, we saw nothing.—Was it a lover? was it a thief?—I recalled Comte Léodgard's watches in front of the bathing establishment, and I said to Plumard:
"'This must be the sequel of what we saw from your window.'
"But Plumard, who sees thieves everywhere, did not agree with me; he wanted to call the watch and the neighbors; but, happening to glance at my feet, directly beneath the balcony, I saw something white on the ground. I stooped, and picked up a beautiful white plume, like those with which our young seigneurs adorn their hats. Then I remembered that Comte Léodgard had one of them on his hat, and I said to my friend, showing him the plume:
"'Look! here is something that our climber lost on the way. Thieves don't wear such plumes as this on their nocturnal expeditions; so this is some lovers' affair. Let us leave them in peace; go home to bed and stop trembling.'
"Thereupon I left Plumard at his door and went home."
"And the plume that you found?"
"I carried it home with me, and I still have it; it's a very fine one! too fine for me to wear it, with my modest clothes. But no one knows; if I should have a handsome cloak and rich doublet some day, and a velvet cap, why, the plume would go very well with all those things!"
Valentine seemed to reflect; she glanced at her aunt, who was sound asleep, then continued, taking care to speak in a low tone:
"Is that all you know concerning Monsieur Léodgard?"
"No, indeed! Oh! I have not emptied my bag yet, as my employer says. Mademoiselle must know that I have a relation who lives near Vincennes; he is a simple farmer; he has a little cottage with a sizable piece of land, where he grows vegetables and fruit, which he brings to Paris to sell. Thomas's cottage—Thomas is my kinsman's name—is in a very lonely spot, just this side of the village and château of Vincennes. Ah! how frightened Plumard would be there! so when I suggest to him to go to Thomas's with me, he always refuses; and yet, my relative has a very nice little wine.—But to come to my story: when you leave our quarter of the Cité, you have to cross Pont Saint-Louis, otherwise called the Pont-aux-Choux. And that is a very dangerous place, especially at this time, for it is the favorite resort of Giovanni, the robber whom I mentioned just now. I am confident that he has his lair in the neighborhood. About five days ago, no more, Thomas's ass was stolen on the Pont-aux-Choux; he did not see the robber, therefore it was Giovanni. Also, an old peasant woman of Vincennes was found murdered within fifty yards of that infernal bridge; that too was done by that damned brigand!"
"No, monsieur, no; that is not true!" cried Miretta. "Giovanni did not murder that woman! it is impossible!"
"And why is it impossible, I pray to know, young lady's-maid?" demanded Bahuchet, staring at the girl in amazement.
Miretta tried to dissemble her emotion as she replied:
"Why, because I have been assured—I have heard everybody say that Giovanni never sheds blood, that no one had ever been injured by him!"
"Really, my pretty child! And why do they not also say that when he pillages travellers, the brigand gives them sweetmeats and preserves to make up to them for the money he steals? What an absurd idea—that a man who attacks with arms in his hand does not use his arms when he is resisted! But there are people who delight to tell such foolish tales, and who pretend to know everything better than anybody else.—I would just like to have a hundred men, well armed; I would lie in ambush under the Pont-aux-Choux, and within a week I would have captured, hanged, or shot the famous Giovanni!"
"Ah! so that is how you expect to capture him?" muttered Miretta in a trembling voice, gazing at the little man with eyes that flashed fire.
"It seems to me to be very easy; when you know almost the spot where a bird has its nest, you can find it. But I beg pardon, mademoiselle; I see that you consider me too talkative.—I was saying that Thomas's cottage is isolated; but within about three gunshots of it, toward Paris, there is a very pretty place, a very elegant sort of pavilion, which belongs now, I believe, to the Baron de Montrevert, but which formerly belonged to Comte Léodgard, who lost it at cards. This pavilion is what our seigneurs of the court call a petite maison, a place to which they go to enjoy themselves in secret, to which they take their mistresses or courtesans; and the young count——"
"Enough, monsieur, enough!" said Valentine, with a glance at the young man which cut him short. "This does not interest me. That the Comte de Marvejols should ruin himself like a gentleman, that he should commit a thousand follies—fight, drink too much, run in debt—all that I can understand! But that he should fall in love with a bath keeper's daughter, that that passion should keep him away from the world—that is what seems inconceivable to me!—But this plume that you found—are you willing to give it to me?"
Bahuchet rubbed his chin, assumed his mocking expression, and said at last:
"Give it to you, mademoiselle?—You are most worthy of it, certainly, but I have tried it on my hood, and it was not unbecoming to me; on the word of a Basochian, it made me quite the dandy! Ha! ha!"
"Not so loud, monsieur; you will wake my aunt!"
"Ah! to be sure; the honorable and venerable lady is taking a nap."
"When I ask you for this plume, which is of some value doubtless, I do not mean to suggest, monsieur, that you should make me a present of it; and I will beg you to accept this purse in exchange, not as the price of what I ask of you, but as a souvenir of me."
The little clerk hastily cast a furtive glance at the pretty velvet purse, which was not unlike an alms purse, and from which issued a sound very pleasant to his ear. He bowed to the floor before the noble maiden, and, almost kneeling, took the purse from her hand.
"I accept this in obedience to you, mademoiselle," he said; "to-morrow you shall have the plume. I am too happy to be able to do anything that is agreeable to you!"
"Very well, monsieur; now, leave us."
Bahuchet bowed once more, then smiled at Miretta, who answered his smile by a wrathful glance. But the little clerk hurried from the room and the house, paying no heed to the young lady's-maid's threatening expression. He was no sooner in the street than he opened the purse and found four gold pieces inside.
Thereupon he shouted for joy, tossed his cap in the air, bumped against the passers-by, and finally ran off at full speed, crying:
"O Plumard! I say, Plumard! where are you? I have got enough to buy you a wig! but I won't buy it!"
When the messenger from her aunt's solicitor had gone, Valentine rose noiselessly and beckoned to her maid to follow her. They soon reached Mademoiselle de Mongarcin's bedroom, and the latter, after bidding Miretta to lock the door, said to her:
"We can talk more at ease here, Miretta. I do not know how to tell you what is taking place in my heart. I am chagrined, angry, almost furious. And yet, I do not love this Léodgard; but I would be glad to make sure that that youth has not been telling us a parcel of lies.—Miretta, you must help me to discover the truth; you are in my service to do whatever I wish; you will help me, will you not?"
"I am devoted to you, mademoiselle, and you may rely upon me."
"Good! good! Oh! I will reward you handsomely, I promise you!"
"Do not speak of rewards, mademoiselle; I am in need of nothing; you are too kind to me now; I shall be happy to prove to you that I am not ungrateful."
"You are not moved by selfish motives, I have noticed that already; you are not an ordinary lady's-maid; besides, you love, you adore your lover. Therefore, you will understand me.—The Comte de Marvejols, the man whom my friends have selected for my husband, make love to a bath keeper's daughter! pass all his time with her! and, to be with her, refuse to attend balls and receptions! Oh! I cannot believe it yet; but if it is so, you will agree that I shall be justified in refusing him, in spurning that alliance; and if anyone should ask me for my reasons, how sweet it would be to me to avenge myself by revealing the noble conduct, the honorable love affairs of Comte Léodgard! that fashionable nobleman, that soul of honor, that gentleman of the court of Louis XIII! A noble gentleman, on my word! who does not shrink from marring his escutcheon!—Oh! I don't know what is the matter with me! Give me water; give me that phial of salts! I need to inhale it a moment."
Miretta zealously waited upon her young mistress, whose nerves were in a state of high tension because her self-esteem was humiliated and she could not endure the thought that a bath keeper's daughter had prevented her destined husband from accepting her invitation.
At last, when she had become somewhat calmer, Valentine sat for some time deep in thought. Miretta awaited in silence the commands of the nobly born heiress, who already felt that she hated the plebeian maiden whom she did not know.
"You are not timid, Miretta; you must be brave, since you are not afraid to go out alone at night, here in Paris, which is said to be such a dangerous place.—Well! you must go to Rue Dauphine, you must see this girl, this wonderful beauty."
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"You will ascertain whether there are, in fact, any rumors afloat respecting her love affairs; make the neighbors and servants talk; in a word, I rely upon you to discover the truth."
"Mademoiselle, the bath keeper's daughter whom I go to see, Ambroisine, knows this Landry's daughter, I think.—Yes, I remember now that she has often spoken to me of her friend Bathilde—that is the name of the girl on Rue Dauphine."
"Bathilde!—oh! her name is Bathilde! I thought that her name would prove to be Marion, or Margot!"
"I will go first to see Ambroisine; and through her I shall perhaps learn more than from others!"
"Do as you think best; I leave you entirely free. From this moment I relieve you from all service and give you permission to go out whenever you please, and to stay away as long as you please. The concierge will have orders to await your return; and if anyone in the house should venture to make any impertinent comments on your conduct, he will be dismissed at once; for I am mistress here!—As you see, my aunt is good for nothing but to sleep! She paid no attention to that young clerk's story, and yet her niece's future and happiness were directly concerned. Henceforth I myself will look after everything that concerns my repose, my name, my honor.—Here is money—you may need it to bribe someone, to induce people to speak. Do not spare it, spend it lavishly if necessary; but act, act promptly."
On the evening following this interview between Valentine and Miretta, the latter left the house as soon as it was dark.
But do not think that she bent her steps toward Ambroisine's abode. While Mademoiselle de Mongarcin had been profoundly impressed by the little clerk's gossip, Cédrille's pretty cousin had been no less moved by what she had heard concerning Giovanni. Monsieur Bahuchet's words with respect to him had struck her to the heart; she saw her lover arrested and led to execution; and her feeling for Giovanni was stronger than her devotion to her mistress.
On leaving the house, she proposed first of all to try to meet Giovanni that night. The little clerk had declared that his favorite lurking place was the neighborhood of the Pont-aux-Choux, and Miretta said to herself:
"I will go in that direction; I have no idea where that bridge is, but someone will tell me."
The first person whom Miretta addressed, on Rue Saint-Honoré, to ask for directions, seemed much surprised.
"Pont-aux-Choux, mademoiselle!" he exclaimed. "The deuce! it's a long way from here; it's outside of the city, beyond the Fossés Jaunes, between the Porte du Temple and Porte Saint-Antoine; you don't expect to go there to-night, I presume?"
"Pardon me, I do."
"And you are all alone! Beware! it's a lonely neighborhood, and very dangerous at night."
"I am not afraid; but please tell me which way I must go."
He directed her as well as he could, concluding with the usual phrase:
"When you get there, inquire again."
Miretta walked a long while; she was not sufficiently familiar with Paris to tell where she was, so that she did not know if she was approaching her destination.
Most of the shops were already closed; and the girl, remembering that she had money about her, regretted that she had not secured the assistance of a torchbearer or messenger, who would have guided her directly to the place to which she wished to go; but it was too late now to find any of those hard-worked men in the street.
More than once, bands of students and pages had attempted to accost the girl, offering her their services in very familiar fashion; but she had run away from them without replying.
She had just made her escape from a group of young men who seemed well disposed for mirth, when, as she halted, all out of breath from running, at the corner of a street, a well-known voice fell upon her ear.
"Eh! sandis! my eyes do not deceive me! it is in very truth our cruel infanta whom I see before me!—By Roland, my dear, you expose yourself to great risk, rambling about alone at night in such an unsavory quarter; none but knights of my temper should haunt such places by night!"
When she recognized the voice of her faithful suitor, the Gascon chevalier, Miretta felt relieved; for although Passedix pestered her with his love, at all events she knew him; and while she found him intolerable as a lover, she believed him to be incapable of attempting any enterprise calculated to offend a woman's modesty. It was with something like pleasure, therefore, that the pretty brunette recognized the chevalier at that moment, the result being that she answered in a much more amiable tone than she usually adopted with him.
"Is it you, monsieur le chevalier? I confess that I did not expect to meet you here!"
"That is because you were not looking for me, little one; whereas I am always hoping to meet you!"
"As you are here, you will help me out of my perplexity."
"I will help you in whatever you wish to undertake! Do you wish to ascend to the moon—to revolve about a planet? I will escort you to the celestial empire; I have no very clear idea what road we must take; but, no matter! I would act as your escort, even to hell, if such were your whim!"
"I thank you, monsieur le chevalier, but I have no intention of asking you to go so high or so low; I do not deem myself worthy as yet to dwell with the angels, but I have no desire, either, to pay a visit to the demons!"
"Sandis! I would gladly sell myself to the devil to win your love!"
"Be kind enough not to talk to me of love, and please be my guide to the Pont-aux-Choux, for that is where I am going."
"Ah! I understand; that is where you make assignations with your lover; probably you are going there to join that rough fellow, that rustic, that artisan, who was awkward enough to make Roland drop from my hand on the Place de Grève, solely by favor of the crowd that pushed me from behind!—Ah! ten thousand bombardes! I would like right well to meet your spark again; I would show him this time that I know how to use my sword, and that it is not in the habit of escaping from my hand."
"But if I remember aright, chevalier, it escaped from your hand on the day you were kind enough to espouse my cause and to stand in front of Cédrille and myself on Rue Saint-Jacques."
"That day there was another reason," muttered Passedix, with a frown. "But let us return to the present; you wish to go to Pont Saint-Louis?"
"It is the same thing. You are going there very late, my dear. Is your lover a market gardener, pray? has he his lair among the cabbages and carrots that cover the road toward Vincennes?"
"If you propose to begin your questions again, monsieur, I will leave you and try to find some more obliging cavalier."
"No! no!" cried the Gascon, detaining the girl, who had already started to leave him; "why, the child is like a train of powder! what a hothead! If you were a man, we should have killed each other ten or twelve times before this. But I love this effervescent nature; it bears some resemblance to mine.—So you want to go to the Pont-aux-Choux? Take my arm, my love; I shall have the honor of escorting you thither."
Miretta decided to put her arm through the chevalier's; and he, overjoyed to have beside him the pretty girl of whom he was enamored, drew himself up and tossed his head, which made him appear even taller and diminished the stature of his companion.
They walked on for some time, the Gascon making his rusty spurs and Roland's scabbard ring on the stones; Miretta thinking of Giovanni and glancing all about at the slightest sound.
"Are we still far from the place to which I am going?" the girl asked her guide at last.
Passedix did not reply for some seconds. Since he had felt Miretta's arm in his, his love for the dark maiden had made rapid progress; his heart beat violently beneath his patched doublet, his head burned, and his imagination indulged in a multitude of wild antics.
At last he argued the matter out with himself thus:
"Since my good star has caused me to meet my inhuman fair, I should be very stupid to take her to my rival, that knave who nearly made me lose Roland; should I not rather seize the opportunity which offers to avenge myself and to triumph over a cruel enslaver? The little one does not know her way; instead of taking her to her rendezvous, I will take her to the Place aux Chats, and tell her that it is the Pont-aux-Choux! Then, by frightening her with tales of robbers, I will try to induce her to accept shelter in the Hôtel du Sanglier; and once there!—Sandioux! it's a daring plan, it has a suggestion of felony about it! But this girl is a demon, and I shall not vanquish her unless I resort to heroic means!"
"Well, monsieur le chevalier, you have not yet answered me; are we still far from the Pont-aux-Choux?"
"Why, yes, my sweet child, rather far. Oh! you had gone entirely astray, you were not going in the right direction."
"That is strange; I followed the directions that were given me."
"Some persons are so unkind! they take delight in making people go astray who ask them to point out their road.—Lean on me, tender blossom! Do not be afraid of wearying me; it is a joy to me to feel your round arm in mine. Ah! ye gods!"
"It would be a great joy to me to arrive. I cannot understand this; it seems to me that you are making me retrace my steps."
"As you were not going toward your destination, I must, of course, take you back. This is one of the most blissful evenings of my life!"
"Do not press my arm so tightly, I beg you."
"This loving pressure is a magnetic effect of the fire which consumes my heart, and which snaps devilishly so near to you!"
"Are you going to begin again to talk to me of your love? I thought that you were cured."
"Cured! I!—Better to die than to be cured! What would you have me talk about, sweet friend, when I am with you?"
"Have you forgotten, pray, that I am only a servant, upon whom you conferred too much honor simply by looking at her?"
"A man may say that when he is angry, my dear; but, in reality, he does not mean a word of it."
"Oh!" cried Miretta, suddenly stopping at a street corner; "I am sure now that it is you who have lost your way! I recognize this street perfectly; it runs into the street I live on; you have brought me back to the quarter I came from."
"Sandis! I am taking you where you want to go. Come, we shall soon be there."
"No!" cried the girl, as she withdrew her arm from the chevalier's, refusing to go any farther; "no! I will not go with you, for it is not possible that the Pont-aux-Choux is in this direction."
Passedix tried to take Miretta's arm again; she resisted, but the Gascon was excited, and he was determined not to let the girl escape him anew.
Suddenly a new personage, whose approach neither of them had observed or heard, appeared on the scene and put an end to the contest by releasing Miretta from the chevalier's grasp.
The new-comer wore the costume of a citizen of the middle class; his chin was cleanly shaven.
The girl had no sooner glanced at him than her face regained its serenity; and she hastened to take her place by his side, while the unknown said to the Gascon:
"How now, my master! Do you propose to make this young girl go with you against her will? For a chevalier who wears a helmet and sword, that is hardly chivalrous."
"Eh! where in the devil did this fellow spring from? I neither heard nor saw him coming. Do me the favor to go your way, my dear fellow; this young shepherdess is in my company, and we do not require your interference in our affairs."
"But it seemed to me that you were hardly in accord, and I always protect the ladies.—Tell me, my lovely child, did not this gentleman try to make you take a road which you did not wish to take?"
"He did indeed, monsieur; for I wished to go to the Pont-aux-Choux, and I am sure that he was not taking me there!"
"Oh, no! by no means! He was taking you to the Place aux Chats, to the Hôtel du Sanglier; a most excellent hotel, i' faith! of which he proposed to do the honors for you, I doubt not."
"Sandioux! it seems that you know me! But whoever you are, I forbid you to take this girl's arm! Back, instantly!"
Passedix tried to push away the stranger, who had already taken the girl's arm in his; but with his free hand the soi-disant bourgeois seized the Gascon's wrist and pressed it with his fingers with such force that he cried:
"Oh! oh! That cursed grip again! Ah! it is the very same, I recognize it! You are the mechanic of the Place de Grève; you are the Bohemian of the Loup de Mer!"
"Search your memory—it is possible that I am still another person."
"Yes—those eyes, that expression! Ten thousand devils! it is the face of the Comte de Carvajal, the noble guest of Dame Cadichard! But whoever you may be, double, triple, or quadruple! even though you be the devil in person—if you are a man of heart, you will give me satisfaction like a gallant champion, sword in hand!"
"Ah! you wish to measure swords with me, do you, chevalier? Very good! it shall be as you wish. On guard!—Have no fear, my girl! it is a matter of an instant."
As he spoke, the pretended bourgeois drew from beneath his cloak a short sword with a broad blade. Meanwhile, Passedix had drawn Roland from the scabbard; but when he saw his adversary's weapon, he paused and exclaimed:
"What in the devil do you expect to do with that little cutlass against my noble blade? Sandis! I have too great an advantage over you!"
"Let not that deter you, chevalier, but try to hold your long sword more firmly in your hand this time."
With that, the stranger attacked Roland with such vigor and dexterity, that in less than two minutes the long sword went flying through the air, and Passedix, stepping back, put his foot in a hole, fell over, and rolled at the feet of his adversary, who placed the point of his short sword against the prostrate man's breast, saying:
"Well! do you think that my little cutlass is worthy to measure itself against your illustrious blade?"
"I cannot understand it! You have a way of fighting that bewilders one! deceives one! Sandis! it is impossible; it must be that I have the gout in my right hand!—But, no matter! I am vanquished! Strike!"
"I should be very sorry to do so. Au revoir, Chevalier Passedix! try to find your sword; it went in that direction. But take my advice and do not again lead young girls astray."
As he spoke, the victor joined Miretta, drew her arm through his, and walked rapidly off with her, paying no further heed to his adversary, who made a piteous face when he saw them go away together.
"Ah! what good fortune to have met you, Giovanni!" said Miretta, when they were far enough away to have no fear of being overheard. "I was not afraid for a single instant during the battle I have just been watching; I was perfectly sure that you would be the victor!"
"But why did you wish to go to the Pont-aux-Choux so late?"
"Why! Because I want to save you; because you are in danger; because, guilty as you are, I do not want you to be arrested and put to death!"
"Què diavolo è questo? What is the source of this dread, of these new alarms?"
"Ah! because I heard a young man say: 'I know where Giovanni's usual lurking place is; it is near the Pont-aux-Choux that he ordinarily lies in hiding; if they would surround that place with archers, it would be very easy to capture the famous brigand.'"
"Ah! indeed!"
"'It is in that neighborhood,' he added, 'that he usually attacks people; not long ago he stole an ass from my cousin, and murdered an old peasant woman of Vincennes!'—Oh! those words made me shudder; I said that it was not true, that Giovanni never shed blood.—Was I right in saying that?"
"You did right to think it, but you did wrong to say it. Do you wish people to suspect that you know me? You are an imprudent child, Miretta; you forget what I have told you.—Never a word about me, never a comment that may lead anyone to infer that we are not strangers to each other! Listen, but do not seem to pay any attention to what people say about me."
"Oh! do you think that it is possible for me to remain unmoved when I hear someone say that he knows where you hide, that you will be arrested, that you will be—— Oh! I will not utter that horrible word!"
"In the first place, my dear love, why are you so silly as to place any faith in these fables, invented by one person to give himself importance, and repeated by others because lies always find fools enough who are ready to spread them? I, kill a peasant! to take her vegetables, I presume? I, steal an ass! Why, what on earth should I do with it?—And you could believe that, Miretta! you, who have seen my wealth, and who know of the thirst for gold that possesses me now!"
"Mon Dieu! will it never be satisfied, this passion which drives you to crime? Giovanni, do you mean to pass your whole life in this way?"
"No; a few months more.—Hark ye, next spring I mean to return to my lovely Italy."
"You will take me, will you not?"
"Yes, I will take you. I will buy a palace, a superb villa. I will have splendid equipages. You shall be covered with diamonds! I propose that Milan and Florence shall be dazzled by my magnificence and my luxurious mode of life."
"Why do you not carry out your plan now?"
"No; this will be a good winter in Paris; we will go in the spring."
"Giovanni, no one can defy danger forever with impunity! No one can be always stronger than the laws and his fellow men! The moment of retribution arrives when he believes that he is safe from all danger."
"Enough, Miretta, enough! I have told you before that your arguments are of no avail.—Let us take this street—we shall soon be at the Hôtel de Mongarcin."
"Then let us take another, for I do not want to leave you so soon, Giovanni. I do not know why, but it seems to me that I shall not see you again for a long while. I have a heavy weight on my heart; do not leave me yet, I implore you, unless your safety requires it!"
"My safety has nothing to fear. But it is very late, and I thought that it was necessary for you to return."
"Oh! I am in no hurry now; I may remain as long as I please; my mistress herself gave me permission, for she thinks that I am employing my time in her service."
"What does that mean?"
"That Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin, furious with rage because she is disdained by the young Comte Léodgard de Marvejols, who was to marry her, wishes to know if he is really in love with the daughter of a bath keeper on Rue Dauphine, and if it is really he who obtains access to her at night by scaling the balcony of a window on the first floor. Mademoiselle instructed me to investigate, to resort to every possible means of ascertaining the truth."
"Your investigation is all made, the truth is ascertained for you.—I know better than anyone what takes place in Paris at night. I know Comte Léodgard; on a certain night last winter I had quite a long conversation with him; and for some time past I have, in fact, noticed him several times scaling the bath keeper Landry's balcony. It would never have occurred to me to interfere with him; I should have been more inclined to assist him, if he had needed assistance."
"In that case, my errand is done. Mademoiselle Valentine is not happy in her love; for, although she will not admit it, I am very certain that she loves this young seigneur; but not so much, surely, as I love my Giovanni! O Giovanni! why must I leave you again? If you would——"
"The day will soon break," said Giovanni, interrupting her, "and I must not wait for it. Let us go this way and walk faster; I am going to take you home."
Miretta dared not remonstrate; but she sighed as she quickened her pace, and they walked along in silence.
They were soon within a few yards of the Hôtel de Mongarcin. Giovanni released his companion's arm, saying:
"Here you are at home; adieu!"
"Already! what! must I leave you so soon? Just a moment more!"
"Really, Miretta, you are not reasonable to-night; do you not see that point of light in the sky, which announces the dawn? The stars are growing dim, the darkness is beginning to fade away. Do not keep me longer; adieu!"
Giovanni dropped the hand which tried to press his once more; he hurried away and disappeared.
Miretta stood like a statue when he had left her; she was conscious of a sharp pain at her heart, as if she had been stabbed.