Bathilde will refuse the marquis's benefactions. She will blame herself
for the punishment he inflicts on his son. And I shall be the cause of
it all! Oh! I bitterly repent now that I went to the Hôtel de
Marvejols--my poor friend will never forgive me!"
"What was your hope, pray, when you went to Léodgard's father to tell
him everything?"
"Mon Dieu!--I cannot say.--In the first place, I wanted him to scold his
son--but without sending him to the Bastille! And then, I thought that
perhaps Monsieur Léodgard would be ashamed of his conduct, and would try
to make up for everything by--by marrying Bathilde!"
"Marry a bath keeper's daughter!--he, the Comte de Marvejols?--Ah! that
is just what you must never dream of hoping for!"
Ambroisine cast down her eyes, but a deep flush overspread her cheeks,
and her voice thrilled with noble pride as she murmured:
"Ah! then the daughters of bath keepers are of very little account in
your eyes, monsieur le chevalier, if you think that they may be
dishonored with impunity."
Jarnonville raised his eyes and gazed earnestly at the girl for some
time. Never before had he examined her so closely. He was impressed by
her beauty, for at that moment the flush which suffused her face, the
pride and the grief that could be read upon her brow, gave to all her
features an expression which made them even more charming than usual.
The chevalier was surprised beyond measure; he had never noticed that
Hugonnet's daughter was so beautiful, or that her person possessed so
many charms; for the first time in many months a faint smile played
about his lips, and he said at last:
"If the daughters of bath keepers were contemptible, you alone would
suffice to rehabilitate them. You mistook the meaning of my words. Far
from my mind be the thought that there exists a class which may be
outraged with impunity! But, in conformity with the passions of mankind,
there are prejudices, customs, conventional proprieties; also pride and
vanity, which, though they do not commit sin, too often prevent its
being atoned for.--But I say again, I had no intention of insulting you,
noble-hearted, devoted, generous girl! You, who embody so perfectly all
the marvellous tales we are told of the friendships of ancient
times!--Come, give me your hand, let me press it in mine, as gallant men
do when they are reconciled; and then I shall be quite certain that you
no longer bear me any ill will."
The Sire de Jarnonville offered Ambroisine his hand. She seemed to
hesitate, her face flushed vividly once more, but its expression was
softer and more yielding. At last she made up her mind; slowly she put
forth her plump white hand, and laid it, trembling, in the chevalier's.
He pressed it as if it were the hand of a friend; but it is doubtful
whether these two experienced at the contact the same sensations that
two friends would have felt.
After a few seconds Jarnonville released Ambroisine's hand, and they
parted, the former with a less sombre expression than usual, the _belle
baigneuse_ reflecting upon what she had done for Bathilde, and perhaps
also upon the grasp she had just exchanged with the Black Chevalier; for
women have a meaning in all that they do, whereas a man often yields
unreflectingly to a sudden impulse.
Six days had passed, and nothing had occurred to disturb the peaceful
life that Bathilde was leading in her room at Master Hugonnet's.
Ambroisine had not ventured to tell her of her visit to the old Marquis
de Marvejols. But she was constantly preoccupied and anxious; at the
least unexpected sound in the house, she ran to inquire if anyone had
come. So that now it was Bathilde's turn to be surprised at her
restlessness, and she insisted upon knowing its cause.
But Ambroisine confined herself to replying:
"Nothing is the matter! I assure you that nothing is the matter! But I
was thinking--I am surprised that the Sire de Jarnonville has not been
to our shop for several days, to ask me about you, as he has been
accustomed to do for some time."
"Why, Ambroisine, he must have much else in his head! Why should he
think so often of a poor girl whom he does not know?"
"Upon my word! I would like to see him forget you! After he promised to
take care of your child--especially now that----"
"That what?"
"Why, that the time is approaching when you will be a mother.--Oh, no!
he will not forget you. He is not like most of the young nobles of the
court, I tell you! And as he doesn't come, there must be something to
prevent; for he put his hand in mine; that means that he is my friend,
that I may rely on him under all circumstances; and he is not the man to
break his engagements."
Toward the close of that day, a servant in the Marquis de Marvejols's
livery appeared at Master Hugonnet's shop, bearing two large letters
sealed with the crest of that noble house.
Ambroisine, who was with her father at the moment, turned pale and began
to tremble when the servant entered, for she instantly recognized the
livery.
"Master Hugonnet, bath keeper?" said the man, addressing the master of
the house.
"That is my name, monsieur; what do you wish?"
"I am instructed to hand you this letter from my master--Monsieur le
Marquis de Marvejols."
Hugonnet glanced at the letter that was presented to him; he hesitated
about taking it, and said to the valet:
"Are you not making a mistake, monsieur; I have not the honor of knowing
Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols, and----"
"Yes, father, yes, it is surely for you," interposed Ambroisine; "take
it--take it, I say!"
"Ah! you are sure that there is no mistake?"
"Yes, yes; you will see.--And that other letter, monsieur?"
"It is for a certain Demoiselle Bathilde Landry, who lives with you.
Will you have the kindness to hand it to her?"
"Yes, monsieur, oh, yes! I will take it to her at once."
"Then my errand is done."
And the valet went away, after bowing very respectfully to the bath
keeper and his daughter.
"So you know what all this means, do you?" said Hugonnet, looking at his
daughter with a surprised expression.
"Yes, father; I will explain it to you. But break this seal first, I
entreat you, and see what he has written to you."
"Break the seal! that would be a pity! It is magnificent--just look!"
"But, father, seals are made to be broken. How else do you expect to
know what anyone writes to you?--Break it! please break it!"
"Oh! how impatient you are!--Well! if I must----"
The seal was broken, and the bath keeper unfolded a large sheet of
paper, on which he read:
"The Marquis de Marvejols requests Master Hugonnet, bath keeper, and his
daughter Ambroisine to accompany Bathilde Landry to his house to-morrow.
"He will expect them at two o'clock in the afternoon, all other affairs
being put aside."
"What does this mean?" said Hugonnet, glancing at his daughter.
"It means, father, that I went, all alone, to see the old Seigneur de
Marvejols, that I told him the whole story of his son's treatment of
Bathilde, giving him as proof of what I said a letter that Monsieur
Léodgard once wrote to my friend; and that I demanded justice at his
hands for the victim of the seduction.--That is what I did, father,
without asking Bathilde's permission."
"Nor mine either, I believe?"
"That is true, father. Are you angry with me for doing it? Do you think
that I did wrong?"
Hugonnet reflected a moment, then cried:
"I' faith! no! You did not do wrong. But you should have told me.--No
matter; kiss me; you are a good girl, a true friend.--Well! we will go
to the marquis's to-morrow, and we will see what he has to say. After
all, he cannot make it out a crime in us to take a poor child in, who
was without a home and without means."
"Oh! no, father! on the contrary, he thanked me for doing it."
"Go now, and take your friend her letter. It probably contains the same
invitation as this one."
"Yes, father, I am going. But if you knew how excited I am! What will
Bathilde say when she learns that I went to her seducer's father and
told him everything?"
"Why, you are not afraid of her scolding you, are you? I have forgiven
you."
"Oh! that is not the same thing."
"True; with me, you are always sure of being in the right. But you acted
for Bathilde's good--and, above all, for her child's! Go--go; if the
friend blames, the mother will pardon you!"
Ambroisine left her father and went to her friend's room, concealing
beneath her neckerchief the marquis's second letter. She tried to assume
an indifferent, cheerful air as she walked toward Bathilde; but the
latter was not deceived, and after looking into Ambroisine's eyes for an
instant she said, somewhat sharply:
"You have something to tell me, and you are afraid to speak; what makes
you afraid? Cast out and cursed by my parents, abandoned by the man I
loved, it seems to me that I can defy fate now. What more have I to
dread?"
"It is true that I have something to tell you; but it is no new
misfortune that threatens you--far from it!"
"What is it, then, and why do you hesitate to say what you have to say?"
Ambroisine took from her bosom the letter sealed with the marquis's
crest, and handed it to Bathilde, saying in a faltering tone:
"Here--here is a letter that was just brought here for you."
"A letter!--Oh! it is from him; yes, nobody but he can have written to
me. So he is still thinking of me--and you did not give it to me at
once!"
Bathilde had already snatched the letter; she broke the seal, unfolded
the sheet, and read:
"The Marquis de Marvejols requests Demoiselle Bathilde Landry to come to
his house to-morrow, at two o'clock, accompanied by Master Hugonnet and
his daughter Ambroisine."
"What does this mean?" murmured Bathilde, whom the reading of the letter
had terrified beyond words. "It is his father, that old man, who does
not know me, who writes me this!"
Thereupon Ambroisine sat down beside her friend, took one of her hands
in hers, and in her softest voice confessed to her the course she had
adopted in conferring with Léodgard's father.
Bathilde shuddered as she listened; and when her friend had finished,
she said to her, weeping bitterly:
"I cannot scold you for what you did, for you hoped to put an end to my
trials! And yet, if you had consulted me, I should have dissuaded you
from this plan; for the result can only be to increase my misery, if the
marquis punishes his son. He will hate me all the more intensely; he
will be furiously angry with me, for he will think that it was I who
asked you to tell his father all.--Ah! as if his desertion were not
enough! Must I endure his hatred in addition?--The old Seigneur de
Marvejols will take care of my child, you say. But suppose that, in
order to keep a closer watch on the child, to give it an education
worthy of the blood that will flow in its veins, it should occur to him
to take it into his own house! Then I should be compelled to part with
it--never to see it again, perhaps!--Oh! the mere thought turns my heart
to ice! I, part with my child, my treasure, my hope, the only living
thing that still attaches me to life!--Never! never! far better to die!"
"Who says that anyone thinks of separating you and your child?" cried
Ambroisine, raising her head proudly. "Do you think that I would allow
it? Oh! have no fear; if I did wrong to go to your seducer's father
without consulting you, never fear, I will see to it that no misfortune
comes to you on that account!--On the contrary, something tells me that
you will not blame me long for having done so.--Courage, Bathilde,
courage! the Marquis de Marvejols is a just and honorable man. Have
confidence in him."
The next day, at noon, the large hall in the Hôtel de Marvejols was
arranged as if for a solemn ceremonial. Chairs were placed in rows on
each side. At one end a large table, covered with a velvet cloth with
gold fringe, stood before three handsome armchairs, each provided with a
sumptuous silken footstool. On the table were papers and writing
materials.
Several valets in rich livery, among them old Hector, went in and out of
the hall, making sure that everything was prepared in accordance with
their master's orders.
As the clock struck two, one of the doors opened, and three persons were
ushered into the hall. They were Bathilde, Ambroisine, and Master
Hugonnet.
Bathilde, whose aspect was made even more interesting by her condition
and her suffering expression, leaned on her friend's arm, trembling from
head to foot, and seemed to lack courage to raise her eyes.
Ambroisine walked forward with a confident step, although, in the depths
of her heart, she was intensely excited. Then came the master bath
keeper, who entered the hall with a respectful demeanor, cap in hand,
saluting all the servants and even the articles of furniture as he
passed, because the magnificence of the hôtel made a profound impression
upon him.
Old Hector stepped forward at once to meet the young women, and escorted
them to one side of the hall, where he gave them seats, saying:
"Pray be seated; monsieur le marquis will come very soon. Pray be
seated, and your companion also."
Bathilde and her friends had been in the hall hardly five minutes,
afraid to do more than exchange a few words in whispers, when another
door opened and the Marquis de Marvejols entered, accompanied by two
gentlemen, one of whom, almost as old as the marquis, had a venerable,
benevolent face which inspired respect and confidence; while the other,
who was much younger, had a noble, severe expression, and a glance that
seemed determined to read one's inmost heart.
"That is the marquis!" whispered Ambroisine to Bathilde; but she,
instead of looking up, cast her eyes on the floor and felt as if she
were about to swoon.
She rose, however, on the entrance of the three gentlemen, as did her
friend and Master Hugonnet. The new-comers bowed graciously to the
persons who were in the hall before them; and the marquis, walking
forward alone toward Ambroisine, said to her, looking at Bathilde:
"This is your friend?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
Bathilde tottered; fear and excitement made her heart beat furiously.
But, despite her prostration and her extreme pallor, her beautiful and
refined features were still fascinating, and the old man seemed
impressed by the sweetness and charm of her face.
He gazed at her a few seconds in silence, then placed his hand on the
girl's arm and said:
"Do not tremble, my child; calm your emotion; you are not here as an
accused person."
With that, the marquis returned to the two gentlemen who had come with
him, and they all took their seats in the armchairs at the end of the
hall.
In a moment a man clad in the black costume then worn by men of the law
took his place in front of the table, on which papers and parchments
were strewn.
Old Hector appeared at one of the doors and made a slight motion with
his head to his master, who said:
"You may admit him now."
Hector left the hall by the door through which Bathilde and her friends
had entered; a few moments later, a man appeared at that door; he was
pale and his emotion was apparent, but his glance was stern. He had
donned his old uniform, which he had ceased to wear except on solemn
occasions. He carried his head erect, and his step was firm as he walked
into the hall without turning his eyes in the direction of Bathilde, who
shuddered at sight of him, and hid her face against Ambroisine's bosom,
murmuring:
"My father! it is my father!"
It was, in fact, the old trooper of Henri IV who had passed within a few
feet of his daughter. He walked toward the marquis, and said to him in
a tone in which, although perfectly respectful, there was a slight tinge
of bitterness:
"Seigneur, you request me to come to your house; you inform me that you
will make known to me the seducer of my--of her who was once my
daughter; you might well be certain that I would not decline that
invitation; but permit me to say that I did not suppose that this
information would be given before so many witnesses; I did not think
that it was necessary that my shame should be so public!"
"Master Landry, do not accuse us before you know what we propose to do,"
replied the Marquis de Marvejols; "we know that you are a most honorable
man; the fact that you served under King Henri honors you in our eyes no
less than the most ancient quarterings of nobility on your arms could
do; you cannot believe, therefore, that in requesting you to come before
us our purpose was to humiliate you. On the contrary, we propose that
justice shall be done you; and if your shame has been public, the
reparation shall be equally public.--Be kind enough to take a seat--on
this side."
The marquis pointed to the side opposite that where Landry's daughter
was seated; and the old soldier, whose features had softened somewhat as
he listened to the words of the Seigneur de Marvejols, seated himself on
a bench, caressing his grizzled moustache, but taking pains not to look
toward Bathilde.
She had been hardly able to control herself since she had been in her
father's presence.
"He does not deign even to cast a glance at me!" she whispered to her
friend.
"Because he is afraid of breaking down. He knows very well that you are
here! If he saw you so pale and distressed, do you suppose that he could
continue to be angry?--Wait, and hope."
The sound of a curtain drawn noisily back, and of spurs jangling loudly
on the floor, attracted the attention of the two girls. A new personage
had entered the hall; he made his appearance there as a master; and his
manner was proud and arrogant as he strode toward the old marquis,
passing disdainfully before the persons assembled there.
Bathilde instantly recognized Léodgard; she pressed Ambroisine's hand,
murmuring:
"It is he! O mon Dieu! what is going to happen?"
"You wrote to me to come to you, seigneur, with respect to a matter
which concerns the honor of our family, you say," said Léodgard, halting
in front of his father; "but what is the meaning of such an assemblage
as this? Are you about to sit in judgment? Have you sent for me to come
here as an accused person?"
"Perhaps," replied the old marquis, in a solemn voice, fastening his
eyes upon his son with a look which compelled him to turn his away.
But Léodgard, looking at the persons who surrounded him, speedily
recognized them all. At sight of Bathilde he turned pale, and could not
master his confusion; but when he recognized Landry, an expression of
annoyance, of anger, appeared on his face, and he waited, quivering with
impatience, to hear what was wanted of him.
"Comte de Marvejols," said the old marquis, "when a sin--I might say, a
crime--has covered an old man's brow with shame and brought despair into
a family, reparation should not be made in darkness and secrecy.
Therefore I have requested Monsieur le Duc de Montaulac and Monsieur le
Baron de Freilly to be kind enough to assist me with their presence
to-day; for, in the presence of such gentlemen, one must do his duty or
be adjudged unworthy to wear a sword."
"I do not understand you, seigneur," rejoined Léodgard, while his
features assumed an arrogant and scornful expression. "If anyone here
considers that I am unworthy to wear a sword, let him come forward and
tell me so, and I will show him how I handle it."
"Honor, monsieur, does not consist simply in being able to fight with
skill; if it were so, bandits, highwaymen, cutthroats, would all be men
of honor, and would be rewarded rather than punished.--But a truce to
discussion.--Comte Léodgard, cast your eye upon this young woman who is
here, by your side,--upon this old soldier, who has never been recreant
to honor, and who no longer dares to look upon his child, because she
has brought the flush of shame to his brow--those are your two
victims."
"What! he is the man! he! the mise----"
And Landry, leaving his sentence unfinished, put his hand to the hilt of
his sabre. But a glance from the old marquis recalled him to himself; he
restrained his passion and confined himself to glaring at the young man
in a fashion which was sufficiently indicative of what he proposed to
do.
The marquis resumed, still addressing his son:
"You seduced Bathilde, Landry's daughter; you deceived a young girl,
innocent until then. She put faith in your promises and your oaths. And
after ruining her, you abandoned her in the most dastardly manner when
she was cursed and cast out by her parents!--Comte Léodgard, was it
because you belong to an illustrious house, because you bear a noble
name, that you deemed yourself entitled to bring misfortune and infamy
upon a family of lower rank, a family which had as its possessions only
honor?--Answer me!"
Profound silence reigned for a moment in the hall. Landry toyed with the
hilt of his old sabre with a trembling hand. Bathilde scarcely breathed.
Ambroisine waited anxiously for what was to follow; and all the other
witnesses of the scene seemed to share her anxiety.
After a brief interval, Léodgard, who had turned his head away to avoid
Bathilde's glance, said, trying to give an ironical accent to his
voice:
"Really, monsieur le marquis, I did not expect to be haled thus before a
court of honor, for an act in which, I must confess, I had not detected
so many crimes, so many terrible disasters!--From the way in which you
reprove what is, after all, only a peccadillo, a youthful escapade, one
would think that I had done something that no gentleman had ever dared
to do before! By Notre-Dame! he who thinks that has but little
acquaintance with our young noblemen of to-day! There is not one of them
who has not been guilty of five or six offences of the sort for which
you reproach me!--But, far from blushing and repenting of them, they,
one and all, pride themselves thereon! And since when has it been
forbidden to us young men of the court to make love to the _petites
bourgeoises_, to the young girls of the lower orders? After all, if they
wish to remain virtuous, it is their business not to listen to us! But,
instead of that, they incite our advances by their glances, their
allurements! They would be sorely disappointed if we did not try to
seduce them!"
Landry uttered a sort of hollow growl which presaged a storm on the
point of bursting. Bathilde hid her face in her hands, and Ambroisine
squeezed her father's arm, murmuring:
"How horrible! how shameful!--Oh, no! she did none of that!"
But the old marquis rose and interrupted Léodgard, exclaiming in a voice
of thunder:
"Enough, monsieur, enough! your defence is simply an additional insult
to the woman you have outraged!--We know that there are women who invite
seduction, who even provoke it; they do not deserve our pity! But do you
dare to place this unhappy creature here among those girls who have
neither modesty nor morals?--In that case, why did you need, in order to
seduce her, to employ the most sacred oaths, to write her that you would
take her for your wife?"
"I!--write such things to her!"
"See, here is your letter; do you deny your own signature?"
And the marquis handed his son the letter which he had written to
Bathilde long before, and which he had long ago forgotten.
When he recognized his own handwriting, Léodgard was confounded.
A ray of joy gleamed in Ambroisine's eyes. As for Landry, a sudden
change transformed his features; they lost in an instant all their
severity, and turning his eyes upon his daughter the old soldier gazed
at her, no longer in anger, but in sorrow. Pity had found its way into
his heart, and it was easy to see that pardon was not far behind.
But Léodgard was not long in recovering from that first moment of
surprise.
"After all, seigneur," he demanded, with an impatient gesture, "what is
your purpose? For heaven's sake, let us put an end to this scene! Why
did you summon me here?"
"That you might restore the honor of this girl, whom you have made a
mother; and to do that, you must marry her, give her your name."
Léodgard stared at his father as if he doubted his ears; it was the same
with all those present, except the two noblemen seated with the marquis.