manners, and bearing. Nature, seconding her newly acquired fortune,
lavished upon her a multitude of gifts, which, previously to that time
at least, had been hidden by her timidity and the retirement in which
she had lived.
On receiving a name and a title which raised her in her own esteem, the
modest and trembling girl had become an excellent woman, humane and
beneficent to all those about her.
She wore without embarrassment, even with dignity, the richer garb which
her lofty position demanded. Far from being awkward and ill at ease in
the rich attire of a noble dame, Bathilde displayed new graces; her
refined and fascinating features seemed made to go with silk fabrics and
velvet cloaks.
Nothing offended the eye, nothing seemed out of place, in the young
woman suddenly transported from a modest little chamber to a luxurious
mansion; and no one, seeing her in her salon, dressed as a wealthy
countess should be dressed, would have suspected that he had before his
eyes the daughter of a bath keeper.
When Bathilde, on leaving the chapel, saw Léodgard hasten away without
bestowing a glance upon her or addressing her a single word, her heart
felt a cruel pang; but she succeeded in dissembling her pain; she said
to herself that, after the honor that she had received, and now that her
child had a name, and that she could look her father in the face without
blushing, to abandon herself to her disappointment in love would be pure
weakness, and that it behooved her thenceforth to show that she was
worthy of the rank to which she had been raised. She said to herself,
too, that the seduced girl, the mistress, must disappear before the
legitimate wife; and she found strength in her soul to force back her
suffering, and to show to those about her a tranquil brow, a
self-possessed glance, and a pleasant smile.
Perhaps, in the depths of her heart, Bathilde hoped that her spouse
would not always bear her ill will, that he would some day desire to see
her to whom he had given his name.
But when weeks and months passed without a sight of Léodgard, she
understood that his mind was definitely made up; that he had married her
to satisfy his father's wishes, but that he proposed, by living apart
from her, to prove to her that he had not contracted the marriage of his
free will.
After installing Bathilde in the noble mansion on Place Royale, after
handing her the documents which assured to her, and to her unborn child
as well, an independent fortune, the old marquis had imprinted a kiss on
the brow of his new daughter, and had left Paris for his estate in the
country, taking with him old Hector and several of his oldest servants;
the others had remained in the young countess's service.
As for Landry, his daughter's new position in the world satisfied his
honor without dazzling his mind. But his good sense told him that the
father of the Comtesse de Marvejols ought not to carry on a bathing
establishment, and he lost no time in selling it.
On the day following her marriage, Bathilde went to her mother to ask
her pardon and to entreat a renewal of her affection. But Dame Ragonde
could not forgive even her own child. After listening coldly to her
daughter's entreaties, she replied in a harsh, dry tone:
"I congratulate you on having become a countess; but I trust that it
will not encourage other girls to imitate you!"
With that, she turned her back on Bathilde, who was fain to be content
with her father's warm embrace.
Soon after, the old soldier and his wife started for Normandie.
Although Bathilde had had to renounce the hope of recovering her
mother's favor,--in truth, her mother had never manifested the least
real affection for her,--by way of compensation there were some persons
whom her new fortune made very happy, and who did not attempt to conceal
the joy and satisfaction which that unhoped-for event caused them.
Is it necessary to name Ambroisine and her father?
But Ambroisine especially was overjoyed, because, as she contemplated
Bathilde in her fine clothes, and in that superb mansion which had
become hers, she could justly say to herself:
"This is my work; she owes it to me that she is in this place, that she
has a name and a handsome fortune!"
The sweet-natured Bathilde did not show herself ungrateful. Her first
care when she found that she was the mistress of large means was to beg
Ambroisine and her father to share her wealth with her. At first, she
asked them to live in her house; then she insisted upon enriching Master
Hugonnet, and begged him to accept as a token of her friendship a
handsome sum which would assure his well-being for life, so that he need
work no more.
But Ambroisine and her father refused everything.
"Keep your wealth, my dear young lady," said Hugonnet, pressing
Bathilde's hand in his; "I have no use for it! I am well to do, my trade
is prosperous, all goes well! I have no idea of ceasing to work. My
health is good, and I am not too old. Besides, I should die of ennui,
if I had nothing to do; and to avoid being bored to death, I should
probably get tipsy every day, which would be too often!--So you see that
I must refuse this money that you offer me--for I do not believe that
you mean to pay me for the pleasure it gave me to be of use to you, to
offer you a shelter under my roof; such things are not to be paid for,
and you know it!--Oh! if I were unfortunate, if some unlucky accident
should happen to me, I would come without a blush to ask your
assistance, and I should consider that I insulted you if I applied first
to others. But I flatter myself that that won't happen.--Meanwhile,
continue your friendship for us; look upon us still as your best
friends. That is the way to make us as happy as yourself.--As for my
daughter, you offer to keep her with you; but it would cost me too much
to part with her. Ten thousand hogsheads! I am fond of my daughter, you
see! and I hope that she cares a little bit for me!"
"Oh, yes! my dear, good father!" cried Ambroisine, throwing herself into
Hugonnet's arms. "Never fear, I will not leave you! I will come to see
Bathilde--madame la comtesse--often, very often----"
"But you will never call me anything but Bathilde, your friend, your
sister, who owes everything to you! If you do, I shall think that you no
longer love me!"
"As you please, as you please, dear Bathilde!"
"Look you, my dear young lady," continued Hugonnet, "I will tell you all
that I can do for you. In the first place, I promise that Ambroisine
shall do no more shaving; no, that is all over! for when one visits a
countess one must keep to one's place!"
"But I have not shaved anybody for a long while, father."
"Hum! now and then. In the second place, she will no longer look after
the details of the shop; indeed, she need never enter it at all, if she
prefers not to. I can do without her, and she will have more time to
come to you."
Ambroisine kissed her father once more; and that was all the share that
those excellent people consented to accept of the handsome fortune of
the girl whom they had made welcome, entertained, and comforted when she
was without a home and without food.
But a new being was destined ere long, on receiving life, to revivify,
to enliven, and to embellish all its surroundings.
Bathilde brought into the world a daughter, who bade fair to be as
lovely as her mother. When she heard her child's first cry, and gave her
the first kiss, the young mother felt as if she had been transported to
Paradise.
Ambroisine was with her friend when, by the young countess's orders, a
messenger was sent to Comte Léodgard to announce the birth of his
daughter and to receive his commands with respect to her baptism.
The steward to whom that commission was intrusted soon returned to the
Hôtel de Marvejols. Bathilde sent for him and bade him deliver his
report to her in person.
"Did you see monsieur le comte?" she asked, taking her eyes for a moment
from her child, who lay beside her on the bed.
"Yes, madame; I requested to be allowed that honor, as one who had
something of great importance to say to monsieur le comte, and I was
ushered into his presence."
"And you told him----?"
"That madame had brought into the world a daughter, as beautiful as the
day."
Bathilde smiled, and glanced at the child with an expression that seemed
to say:
"He told the truth, my child! there is nothing on earth more beautiful
than thou art!"
Then she motioned to the messenger to continue.
"I had the honor to say to monsieur le comte that madame la comtesse
desired to receive his commands relative to the ceremony of baptism."
"Well! what was monsieur le comte's reply?"
"Monseigneur first asked me what persons were with madame la comtesse at
this moment?"
"And you told him that no one was with me save my loyal friend
Ambroisine and my servants?"
"Yes, madame; and then monsieur le comte remained for a long time
absorbed in thought, so that he probably forgot that I was there; for he
suddenly looked up and said to me: 'What are you doing here?'
"'Monseigneur,' I replied, 'I am waiting to know what I am to say to
madame la comtesse.'
"'Tell her,' said monsieur le comte, 'that she may do as she pleases,
that I leave her entirely at liberty, that I have no orders to give.'
"And monseigneur dismissed me with a wave of his hand."
"That will do," said Bathilde, heaving a sigh, which died away over her
child's cradle; and she motioned to the servant to leave the room.
When he had gone, she glanced sadly at Ambroisine.
"He will not come here," she said, "even to see his daughter!"
"Console yourself! he will come some day, and when he has once seen this
little angel you will no longer need to send messages to him!"
"You are right!" said the young mother, letting her eyes rest once more
on her child. "Yes, I must place all my confidence, all my hope, on this
little darling; and, in truth, when heaven has sent me such a treasure,
it is no time for me to indulge in lamentations. But still, Ambroisine,
who will hold my daughter over the baptismal font?"
"Does not the grandfather always act as sponsor for the firstborn?--Send
a courier to Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols, at Champfleury; it is
near Chartres--about forty leagues from here, I believe. You will
receive a reply within a week."
"You are right, Ambroisine; yes, it is my duty to turn now for guidance
to that venerable man who has been so kind to me. But I am still too
weak. Act for me, give the necessary orders, see that the courier is
despatched."
Ambroisine made haste to carry out the young countess's commands. By her
direction, an intelligent man was sent to the old marquis, and he
promised to bring back an answer as soon as possible.
But in those days promptitude was very slow. Post routes were not
established until the reign of Louis XI, and then only for the king's
service. Not until the reign of Louis XIII, in the year 1630, did the
service assume some regularity, with the inauguration of the system of
relays, and the appointment of inspectors to superintend the service.
But, for all that, as couriers intrusted with despatches by private
individuals were still very rare on the highroads, the roads were, for
that reason, in very bad repair; and the relay stations often had in
their stables only a few gaunt nags, or donkeys masquerading as horses.
However, the time did not seem long to Bathilde, for she had her
daughter--her daughter whom she nursed herself, unable to conceive that
a mother could intrust that duty to a stranger when nature had not
denied her the means to perform it herself. Thus the hours passed like
minutes, and the days flew by with surprising rapidity in the eyes of
that young wife, who took such intense delight in nursing and rocking
and caressing her child.
After several days the courier returned; he was the bearer of a letter
which the old Marquis de Marvejols had delivered to him for the
countess.
She hastily broke the seal; and as she knew how to read,--a rare
accomplishment at that period among the daughters of the common
people,--she soon knew the contents of the letter, which was thus
conceived:
"MY DEAR BATHILDE:
"It gives me great pleasure to say that I will be sponsor to the
daughter whom God has given to you. But, my dear child, it is
impossible for me to come to you at this moment, for the gout holds
me fast to my easy-chair; and when it once has its grip upon me, it
does not readily relax it.
"Obtain a substitute for me, then, for that solemn ceremony, which
should never be long delayed. Let some worthy gentleman hold the
child in my name, and let her receive the name of Blanche; it was
my wife's. To me it will be a memory and a source of hope.
"As for the godmother, I believe that I shall anticipate your
wishes by urging you to select for that agreeable post the
excellent young girl who displays such loyal and devoted friendship
for you.
"Adieu, my dear daughter. May heaven grant you long life to watch
over the little angel, who, I doubt not, will cause you to forget
all your past sufferings!
"MARQUIS DE MARVEJOLS."
The young countess put her lips to the letter written by her husband's
father, saying:
"It shall be as you deign to permit, O venerable man, who read my heart
so well.--Blanche! Blanche! that is your name, my darling, it is the
name your grandfather gives you. Ah! how sweet it is to pronounce! How
well it suits the purity of your soul!--Blanche! one would say that she
understands me already, and that she thanks me for giving her that
name!"
Ambroisine rarely passed a day without going to see Bathilde, especially
since her friend had become a mother.
As soon as she reached the house, the young countess gave her the
marquis's letter, saying:
"Read this; it concerns you too."
Ambroisine read the letter eagerly; her cheeks instantly flushed with
joy and pleasure, and she threw her arms about her friend, crying:
"I shall be her godmother! he permits me to be your daughter's
godmother!--What a noble old man!--Ah, yes! he knew right well that he
would make us both happy by suggesting that!--And he gives her the name
of Blanche--Blanche!"
Ambroisine stopped as if she had suddenly remembered something.
"What is it?" said Bathilde; "one would say that that name recalled some
memory."
"No, no; I was reflecting."
"About whom I shall accord the honor of taking Monsieur de Marvejols's
place, eh?--Mon Dieu! I confess that that embarrasses me considerably;
for I do not know any nobleman. Nobody comes here but you."
"Oh! do not be embarrassed, do not think any more, for I have already
thought of someone."
"You have? Of whom, pray?"
"Have you forgotten, dear Bathilde, that generous gentleman, who, when
you were still at my father's house, authorized me to offer you his
assistance, and promised to take care of your child--the Sire de
Jarnonville?"
"Ah, yes! you are right, Ambroisine; I ought not to have forgotten him;
forgive me. But, you see, I think of nothing but my daughter now!--Do
you see him sometimes?"
"Yes, quite often, in fact; he comes to my father's, not to joke and
talk nonsense with all those idle young noblemen who rendezvous there,
but to ask me about you and your child. Ah! he was heartily glad of your
good fortune."
"And do you think that he will be willing to hold my child over the
font, in monsieur le marquis's place?"
"Oh! I am sure that he will accept the post with great pleasure--he is
so fond of children! For he is a widower, and he once had a little girl
whom he adored, and her name was Blanche, like your child's.--That was
what came into my mind just now."
"And what you dared not tell me, because he lost his daughter!--Oh!
don't be alarmed, dear Ambroisine, I am very far from seeing in that an
omen of disaster for my Blanche. No, heaven has sent her to us to allay
all our suffering. She has given me so much happiness, that I am sure
that she will soften the Sire de Jarnonville's regrets in some degree.
He will transfer to her the love that he had for his own child."
That same evening the Black Chevalier stopped in front of the barber's
house, and, as always, looked through the window to see if Ambroisine
was there.
The girl's frank and sprightly conversation had insensibly lightened the
Sire de Jarnonville's sombre humor; and often, without a previously
formed intention, he walked in the direction of Rue Saint-Jacques, to
obtain that distraction which became more necessary to him every day,
and which he had begun to prefer to the debauches and combats that had
formerly been an essential part of his life.
That evening Ambroisine was on the watch for the chevalier; for she was
eager to tell him what Bathilde expected from him.
She very soon told him the tenor of the old marquis's response, and
added, lowering her eyes, that she had made bold to say that the Sire de
Jarnonville would consent to take his place and to represent him.
"You were quite right to give that assurance," replied the chevalier,
gently pressing Ambroisine's hand. "It will be an honor and a pleasure
to me to act as godfather to the countess's child. Moreover, the Marquis
de Marvejols is very old, and I am still young and strong. If the first
godfather should die, it is only right that there should be one left to
succeed him and to watch over the child, whose father seems determined
to close his arms to her."
"The old marquis wishes the little girl to be named Blanche," said
Ambroisine, hesitatingly.
"Blanche! Blanche!" murmured Jarnonville, letting his head droop on his
breast. "Ah! that was the name of an angel!"
"Well! this is another angel, as you will see. You will be her
protector, her second father. The little darling--she will love you
dearly. She will not cause you to forget the other, but she will ask you
to give her a little of the affection which you feel for all children,
in memory of the child you have lost."
Jarnonville was too deeply moved to reply. He took leave of Ambroisine,
saying:
"To-morrow I will go to pay my respects to madame la comtesse, and to
receive her orders for the ceremony."
Two days after this conversation, the daughter of Léodgard and Bathilde
was presented for baptism by the Sire de Jarnonville and Ambroisine.
An old gentleman who was a friend of the chevalier, Master Hugonnet, and
a few faithful old retainers of the marquis, were the only witnesses of
the ceremony, which Bathilde was too weak to attend.
When he carried little Blanche back to her mother and placed her in her
arms, Jarnonville kissed the child's forehead. His emotion was most
intense, for the little girl's features recalled the cherished darling
whom he had lost. He could hardly articulate the words:
"Will you allow me, madame, to come occasionally to present my respects
to you and to embrace this child?"
"Henceforth this house is open to you, seigneur," Bathilde replied. "You
will honor me by coming here; you will make me happy by taking an
interest in my daughter."
At first the Black Chevalier availed himself sparingly of the permission
accorded him by the young mother. But as little Blanche developed, as
her features became more individualized, as her eyes began to beam with
something different from the vague expression of infancy, she became so
lovely, there was so much sweetness and charm in her glance, that it was
impossible not to feel the keenest interest in her, or to leave her
without a secret determination to see her soon again.
As he gazed at little Blanche, Jarnonville tried to discover in her
features some likeness to the child he had lost, and it rarely happened
that he did not succeed; for in early childhood the little creatures
almost always make use of the same cries, the same language, to express
joy, grief, and pain.
Thus the chevalier's visits gradually became increasingly frequent, for
with every day that passed his affection for little Blanche
strengthened.
And then Ambroisine, who loved the little girl almost as dearly as her
mother did, rarely let a day pass without coming to see Bathilde's
child; so that, when he went to the Hôtel de Marvejols, Jarnonville was
almost certain to meet the fair godmother there; which was an additional
motive for him to go thither often.
Bathilde saw with pride and rapture that her daughter became every day
lovelier and sweeter; she was happy in the affection which everyone
manifested for the child; but in the midst of her joy, surrounded by her
faithful friends, with her child in her arms, she sometimes raised her
eyes toward heaven and sighed, saying:
"Ah! if her father could see her, I am very sure that he too would love
her!"
XXXVIII
THE ORANGE CHEVALIER
We left the Chevalier Passedix, dressed in his orange-colored costume,
just as he parted from the two clerks who had sold him his second-hand
clothes, intending to exhibit himself for admiration in the streets of
Paris, and, above all, to try to fall in with Miretta, of whom he was
still deeply enamored, and whose favor he flattered himself upon winning
in his new costume.
But to no purpose did the Gascon chevalier scour the streets during the
whole afternoon and a large part of the night; he did not see the woman
whom he burned to meet.
By way of compensation for his bad luck, Passedix finished the night in
a low resort which closely resembled a bawdy house; and there he became
completely drunk by dint of treating all the habitués of the place who
complimented him on his costume and on the noble way in which he wore
it.
For some time Passedix continued to lead a jovial life, turning night
into day, passing a great part of his time at the table, and parading
through the streets during entire evenings; then betaking himself to the
wine shop, treating his acquaintances and even perfect strangers,
getting tipsy regularly every night, and returning at daybreak to the
Hôtel du Sanglier, where, the next morning, old Popelinette, with the
utmost zeal, administered tea or some other calming potion of the sort
that is often necessary to a man who leads such a disorderly life.
But sometimes, on the morrow of a more highly spiced debauch than usual,
our Gascon, as he drank the cup of tea prepared by Popelinette, would
heave tremendous sighs, run his hands through his hair, and stare at the
ceiling, crying:
"Sandis! I would never have believed it! Ah! Popelinette, so it is true
that wealth does not bring happiness!"
"Bah! is it possible, monsieur le chevalier?"
"The fact that I say it proves that it is possible! Now I have my
pockets full of gold; I can indulge myself with the most exquisite
dishes, the rarest wines."
"And you don't stint yourself, I should say!"
"Of course I do not stint myself! I must needs make the crowns dance,
and do myself credit with my wealth! I breakfast for four, I dine for
six, I sup like the greatest epicure in France; I receive eloquent
glances from all sides until I am fairly bewildered; I gamble; I often
frequent tennis courts; I am very strong at tennis--I always lose, but I
am very strong at it; you should see how I send back the _esteuf_!
People flock to see me play at the courts in Rue de la Perle and Rue
Cassette, and especially at the fine court in Rue Mazarine. In short,
Popelinette, I lead what is called a joyous life."
"Oh! as to that, there's no doubt!"
"Well! I am not joyous at all; amid all these pleasures, I sigh, I
languish.--Sandioux! your tea is devilishly insipid this morning; put
some more sugar in it!--Yes, I would give all these parties, all these
banquets, for a glance from my love!--Alas!"
"Aha! so you have a love who won't look at you, monsieur le chevalier?"
"What a blockhead you are, Popelinette!--She doesn't look at me, because
I am not before her eyes. It is a century since I saw her; I cannot
succeed in meeting her. In fact, she has not seen me since I have had
this elegant costume, which all the women dote on, and thanks to which I
make conquests at every step. Not a woman who does not turn to look at
me!"
"Bless me! it's true enough, monsieur le chevalier, that you're very
funny-looking in those orange-colored clothes!"
"Funny-looking! what do you mean by funny-looking, old woman?--Pray try
to use more elegant language; you talk like a goose, Popelinette, and
you serve me hot water instead of tea! Take away this drug, and prepare
me an emollient not to be taken through the mouth--do you
understand?--Go, old witch, and be careful not to call me funny-looking
again, or I will bury Roland in your half-moons!"
The old woman withdrew, grumbling, and Passedix paced his room as if he
were rehearsing a scene from a tragedy.