you love; and the first time that you see him, remember to tell him
this: that I wish to see him and speak with him; that I have need of his
services; that he can safely trust me; that I will go, alone with you,
to whatever place of rendezvous he may appoint; and that I will reward
him generously for what he does for me.--Will you tell him all that,
Miretta? Do you promise?"
"Yes, madame, I will do whatever you command. But, alas! in order to
tell Giovanni this, I must see him; and, as you know, I cannot succeed
in that."
"Do not despair; you will see your lover again. Chance often serves us
better than we serve ourselves, and our wishes are gratified at the
moment when we least expect it.--Look at me: since I have been Marquise
de Santoval, I have been to all sorts of festivities, balls, and
receptions, and yet I have not met the man I seek. He avoids me
doubtless, but it is useless; he will be obliged to see me again, for I
am determined that he shall.--But I hear the Marquis de Santoval's
step!--Go, take this secret door!--It is as well that he should not see
you, for you are still perturbed, and he has eyes that read deeper than
our faces.--Go."
XL
A FÊTE AT CAMILLA'S
The courtesan Camilla occupied a charming little house near Porte
Saint-Honoré; it was in the city, and yet it was almost in the country.
A garden of lilacs, syringas, and roses was behind the wing of the house
in which its mistress spent most of her time; and in summer it seemed a
continuation of a delightful salon on the ground floor, the portières of
which were drawn aside in graceful folds, affording a view of the
flowering shrubs and the well-kept paths, where the dense foliage of
numerous lovely sycamores made the air as cool by day as by night.
It was midsummer; a heavy, oppressively hot atmosphere had relaxed the
nerves of the people of Paris.
Camilla had chosen that time to give an evening party; for evening was
the only part of the day when one could breathe with any pleasure, when
the air was made somewhat cooler by gentle breezes, and it was delicious
to stroll in the garden and rest under the shrubbery.
The fascinating courtesan had chosen her time with most excellent
judgment. What could be more voluptuous in summer than a garden
intersected by vague gleams of light, beneath a sky thickly strewn with
twinkling stars!
Not far from a brilliantly illuminated circle of velvety turf, a dark
path wound among darker thickets.
The strains of the instruments, the perfume of the flowers, the bouquet
of the wines and liqueurs of all sorts which were served to the guests,
charmed and intoxicated the senses. Everyone was at liberty to do only
what he pleased--constraint and etiquette were not admitted to Camilla's
abode; and they who did the most extravagant things were considered the
most agreeable.
But it was not solely to display her gardens, her flowers, the furniture
of her salons, and the magnificence of her toilet, that Camilla was
giving this fête. For some time past, Léodgard's favorite had observed a
noticeable abatement in the ardor of the count's passion; her lover was
still as generous, as magnificent as ever in his dealings with her, but
he felt no pleasure in seeing her and left her without regret; and when
he passed a few hours with her, those hours seemed interminable to him,
for his eyes expressed ennui rather than enjoyment.
A woman seldom mistakes these symptoms; vanishing love is even more
visible than dawning love; for the latter does at least observe the
proprieties, while the other is sometimes most discourteous.
Camilla tried to keep her lover with her, in some slight degree from
love perhaps, but largely for selfish reasons: a young and comely lover
who throws money about lavishly is not always easily replaced.
In those days, as to-day, there were men who dealt magnificently with
their mistresses, but they were for the most part old and ugly.
After employing many methods of seduction to rekindle a flame that was
on the point of dying out, Camilla determined to resort to that final
method, which sometimes succeeds, but which destroys all hope when it
fails of its effect. She determined to try to make Léodgard jealous.
In that multitude of young noblemen, brilliant dandies, and confessed
libertines whom she had invited to her evening party, it was inevitable
that there should be more than one who made love to her and aspired to
take her away from Léodgard, or at least to induce her to be unfaithful
to him.
"I will be more fascinating, more coquettish than ever," said Camilla to
the fair-haired Flavia, her friend and confidante. "I will accord a very
marked preference to some of my adorers, so that Léodgard must notice
it! He will be annoyed--he is so hot-blooded, so passionate! perhaps a
scene will result--sword thrusts--a duel!--Oh! that would be delicious!
for then he would come back to me, more in love than ever."
"And suppose he should be killed in the duel?" rejoined Flavia.
"So much the worse! What would you have? he who risks nothing obtains
nothing.--But, no--Léodgard is as brave as he is skilful; he would be
the victor."
"In that case, the other will be killed."
"Well, my dear! I shall have given him the sweetest of hopes all the
evening! Will he be so very much to be pitied?"
That is how courtesans loved in those days; and even among the _grandes
dames_, there were some, you know, who cast their glove into an
amphitheatre filled with lions and said to their lovers:
"If you really love me, you will go there and pick it up."
What affection, great God! What a melancholy idea of love that would
give one!
Luckily, to comfort our hearts, we have Philemon and Baucis, Pyramus and
Thisbe, Hero and Leander; but they are fabulous characters, and the
others are historical.
It was midnight, and almost all Camilla's guests had arrived. The
apartments were resplendent with light, the gardens exhaled the sweetest
perfumes, and an orchestra, which certainly was not equal to those of
our time, but which seemed very tuneful then, executed sarabands,
chaconnes, and bransles.
There was card playing in one room, drinking in another; those who did
not dance went out into the garden to chat and stroll. The heat was not
insupportable, but the guests sought the outer air, the cool evening
breeze; the ladies had been careful to wear the lightest of gowns, which
did not conceal their charms, and which gave them the aspect of nymphs
or of hamadryads, at least, as they flitted about the garden paths.
Camilla wore a seductive costume of irresistible effect. She had donned
a gown similar to those worn by the lovely Spanish girls who dance
boleros and cachuchas with so much ardor and supple grace. The dress,
which was of puce-colored satin, trimmed with rich black lace, and
rather short, permitted the spectator to admire a shapely leg, a
well-arched foot, and a charming figure; it left almost entirely bare a
dazzlingly white breast and shoulders worthy to serve as models for a
sculptor.
In her hair, which was dressed in an original fashion, were sprays of
foliage, and long gold pins with pearls and diamonds for heads.
Beneath this fanciful costume, the courtesan, whose eyes flashed fire,
and whose least movement, least pose, was full of voluptuous suggestion,
could not fail to add to the number of her conquests; and even the women
did her justice; to be sure, they were almost all pretty, and envy could
hardly find a foothold among them.
Léodgard had arrived but a short time before. When he caught sight of
Camilla, he simply smiled at her, but she stood in front of him and
asked in a low tone:
"How do I look?"
"Beautiful, very beautiful, as always," the count replied, and walked
into another room.
"As always!" muttered Camilla, biting her lips in vexation; "I look as I
always do! Whereas all these other young gentlemen do not tire of
telling me that I have never been so beautiful, so seductive! Why, he
did not even look at my hair, or notice this Spanish costume! He no
longer loves me, and yet I do not think that he loves another."
"Of what are you dreaming, divine Manola?" said the Marquis de Sénange,
as he approached Camilla, taking her hand and passing it through his
arm.
"Why--of you, perhaps!" replied the courtesan, displaying a double row
of teeth of irreproachable whiteness.
"Of me! of me! Ah! if I could believe it!--Look you, Camilla--your eyes
and this costume were quite enough to turn my head; but the words you
have uttered make me mad with love!"
"Well! what harm would it do, after all, if you were a little mad? It
would not change you much, I should say."
"Camilla, I would gladly endure all possible tortures, pass through
every conceivable trial, if you would reward me by allowing me to love
you!"
"Love me! why, what prevents you? Have you not as much right to love me
as another man?"
"But let us understand each other, adorable siren! It is not cheerful to
love all by one's self! Love is increased twofold when it is shared."
"Indeed! What a pity that it is not so with everything! I would become
very charitable!"
"Look you, Camilla, have you not been faithful to Léodgard long enough?
Frankly, you cover yourself with ridicule! A woman with such a wealth
of attractions is a flower; it is not fair that a single man should
inhale all her perfume!"
"Ah! marquis, you wish to plunder your friend's garden!"
"There are no friends where a lovely woman is concerned! Besides,
Léodgard is becoming very unamiable of late--you must agree to that."
"Why, he is married, poor dear! and that is quite enough to change a
man's expression!"
"Oh! little he cares for all that! Moreover, you are well aware that,
although he is married, he lives absolutely as if he were a bachelor!
But, I say again, he is no longer the roué, the jovial scapegrace, of
the old days; one would say that he had grown fifteen years older; his
features are altered, his face is always careworn or gloomy, he has
forgotten how to laugh and drink; he must also have forgotten how to
love!"
"Ah! do you think so? You may be mistaken. Léodgard always was of a
fantastic humor."
"I have known him only as a man who was always laughing and
singing!--Give me some hope, Camilla."
"Well! we shall see. The night is young yet. But here are more people
coming; I must go to receive them."
The young marquis left Camilla, but he deemed himself sure of his
triumph, and his face expressed his delight.
Flavia went to her friend a moment later and whispered:
"So it is the fascinating Sénange whom you have chosen for your victim?"
"Why not he as well as another?"
"Rather he, for he is very agreeable, and it would be a pity if anything
should happen to him!"
"Nothing will happen to him. See how indifferent Léodgard is to me! He
passed us while I was on the marquis's arm, and did not even notice us!"
"Oh! do not torment yourself!--Think of nothing but your fête--it is
simply delicious! There are great numbers of very attractive gentlemen
here; you expect nobody else, I suppose?"
"I believe that everybody has come.--Oh, yes! I did also invite--but I
suspected that it would be useless; he will not come."
"Who is it?"
"Do you remember that gentleman in black, whom we tried in vain to rouse
one night, at a fête given by Léodgard?"
"The Sire de Jarnonville, was it not?"
"Precisely."
"Oh! what a pity that he is not here! I considered him very original.
Why should he not come?"
"Because for some time past he has not been seen at any festivity; he no
longer drinks, no longer gambles, no longer fights, even! In short, he
is a lost man, so far as his friends are concerned! That is why I feel
sure that he will not come."
At that moment a servant appeared at the door of the salon and
announced:
"The Sire de Jarnonville!"
"Well, this is strange!" cried Flavia; "at the very moment when we
despaired of seeing him!"
"He confers a great favor on me! And I am proud of it, I assure you!"
As she spoke, Camilla went to meet Jarnonville, who was just entering
the salon. Everybody was impressed by the advantageous change that had
taken place in his appearance; his face was expansive, amiable, almost
smiling; even his costume had undergone some modification; although his
doublet and short-clothes were still black, his girdle was pale blue,
and his cloak was of velvet of the same color. In short, the chevalier's
person no longer wore that stern and sombre aspect which caused pleasure
and love to flee at his approach.
"It is most amiable of you, Sire de Jarnonville," said Camilla, "to
accept my invitation. I am the more sensible of your kindness, because
you are seen very seldom now in society, at our parties."
"Yours, _belle dame_, certainly deserved that I should make an exception
in its favor."
"Can it be that you have renounced misanthropy, chevalier? Have you
ceased to be the Chevalier de Verglas, as you used to be called?--So
much the better! in that case, you are one of us once more."
"I have never renounced anything, not even the pleasure of telling you
that you are ravishingly beautiful in this costume."
Having achieved this compliment, Jarnonville bowed to the courtesan and
lost himself in the crowd that thronged the salons and gardens.
"Why, he is becoming a charming cavalier!" said Camilla; "he told me
that I was ravishingly beautiful; _he_ noticed my costume! He is more
gallant than Léodgard.--I believe that we can make a conquest of him
now, Flavia."
"Oh! I no longer care about it; I preferred him when he was all in black
and looked like a bear."
While the two ladies exchanged their opinions concerning Jarnonville,
the new-comer was being discussed also in a group of young gentlemen.
"Did you see Jarnonville, Monclair?"
"Yes, I have just bade him good-evening."
"Don't you think that he cuts an entirely different figure from what he
used?"
"Why so? because he wears a blue cloak instead of a black one?"
"No, it is not that; but because he no longer has that gloomy, unhappy
expression that he used to carry with him everywhere."
"That is true," said young La Valteline; "I noticed the change; it
impressed me when Jarnonville entered the salon."
"Well, messieurs, what is there so surprising in that?" said Monclair;
"after all, grief is not eternal! After the rain comes the sunshine! And
Jarnonville's coming here proves that he is no longer a foe to
pleasure."
"I tell you, messieurs," said the Baron de Montrevert, shaking his head
with an air of importance, "that a change in humor, in disposition,
never happens without a cause."
"Well! do you know what the cause is, Montrevert?" inquired Sénange.
"Oh! perhaps! perhaps!"
"He knows it, messieurs, he is going to tell us what it is. Speak, my
dear fellow, speak, we will not lose a syllable!"
"I will tell you, messieurs, what someone told me--the reports that are
current; I vouch for nothing, however."
"The preamble is perfect! Come down to the facts, advocate."
"Well! this is what people say: for several months past, Jarnonville has
been a frequent visitor at the Hôtel de Marvejols, where the young
countess lives."
"Oh! the deuce! is it so? And what does he go there for?"
"Why, it seems to me to be very easy to guess; he goes to see our friend
Léodgard's wife."
"The bath keeper's daughter!"
"Hush! you wretch! Suppose Léodgard should hear you! He will not allow
anyone to speak of his wife, either kindly or unkindly. Only a few days
ago, the young Vicomte de Saunois ventured in his presence to jest about
ill-assorted marriages; he threw his glove in his face, and the next
morning he killed Saunois by running him through with his sword."
"What do we care for all that?--Let us return to Jarnonville; so he goes
to pay court to the little countess, eh?"
"I cannot tell you absolutely why he goes to the Hôtel de Marvejols, but
he goes there very often; and they say that, despite her low birth, this
young countess is extremely pretty."
"Indeed!"
"And it is since Jarnonville has been going to see that young woman that
his melancholy has vanished, that his eyes have lost their savage
expression."
"And that he has worn a blue cloak! Ha! ha! this is delicious!--Pardieu!
messeigneurs, I consider it most diverting that this ill-tamed ex-bear
should hunt on Léodgard's preserves, who, by the way, has become far
from agreeable since he became rich!"
"Oh! that would be a most excellent joke!"
"It is possible to hunt on another part of his domains," said Sénange,
playing with his moustache; "but I take that task upon myself."
"Ah! is it so?" rejoined the young men, laughingly; "it is evident that
the Comte de Marvejols is beset on all sides."
The two persons who were the subjects of this conversation were in the
garden at the time. Léodgard, pausing beside a basin surrounded by
flowers, with which lights of all colors were mingled, gazed gloomily at
the reflection of the hyacinths and lilies in the water; it is probable
that he did not appreciate the charm of that portion of the garden,
where the water cooled the air, where the illuminations were not so
brilliant as to tire the eye; yet he remained there, musing, lost in
thought.
Jarnonville, after walking through the salons without meeting the Comte
de Marvejols, had also stepped into the garden; for it was with no
intention of taking part in the thousand and one amusements which
Camilla's guests anticipated that the chevalier had accepted the
courtesan's invitation. But since he had acquired the habit of visiting
the young countess, since he had been able to admire and caress the
charming little Blanche, who, while recalling the child he had lost, had
transformed his sombre humor into a not ungracious melancholy, and had
opened his heart to gentler sensations, Jarnonville had more than once
heard Bathilde express her regret that Léodgard did not know his
daughter. And the chevalier, who too believed that it was impossible to
know Blanche without loving her, had said to himself:
"If Léodgard should see the child, he would long to see her again, and
the little angel would bring him back to that young wife who is so
worthy of his love."
But in order that Léodgard should wish to see his daughter, it was
necessary to speak to him of her, to arouse in his heart a desire to
know her; and for that it was necessary to see him.
Jarnonville had been several times to the little house in Rue de
Bretonvilliers; but he had never succeeded in finding Léodgard, who was
absent or was unwilling to receive him.
Then it was that Camilla's invitation reached the chevalier. He knew
that Léodgard could not fail to attend a fête given by his mistress, and
the reader will understand the purpose which had led the chevalier
thither.
At the end of a path Jarnonville found himself in the circle of which
the basin formed the centre. He saw before him the man he was seeking,
and, as Léodgard did not see him, he went to him and touched his arm
gently.
"You seem very pensive in the midst of so hilarious a gathering, Comte
de Marvejols!"
Léodgard started; but on recognizing Jarnonville, he replied, with an
air of surprise:
"Ah! is it you, Jarnonville? How does it happen that we see you at this
fête? You have not been seen lately at any card party, or in any affray
with the rabble. People say that you are becoming virtuous! that you are
no longer the mischief-maker, the intrepid swordsman, of the old days!
It is too bad, i' faith! it is too bad! and for my part, I regret the
Black Chevalier, with his rough hand and his lusty blows with sword and
dagger!"
"My sword and dagger will never fail to respond to a friend's call, and
will strike, I trust, as lusty blows as of old! But I must needs know
first whether the cause that I defend be just, or whether I am asked to
fight to forward some despicable intrigue."
Léodgard drew his heavy eyebrows together, and said in an ironical tone:
"You see, chevalier, you are no longer the same man. You desire now to
make inquiries before you fight! Whereas, formerly, you would throw
yourself head foremost into the mêlée, without disturbing yourself
concerning the motive of the quarrel, and sometimes dealing blows on
both sides. You were admirable then."
"Perhaps so.--Yes, I do not deny that I am no longer the same. The
hatred that I once felt for the whole human race has vanished and given
place to gentler sentiments. When I felt my heart beat again, I realized
that all sensibility had not died within me. I have found my heart anew,
I have felt sensations which I never expected again to know. And the
gloom and despair which consumed me are transformed into touching
memories."
"What can have produced this miraculous change in you, I pray to know?"
"A child!"
"A child?"
"Yes. The loss of my daughter made me the man you described so well just
now. Another child--an angel like the first--has restored me to myself.
This child is not mine; but she is so affectionate, so lovable! Dear
little one! she smiles at my caresses, she already manifests affection
for me, and I imagine that my own daughter is given back to me!"
"Who is this marvellous child, pray?"
"Yours, count. I am speaking of your daughter, your little Blanche.--Ah!
I am entitled to love her, to lavish my affection upon her, for I,
representing your father, had the honor to act as her godfather. I tell
you again, your daughter is an angel; it is not only the beauty of her
features that people admire in her; young as she is, her eyes already
have a sweet and gentle expression which charms, attracts one, while her
pure and noble brow denotes unusual intelligence!--Do you not wish to
see her, count? Will you never imprint a kiss on that angel's brow? You
have no suspicion that you possess such a treasure; but I am convinced
that to see her for an instant will suffice to make you love her?"
"Was it to tell me all this, to speak to me of that child, that you came
hither, chevalier?" asked Léodgard, with a sombre expression.
"You have said it, count: it was for that purpose that I came to this
festivity. I was anxious to see you; I had been to your house several
times in vain; I thought that I should be more fortunate here."
"If that is so, I regret that you have taken so much trouble. You would
have done better not to mix with a company of courtesans and rakes.
Frankly, it is not becoming in a man who has renounced Satan."
"Is this the only reply that I can obtain from you, count? Will you not
go once at least to see and embrace your daughter? Ah! if you had seen
her! if her eyes had rested on yours! if her soft little voice had
fallen on your ears! You would agree that all that I have said is far
below the truth."
"Chevalier, do not recur to this subject. It is useless for you to
attempt to lead me back to a person--whom I do not choose to see. For I
understand that the little girl is only a pretext; you talk to me of the
child, in order to reconcile me with the mother."
"And if that were true, count? The time is not so far away when I met
you one night keeping watch under her windows. Oh! then she was an
angel, you adored her, you could not live without her! and to-day----"
"Enough, Jarnonville, enough!"
Léodgard raised his voice as he uttered these last words in an angry
tone; and several of the guests, who happened to be walking in that part
of the garden, hurried to the spot, thinking that a quarrel was on.
"What is it, messieurs, what's the matter?" asked the Baron de
Montrevert, who was one of the first to arrive. "Are you at odds here?
What! two excellent friends--Léodgard and the Sire de Jarnonville!"
"No matter!" cried Sénange; "if you need seconds, here we are!"
"But first you must tell us the cause of your falling-out."
"You are mistaken, my masters!" rejoined Léodgard, calm once more.
"There is neither quarrel nor falling-out between us; I was talking with
the chevalier, and I may have become a little heated and have raised my
voice. But we have no inclination to fight, for we have no reason to
cease to be friends."
"Oh! that's a pity!" muttered Monclair, walking away. "It would have
amused me to see them cross swords."
"He did not choose to tell us the truth," said Montrevert, leading his
friends away. "But we are not his dupes. He probably has got wind of
Jarnonville's visits to his wife, and he was saying two words to him on
the subject."
"In that case, they will fight at the first opportunity."
"That is inevitable!"
"Ah! here is Flavia!"
"And pretty Nadina! Come with us for a stroll, enchantresses!"