THE TWO NEIGHBORS.
Cagliostro recommended her using the greatest circumspection, and,
above all, not to make friends with her neighbors; but she did not feel
disposed to relinquish the intercourse which she hoped for with her
fair neighbor opposite. She, however, promised to obey him; but he was
no sooner gone than she returned to her balcony, hoping to attract her
attention again. Nor was she disappointed, for Jeanne, who was watching
for her, acknowledged her with a bow and by kissing her hand. This went
on for two days. Jeanne was ever ready to wave her a good morning, or
an adieu when she went out.
Cagliostro, at his next visit, informed Oliva that an unknown person
had paid a visit to her hotel.
“What do you mean?” cried Oliva.
“A very pretty and elegant lady presented herself here, and asked the
servant who inhabited this story, and wished to see you. I fear you are
discovered; you must take care, the police have female spies as well as
male, and I warn you, that if M. de Crosne claims you, I cannot refuse
to give you up.”
Oliva was not at all frightened, she recognized the portrait of her
opposite neighbor, and felt delighted at this advance, but she
dissembled with the count, and said, “Oh! I am not at all frightened;
no one has seen me; she could not have meant me.”
“But she said a lady in these rooms.”
“Well, I will be more careful than ever, and, besides, this house is so
impenetrable.”
“Yes, without climbing the wall, which is not easy, or opening the
little door with a key like mine, which I never lend, no one can come
in, so I think you are safe.”
Oliva overwhelmed the count with thanks and protestations, but at six
o’clock the next morning she was out in the balcony. She had not long
to wait before Jeanne appeared, who, after looking cautiously up and
down the street, and observing that all the doors and windows were
still closed, and that everything was quiet, called across, “I wish to
pay you a visit, madame; is it impossible to see you?”
“Alas, yes!” said Oliva.
“Can I send a letter?”
“Oh, no!”
Jeanne, after a moment’s thought, left her balcony, but soon returned
with a cross-bow, with which she shot a little wooden ball right
through the open window of Oliva’s room.
She picked it up and found wrapped round it the following note:
“You interest me, beautiful lady. I find you charming, and love you
only by having seen you. Are you a prisoner? I vainly tried to obtain
admission to you. Does the enchanter who guards you never let any one
approach you? Will you be my friend? If you cannot go out, you can at
least write, and as I go out when I please, wait till you see me pass,
and then throw out your answer. Tie a thread to your balcony, and
attach your note to it; I will take it off and fasten mine on, and in
the dark no one will observe us. If your eyes have not deceived me, I
count on a return of my affection and esteem, and between us we will
outwit any one.
“Your Friend.”
Oliva trembled with joy when she read this note. She replied as
follows:
“I love you as you love me. I am a victim of the wickedness and cruelty
of men; but he who keeps me here is a protector and not a tyrant; he
comes to see me nearly every day. I will explain all this some day;
but, alas! I cannot go out; I am locked up. Oh! if I could but see you;
there is so much we cannot write.
“Your friend,
“Oliva Legay.”
Then, when evening came, she let the thread fall over the balcony.
Jeanne, who was below, caught it, and half an hour afterwards attached
to it the following answer:
“You seem generally alone. How is your house secured—with a key? Who
has this key? Could you not borrow or steal it? It would be no harm,
but would procure you a few hours of liberty, or a few walks with a
friend, who would console you for all your misfortune.”
Oliva devoured this eagerly. She had remarked that when the count came
in he put down his lantern and the key on a chiffonier. So she prepared
some wax to take the impression of the key at his first visit. This she
accomplished without his once turning to look at her, and as soon as he
was gone, she put it into a little box, and lowered it to Jeanne, with
a note.
The next day she received the following answer:
“My Dearest,
“To-night, at eleven o’clock, you will descend and unlock the door,
when you will find yourself in the arms of your faithful friend.”
Oliva felt more charmed than with the most tender love-letter that she
had ever received. At the appointed time she went down and met Jeanne,
who embraced her tenderly, and made her get into a carriage that waited
a little way off; they remained out two hours, and parted with kisses
and protestations of affection. Jeanne learned the name of Oliva’s
protector; she feared this man, and determined to preserve the most
perfect mystery as to her plans. Oliva had confided everything to her
about Beausire, the police, and all. Jeanne gave herself out for a
young lady of rank, living here secretly, without the knowledge of her
friends. One knew all, the other nothing. From this day, then, it was
no longer necessary to throw out notes; Jeanne had her key, and carried
off Oliva whenever she pleased. “M. de Cagliostro suspects nothing?”
she often asked Oliva.
“Oh! no,” she would reply; “I do not think he would believe it if I
told him.”
A week passed thus.