beneath a velvet portière which he raised. His face, in respect to the
general effect of the features and their mild expression, might have
served as a model for a painting of Obedience, as personified in a
servant, except that when he raised the corners of his mouth in a smile
there were some slight indications of a tendency to be cunning; but if
that tendency actually existed in the old servant, it never went beyond
the corners of his mouth.
"Did monsieur le marquis ring?" inquired a shrill, cracked voice.
"Has my son gone out this morning, Hector?"
Old Hector pressed his lips together, and the corners of his mouth
assumed their sly expression, as he replied in a drawling tone:
"Monsieur le Comte Léodgard de Marvejols certainly has not left the
house this morning; I am certain of that."
"In that case, go to my son and tell him that I wish to speak with
him--at once, before he goes out."
The old servant looked down at his feet, but did not budge.
"Well! did you not hear me, Hector?" continued the marquis, testily;
"have your ears grown dull, that I have to give you the same order
twice?"
"No, monsieur le marquis, no, thank heaven! my ears are still good. I
have not the least occasion to reproach them. And if I have not obeyed
the command you have done me the honor to give me, it is because----"
"Well! because what? finish, I say!"
"I cannot tell Monsieur le Comte Léodgard to come to speak with you,
because he is not in the house."
"Not in the house? Why, you told me only a moment ago that my son had
not gone out this morning!"
"That is true, monseigneur; he has not gone out this morning, because he
did not come in last night."
The marquis put his hand to his forehead.
"Ah!" he cried; "of course, I understand! You did not wish to tell me
that, my poor Hector; you would like to conceal my son's disorderly
conduct from me! But it is useless for you to try to deceive me. I know
everything; and it is much better that I should know everything; for one
must know where the trouble lies, in order to put a stop to it. All this
has been going on a very long while, and it must come to an end!"
"Monsieur le Comte Léodgard is still very young," murmured Hector, still
draped by the portière.
"Very young--when he has nearly reached his twenty-sixth year! A man is
a man at that age, and he no longer has the first effervescence of youth
for an excuse! Ah! when I was at that age, you were already in my
service--do you remember, Hector?"
"As if it was yesterday, monseigneur; my memory is as sound as my
ears."
"Very well! I served in the army, I fought, I lived in camp. But,
although I was a bachelor,--for I married quite late,--did I ever lead
this life of licentiousness, of debauchery, which makes me blush for my
son?"
"All young men are not as irreproachable as monseigneur has always
been--as bachelor, husband, and widower."
"I do not expect that he shall be faultless! I do not demand the
impossible! But I do not propose that weaknesses shall become vices;
faults, crimes!"
"Oh! monsieur le marquis! be indulgent to monsieur your son!"
"I have been indulgent enough, too much so, perhaps. I must see
Léodgard; he must be made acquainted with my irrevocable
determination!--And that rascally Latournelle, his valet--is he still in
the house?"
"No, monseigneur; I have not seen him for several days."
"I told my son to discharge that knave; a scoundrel, a blackleg, a
gambler, who ought to be hanged."
At that moment, the conversation was interrupted by the sound of a horse
galloping into the courtyard.
Hector let the portière fall, went into a reception room, looked out of
the window, and returned with a radiant face, saying to his master:
"Here is Monsieur le Comte Léodgard, just coming in."
"Go to him, then; tell him that I await him. Go--do not lose an instant,
for he may have gone away again."
Old Hector disappeared to execute his master's command.
In a few moments, Léodgard entered his father's apartment. The young
count was pale, his face was drawn and haggard, his eyes sunken from
loss of sleep; and the disorder of his clothes, the dust with which they
were covered, seemed to indicate that he had recently ridden a long
distance on horseback.
He walked forward with a respectful air, but was evidently out of
temper. He bowed to his father and remained standing in the middle of
the room.
The old marquis pointed to a chair, saying in a stern tone:
"Be seated, monsieur; what I have to say to you will take some moments,
and deserves to be listened to with attention."
"I beg pardon, monsieur, but you see the disordered state of my dress; I
am ashamed to appear before you in such disarray; allow me simply the
necessary time to change, and I will at once return."
"No, monsieur! your dress is a matter of great consequence, in very
truth! By Saint Jacques! what matters it to me whether your doublet is
more or less fresh? It is not the dust with which your clothes are
covered that will mar your escutcheon, but your disgraceful conduct!
That it is which sullies the honor of your name much more than the storm
has injured your cloak! Be seated--I insist!"
Léodgard restrained with difficulty an impatient outburst; but he threw
himself on a chair, and his father continued:
"I have remonstrated with you several times, monsieur, concerning your
dissolute conduct; you have not listened to me, you have despised your
father's judicious counsel. To-day, when your misconduct has gone beyond
all bounds, when your evil deeds--for they are no longer the escapades
of a young man, but evil deeds, of which you are guilty----"
"Father----"
"Do not interrupt me!--To-day, when your evil deeds recognize no
restraint, I no longer advise, I command you; and you will respect my
commands, or this _lettre de cachet_ will deal with you for me.--Look,
monsieur; you know that I do not indulge in empty threats; here is your
passport to the Bastille, sent me by Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu,
who also is aware of all your misconduct and has given me permission to
make use of this whenever I may think best, leaving in my hands the
punishment of him who bears my name."
Léodgard could not help shuddering inwardly when he saw the _lettre de
cachet_ which his father took from his desk, and he faltered in a
tremulous voice:
"What have I done--what more than many young gentlemen of my age, to
deserve to be treated so harshly?"
"Ah! you ask what you have done? That, I presume, is because you hope
that I know only a part of it. Unhappily, monsieur, your conduct is too
notorious, your vices make too much noise in the world; you are cited
too often by all the wellborn debauchees, for the echo not to reach your
father's ears. Stealing wives from their husbands, young girls from
their parents, passing the night in wine shops and gambling hells,
fighting with the king's archers, with the watch, with citizens,
incurring debts and not paying them, breaking shop windows and offering
no other compensation than a sword thrust, binding yourself to Jews and
usurers, thrashing your creditors when they presume to demand what you
owe them, what they have been waiting for so long--such are your noble
exploits, monsieur! a descendant of the Marvejols does not blush to
conduct himself thus!--And yet, cast your eyes about you, look at these
portraits which surround you, your ancestors who have left you a
glorious name--are not you of their blood, you, who debase it? Ah! if
they could come forth from their tombs,--and your excellent mother, who
was so proud to have brought forth a descendant of our line,--it would
be to crush you with their wrath!"
"Monsieur le marquis, allow me to say a word in my own defence.--My
faults have been exaggerated. I have committed some faults, I admit; but
they are not so serious as you seem to think."
"And your debts--will you say that they are a mere trifle? You owe five
thousand pistoles at this moment, monsieur."
"I do not know, monsieur le marquis, whether you have also been told
that I have been stripped clean by that miserable Giovanni, that Italian
brigand, who terrorizes all Paris?"
"Yes, I have heard of that. But how did you allow yourself to be robbed
by that man?"
"I venture to believe that my father has no doubt that if I was overcome
it was not without a vigorous resistance on my part."
"Oh! I do justice to your courage; you would not be my son if you were a
coward!"
"It was late at night, about a fortnight ago. I was returning home alone
and was passing through Rue Couture-Sainte-Catherine. Suddenly this
Giovanni appeared before me, and demanded my purse as courteously as if
he were inquiring for my health. The robber seemed to me such an
original character that I talked with him a few minutes. But when he
repeated his demand, I drew my sword. He had some sort of a short, broad
weapon. Practised as I am in fighting, that devil of a man dealt me a
thrust,--I do not know how to describe it,--and I was beaten. I felt the
point of his sword against my breast; but he was content to take my
purse, and disappeared as he had come, without giving me time to see
which way he went."
"If I were lieutenant of police of this realm, that adroit thief would
have been hanged before this.--However, monsieur, this Giovanni did not
rob you of five thousand pistoles, I imagine?"
"No; but I had a considerable sum upon me----"
"Which you had won in some hell, I doubt not.--But let us have done, for
the subject of this interview is a painful one to both of us. Here,
Léodgard, are papers containing a statement of the amount of your debts;
here are your obligations to the Jews who are ruining you; here are your
receipts for various sums lent you at exorbitant rates, with a view,
doubtless, to my death, which does not come quickly enough to supply you
with another fortune to squander."
"Ah! monsieur le marquis----"
"All these papers cost me fifty thousand livres; but I paid it, to save
once more your honor, so seriously compromised."
A ray of joy lighted up Léodgard's face; he stepped toward the old man,
crying:
"What, father! you have deigned----"
The marquis made a gesture as if to forbid his son to approach, and
continued with unabated austerity:
"Yes, monsieur, I have paid the money; but mark well what I say: long
ago you squandered the last of the property which your mother left you.
I do not choose that you should have debts, but neither do I propose
that the fortune of my ancestors, which enables me to maintain my rank
becomingly, shall be the prey of harlots, gamblers, and rakes; so attend
closely to what I say: if I learn that you have contracted any new debt,
I shall instantly make use of this _lettre de cachet_, and send you to
the Bastille; and when you are once there, it may well be that you will
remain there for some time! This, monsieur, I will do--I swear it before
the portraits of my ancestors! You know now whether I will keep my
oath.--Mend your ways, Léodgard; make yourself worthy once more of the
name you bear. You know that it is my dearest wish to marry you to
Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin. I was her father's comrade in arms;
the idea that our children would be united some day made the baron's
heart beat fast with joy. Mademoiselle de Mongarcin is worthy of you,
her family is on a par with ours; she has a large fortune and is one of
the most beautiful women in France. Six months ago, she left the convent
where she had completed her education, and took up her abode with her
aunt; and she will soon be nineteen years old. What objection have you
to urge against this alliance, Léodgard?"
"None, father. I agree that Mademoiselle de Mongarcin is very lovely,
although I have seen her but rarely."
"What prevents you from paying court to her? Madame de Ravenelle,
Valentine's aunt, is aware of the baron's wishes.--Cease to be a
libertine, a rake, and she will give you the hand of this wealthy and
noble heiress.--Well, monsieur! what have you to say?"
"Pardon me, monsieur le marquis--but--to marry--to put myself in chains
already----"
"Already! A man cannot be happy too soon, monsieur; and you will be
happy with a woman who is worthy of you. You will realize the difference
between family joys and the orgies of debauchery. Furthermore, numerous
suitors for Mademoiselle de Mongarcin's hand have already entered the
lists; if you do not come forward, do you suppose that she will send to
beg for your homage? Hasten to present yourself, to disperse your
rivals! This marriage must take place ere long.--I have often repented,
myself, that I married so late in life! I was forty-three when I married
your excellent mother. What was the result? that I was already old when
you became a man; and that, instead of finding in me a friend, a
companion, my son has seen in me only an old man, to whom he has never
confided his secrets."
"Father----"
"You have heard me, Léodgard. It rests with you now to be happy and to
regain your father's affection. You know how you must conduct yourself
for that.--Go; I will keep you no longer."
Léodgard bent his head respectfully before the old man, who responded
with a slight nod which indicated no great amount of confidence as yet.
When he was out of range of his father's eyes, Léodgard tore his hair,
saying to himself:
"Not incur debts! why, I have no money!--But I must have some! For I
promised Camilla that beautiful pearl necklace that she wants so much!
Now that I no longer owe anything, I can easily borrow.--But that
_lettre de cachet_!--Ah! I know my father; he did not threaten me
heedlessly; he would have me put in the Bastille, and I have no desire
to go to that horrible prison!"
VI
CHAUDOREILLE'S GODSON
Among the numerous habitués of the various bathing establishments might
be noticed a tall, lean man, with a yellow complexion, like the
description of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance. This personage had
one of those elongated faces, with prominent cheek bones which call
attention to the hollowness of the cheeks; also a long, pointed nose, a
chin of the same type, an enormous mouth with a full complement of long
teeth, each one of which resembled a tusk, and which terrified beyond
words all the little children in whose presence this gentleman was
pleased to smile; for he then appeared exactly as if he proposed to
swallow the innocent creatures. A low forehead, yellow hair, and
moustaches of the same color, the latter twisted at the ends so that
they nearly joined the corners of the eyes--such was the Chevalier
Passedix, who claimed to be Chaudoreille's godson.
We like to believe, dear reader, whichever your sex, that you have known
a certain _Barber of Paris_, whose adventures made some noise long ago;
in that case, you may not have forgotten entirely his friend the
Chevalier Chaudoreille, that vain, cowardly Gascon, gambler and
shameless liar, who boasted so loudly of his long sword, which he called
Roland, and who came to such a tragic end, falling from a roof, and
running himself through in his fall with his faithful Roland, which he
held in his hand to feel his way along the slippery roof on which he was
walking.
The Chevalier Passedix, then, claimed to be the godson of Chaudoreille,
albeit the latter, in his negotiations with Touquet the barber, had
never mentioned his godson. But there are many people who forget that
they ever held a child over the baptismal font, or who do not choose to
remember that they have been godparents, in order to evade the duties
which that relation imposes on them.
However, Passedix, himself a Gascon, resembled his godfather in many
respects; like him, he was a glutton, a gambler, and a liar; like him,
he sighed for every woman who looked at him, believing himself to be a
very attractive gallant, whereas he might fittingly have served as a
scarecrow in a community of women.
But there was one respect in which the resemblance between him and his
godfather had no existence. Chaudoreille was always a coward, his
battles were mere bluster, and his very death was tragic only because
he was fleeing over the roofs from an imaginary danger.
Passedix, on the contrary, was really brave; he would draw his sword on
the most trivial pretext, would often take up the cudgels for a perfect
stranger, and like Don Quixote, whom he resembled in his great height
and his leanness, he would readily have fought against a windmill. But
his courage was rarely fortunate, and whether because he handled Roland
unskilfully,--for he possessed his godfather's famous rapier,--or
because his excessive ardor made him imprudent, or because he was too
sure of victory, the chevalier was almost always beaten; indeed, he was
very lucky when he came off with a few scratches and was not nailed to
his bed to await the healing of his wounds.
On a certain beautiful warm spring morning, several young nobles were
chatting and laughing in Master Hugonnet's shop. Some were waiting for
their inamoratas to come from the baths, others had come thither in the
hope of seeing Ambroisine, La Belle Baigneuse, and perhaps of being
shaved by her. The majority were there because it was a favorite
rendezvous of idlers, lady killers, and all the young dandies and rakes
who were eager to learn the news, the spicy anecdotes of the court and
city, to inquire concerning the scandalous intrigue of the moment, in
order that they might make merry at the expense of the poor betrayed
husband; for we must not forget that husbands were betrayed in the good
old times no less than they are to-day.
As there were no cafés in those days for the idlers and gossips, the
bathing establishments filled their place. As there were no newspapers
to read, people were accustomed to collect to listen to the man who came
there to tell some anecdote or some new occurrence. The gossips were
welcome and held the floor. Many falsehoods were told, as will always be
the case in such assemblages; the man who lied with the most assurance
was almost always the one who was most eagerly listened to, and most
loudly applauded by those at whom he laughed in his sleeve. To-day, we
find _blagueurs_ who delight to hoodwink their auditors. The words have
changed, but the characters are the same.
Some of the idlers who were assembled at Master Hugonnet's stood in the
doorway of the shop, both wings of the door being thrown open, and
amused themselves by watching the passers-by. Rue Saint-Jacques was
frequented by students, clerks of the Basoche, and a great number of the
lower classes; moreover, the proximity of the Hôtel de Cluny brought to
the quarter many ecclesiastics and doctors of the Sorbonne.
Our young gentlemen did not always confine themselves to ogling the
passers-by. When a woman who was at all attractive, or a clown with a
particularly idiotic face, passed the barber's shop, they addressed a
compliment or an obscene jest to the one, to the other some unflattering
epithet or some insulting question. And woe to the unlucky wight who
should take the jest in bad part! for if he lost his temper and
presumed to reply, all the idlers and all the customers assembled at the
baths instantly ran out to listen to the complainant; and then, instead
of one jest, he had to undergo a perfect hailstorm of witticisms from
all sides.
"Pardieu! messeigneurs," said one young blade, all covered with ribbons
and lace, as he left the door and threw himself carelessly on one of the
hard chairs in the shop, "I have just seen two women of rather
attractive aspect go in at the door leading to the baths."
"How were they dressed, Sénange?" inquired the young man who was at that
moment in the barber's hands.
"Oh! how curious this little Monclair is! He wants to make us believe
that he is waiting here for a fair; that someone is to come here to
fetch him!"
"Yes, sambleu! I am expecting someone; what is there so surprising in
that? Haven't you at least one mistress yourself, Sénange?"
"One mistress! Vertudieu! if I had but one, it seems to me that it would
be almost the same as if I had none."
"Very pretty! but I shouldn't expect it from anyone but Léodgard.--Come,
Sénange, be decent; how were the damsels dressed who have just gone into
the baths?"
"One--and she must have been the dowager--wore a brown pelisse and hood;
her head was all wrapped up in the hood, and there was a thick veil over
all; guess at the face, if you can!"
"And the other?"
"The other was dressed in pink; there was a border of black lace to her
hood, and it fell over her eyes; but her feet were small, her slippers
embroidered with silver thread, and her leg well turned, as one could
easily see, for she raised her skirts very generously!"
"Oh! it is she, I am sure!"
"By Notre-Dame de Paris!" cried Master Hugonnet, holding his razor in
the air; "if you move about like this, my lord, something will happen to
your face; that leap of yours nearly cost you your nose, and I assure
you that it would not have been my fault. Keep quiet, or I will not
answer for the consequences!"
"'Tis well, barber; go on, do your duty; I will try to be calm.--By the
way, messieurs, it seems to me that it is a long while since we last saw
Passedix in this quarter!"
"True; the valiant Passedix no longer shows himself; where can he
be?--Have you seen him lately, Hugonnet?"
"No, messeigneurs; it is several weeks since the Chevalier Passedix has
been here."
"That is the more surprising, because, if I remember aright, he was
deeply in love with your daughter Ambroisine."
"In love with my daughter--he! He is in love with all women; but it
amounts to nothing."
"Did you treat him a little--harshly? You are quite capable of it."
"No, I was not put to that trouble; the chevalier has always been too
respectful for me to be angry with him."
"Then it must be that poor Passedix has had some new affair of honor; he
has probably fought a duel and come out second best, as usual; and
doubtless he is stretched out on his bed of pain at this moment."
"Perhaps he has been attacked by Giovanni, the fashionable robber!"
"Giovanni would not have wounded him; he contents himself with robbing
and never does any harm."
"But if a man doesn't choose to be robbed, and defends himself----"
"Look at Léodgard, messieurs; he defended himself gallantly, and yet
Giovanni robbed him and did not hurt a hair of his head."
At that moment, loud exclamations were heard at the shop door.
VII
A YOUNG WOMAN _EN CROUPE_
"Oh! what a fine head, my friends!" cried a cavalier who was standing in
the doorway.
"What is it, La Valteline?"
"A great clodhopper--some peasant from the South, doubtless, for he
wears the Béarnais costume, I believe. He is coming along on an enormous
horse. Come, look! it's worth the trouble!"
"Do you expect us to put ourselves out for a country lout?"
"But he has something very seductive _en croupe_; a fresh, red-cheeked
little wench, who, in her rustic costume, would carry off the palm from
all the fair who come to visit the baths!"
"Oho! we must see that! we must see that!"
A horse was coming along at a footpace, with two persons on his back.
First, a countryman with straight hair brushed flat, which fell to his
shoulders, and was partly hidden by a sort of woollen cap ending in a
point and surmounted by a small black plume; beneath that original
headgear appeared a broad, round, chubby, red face, a most perfect
specimen of careless health, with big eyes on a level with the face,
which expressed amazement at everything they saw, and at the same time
seemed happy to be amazed. The rest of his costume was that of a
Béarnais peasant. In his right hand he held a long branch of dogwood,
which he used as a crop to accelerate his horse's gait.
Behind this rustic, on his horse's crupper, and clinging tightly to her
cavalier, was a young girl of eighteen years at most, as pretty as the
Italian madonnas to whom the painters make you long to pray, and as
fresh as a rosebud just opening.
Her embarrassment and alarm made her even more beautiful, for she seemed
a little alarmed by her position; and while trying to seat herself more
firmly, she displayed every moment the upper part of a shapely calf, and
sometimes even the red garter that held her coarse woollen stocking in
place.
"Jarnidié! that's a dainty morsel!" exclaimed the young men in chorus.
"See the lovely black hair!"
"And eyes quite as black, on my word!--fine lashes, heavy eyebrows!"
"A straight nose, neither too large nor too small!"
"A perfect chin and a tiny mouth!"
"Oh! did you see, messieurs? She uttered a little cry of fright, and I
saw the prettiest teeth!"