invent!--Cadédis! that is too much! I, invent anything!--I suppose that
you didn't tell me also just now that monsieur had asked you for a
duplicate key to the street door, so that he could go in and out at
night without disturbing anyone; and that he had forbidden Popelinette
to sit up for him; and that it was the fashion in Spain to walk the
streets at night? To which I replied that it was not so warm in France
as in the beautiful land of the Andalusians.--Ah! I invented all
that--sandioux! If all that I have just said was not told me by you, I
hope that this egg will choke me while I speak!--Look! didn't I tell you
that they were all hard? But I am an ignoramus, I don't know anything
about cooking. And this one is just the same; as they all are!"
As he spoke, the Gascon took up an egg and dexterously stripped it of
its shell; after which, he made but one mouthful of it, and was about to
do as much with a second one, when the landlady angrily pounced on the
plate in which the others were and put it in her lap, saying:
"Well, monsieur, have you nearly finished swallowing my eggs as if they
were little tarts? Really, you don't stand on ceremony! If it wasn't for
my respect for monsieur le comte, I would tell you what I think of your
conduct."
"What would you tell me, alluring Cadichard?--that I am a libertine, a
scatterbrain, and that I owe you for four quarters? Cadédis! that is no
crime; every day, gentlemen of good family find themselves short of
money; and a few days later they roll in gold and doubloons.--Isn't that
so, Monsieur de Carvajal?"
"It is, in truth, a common occurrence, monsieur le chevalier."
"At this moment, I know several noble lords who are in my plight. Among
others, the young Comte Léodgard de Marvejols, of whom you have heard,
doubtless?"
"Yes, the name is not unknown to me."
"It is one of the oldest families of Languedoc. The old Marquis de
Marvejols is very rich, but he is a little strict with his son, although
he has no other child. To be sure, Léodgard did run through the fortune
he got from his mother rather rapidly. He's a young buck who travels
fast--a gallant of my stamp; he loves cards and wine and the
ladies.--Yes, sweet Cadichard, we love the ladies; but they must not fly
into a passion when we condescend to taste a little egg in their
honor.--To return to Léodgard, he has had hard luck of late! He had won
a very neat little sum at cards, contrary to his custom, and was
returning to his house at night, when he was attacked by Giovanni, that
famous brigand, you know, who is at this moment the terror of the
capital. You must have heard of him, monsieur le comte?"
"No; this is the first time that I have heard that name."
"You surprise me! Sandioux! Giovanni already has a tremendous reputation
in this country. He must be very skilful with the sword to have beaten
young Marvejols, who fights--almost as well as I do.--The result is that
everybody is afraid of the man. But so far as I am concerned, the
contrary is true; indeed, I would like very much to meet this famous
robber!"
"Oh! that's because you are not afraid of being robbed!" said the little
landlady, pressing her lips together spitefully.
"Always some piquant little remark, sweet Cadichard!--I overlook them, I
overlook anything in the fair sex!"
"And why would you like to meet this--this Giovanni, monsieur le
chevalier?" asked the stranger, playing with his sword hilt.
"Why, monsieur le comte, because I flatter myself that I should be more
fortunate than poor Léodgard! And that infernal knave would receive at
my hand the reward of his brigandage! I would give myself the pleasure
of burying six inches of Roland in his throat. Ah! sandioux! I can see
from here the wry face he would make!--Does that make you laugh,
Monsieur de Carvajal?"
"Why, yes, because it occurs to me, too, that in such a battle as you
suggest one of the two would, in fact, be likely to cause the other to
make a strange grimace."
"One of the two! Do you doubt that I should triumph?"
"I in no wise doubt your valor, monsieur le chevalier; but as for your
triumph, permit me to think that it is better not to make any assertions
beforehand--the most valiant are conquered sometimes; fortune is
capricious to fighting men as well as to lovers."
Passedix bit his lips and drew his eyebrows together. The hostess, who
had decided to remove the shells from her eggs, said to the tenant of
her first floor:
"In any case, monsieur le comte, it is always prudent not to go out at
night unless you are well armed; for my part, I don't dare to go to the
theatre at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, because it ends too late! It's
half-past eight sometimes when they finish the beautiful tragedy of
_Sophonisbé_, by Monsieur Mairet, which I would have liked to see, all
the same!"
"_Sophonisbé!_ Faith! I prefer his last tragedy, the _Duc d'Ossone_--the
verses are more sonorous, the subject more warlike.--What say you,
monsieur le comte?"
"I do not go to the play."
"Where in the devil does the Spaniard go?" thought Passedix, draping
himself in his cloak; "never to the court, never to a wine shop, never
to the play! He wants to make us think that he's always shut up with
some petticoat!"
And the Gascon swayed to and fro on his chair and caressed his chin, as
he continued:
"For my part, I am a great frequenter of the theatre."
"You go to Brioché's theatre on Pont Neuf!" laughed Madame Cadichard;
"there's a show outside; that doesn't cost anything!"
"I go where I choose, madame! It seems to me that I am entitled to.
Brioché's marionettes are not to be despised, and the proof is that
great crowds go there--leaders of society and idlers, _belles dames_ and
_bourgeoises_. But that does not interfere with my being one of the most
assiduous spectators at the Hôtel de Bourgogne; I know all Alexandre
Hardy's plays, and I believe he has written over six hundred; he is my
favorite author, and I prefer him to this Jean Mairet, who is laden
with favors by the Cardinal de Richelieu, the Duc de Longueville, and
the Comte de Soissons, because he has written a dozen or so of
tragedies! A fine showing, forsooth, beside Hardy's six hundred
plays!--Ah! cadédis! if I had ever undertaken to write, it would have
been a different story!--But I prefer the sword to the pen; one must not
derogate from his rank!"
At that moment, an old servant of more than sixty years, whose skin had
such a dark-yellow tinge that she might at need have been passed off as
a Moor, entered the room and approached the stranger. It was
Popelinette, just returned from performing her commission.
"Here are all the things you told me to get, monsieur le comte--gloves,
perfumery--the nicest and daintiest I could find; and _mouches_ and
paint; and here is the money that is left."
"Very good; keep that for your trouble."
"Oh! you are very kind, monseigneur! I thank you very humbly!"
"Does the fellow mean to disguise himself as a woman?" Passedix thought,
glancing furtively at Popelinette's purchases, which she had placed on a
table. "Paint! _mouches!_ perfumery! Fie, fie! all those things do very
well for shepherds in Arcady. I begin to conceive a very singular
opinion of this Spaniard!"
"It took you a very long time to do the errand monsieur le comte gave
you to do!" said the plump Cadichard to her servant. "You must try to
make your legs work a little livelier when you go out."
"But, madame, I went to the best perfumer on Rue Saint-Honoré, near the
Couvent des Capucines; that's a long way."
"Monsieur le Chevalier Passedix has been waiting impatiently for you; he
needs your help--some buttons to sew on his doublet."
"Again!" muttered Popelinette, with a most disrespectful gesture.
"What do you mean by that?" cried the Gascon, raising his head; "I
should like to know if you are not here to wait upon the tenants? I
consider your reply a little impertinent, my girl!"
"Mon Dieu! don't be angry, monsieur le chevalier; I don't refuse to do
what you want; but I meant that your doublet has been patched and mended
so often that the buttons I sew on are likely not to hold, for lack of
material to sew them to."
"It is easy to see, old Popelinette, that you no longer have your eyes
of twenty years! otherwise, you would not abuse thus a garment which is
almost new, and which owes the numerous patches that cover it solely to
the sword thrusts I have received in single combats and others. But they
are titles to renown, and that is why I am fond of this doublet; if I
should buy a new one, within a week it would be riddled by sword thrusts
as this one is; one doesn't go to the water without getting wet.--Well!
my girl, take a needle and thread and let us have done with it, for the
day is advancing, and I should already be somewhere else!"
The old servant grumblingly took what she needed to repair the Gascon's
doublet. For some moments, the stranger had been examining what
Popelinette had brought him; at last he carefully replaced all the
articles in paper and put them in his pocket one after another, as if he
were preparing to take his leave.
"Yes, sandioux!" cried Passedix, partly unbuttoning his doublet so that
the servant could work more conveniently; "yes, I long to pursue a
certain adventure, the heroine of which surpasses the Venus of Medici!"
"Oh! monsieur le chevalier makes Venuses out of every retroussé nose he
meets!" said Dame Cadichard, shrugging her shoulders.
"Do you think so, charming hostess? I should say that I have never given
you reason to think that my taste was bad!"
The landlady turned her little eyes on the Gascon, like a person who
does not know whether she ought to take in good or ill part what is said
to her. Passedix continued:
"By the way, I made her acquaintance in such singular fashion!--Ah! be
careful, Popelinette, you are pricking me as if I were a pincushion!"
"Goodness! it isn't my fault, monsieur; you keep moving all the time!"
"That is my nature; I could not keep still for a moment; that is due to
the heat of my blood--to the smoking lava that flows in my veins! I am a
volcano! and then, the image of that Italian was well adapted to make my
legs twitch!"
"Ah! your conquest is an Italian, is she, monsieur le chevalier?" said
the stranger, who had taken a step or two toward the door, but who
turned at that and looked at Passedix.
"Yes, monsieur le comte; that is to say, she isn't exactly an Italian,
although she wears the costume of a Milanese; she was born in Béarn, but
it seems that she has lived in Milan many years. I give you my word that
she is a dainty morsel, that little Miretta!"
When he heard the name Miretta, the foreigner could not restrain a
gesture of surprise; but he recovered himself instantly, walked back to
the easy-chair he had just left, and resumed his seat, saying:
"Really, monsieur le chevalier, you make me very curious; and if I were
not afraid of being indiscreet in asking you how you made the
acquaintance of this girl, who, you say, is so pretty, I should take
great pleasure in hearing of it."
"There is no indiscretion in your request, count; indeed, the affair
took place in the presence of numerous witnesses and made quite a
sensation this morning. I will stake my head that it will be the talk of
the court and the whole city this evening. I will tell you all about
it.--Go on, Popelinette; it needn't prevent you from sewing on my
buttons."
Thereupon the Gascon chevalier described what had taken place that
morning in front of Master Hugonnet's house; and in his narrative,
carried away doubtless by his interest in the pretty Milanese, Passedix
embellished the truth with a number of episodes which he deemed likely
to heighten the effect. For instance, he did not fail to say that on
several occasions he had saved Cédrille from certain death by throwing
himself in front of the swords that threatened him; in a word, it was
due to his courage that the two travellers succeeded in escaping from
the fury of those who surrounded them.
The foreigner listened to the Gascon with the closest attention. When
the latter had finished, the other looked fixedly at him and said:
"Now, what do you expect to do, chevalier?"
"What! By Venus! follow up the adventure, watch for the little one to
come out, join her, declare my passion, soften her heart--a mere trifle!
The rest will go of itself."
"No doubt!" muttered Dame Cadichard; "if the girl is a good-for-nothing
who listens to the first comer!"
"Whom do you call a first comer, madame? do you dare to apply those
words to Castor Pyrrhus de Passedix?--Sandioux! you are pricking me,
Popelinette! do be careful!"
"I mean to say, monsieur, that this girl does not know you; and if she
is virtuous----"
"Cadédis! all women are virtuous before they have sinned; and since the
days of Eve, who allowed herself to be tempted by a serpent, how many
women have stumbled---- Oh! this old woman is determined to spit me like
a roasted hare!"
"But in order to watch for this Italian," observed the Spaniard, "it is
necessary first of all that you should know where she lives in Paris."
"Oh! I know that; I know where Miretta is at this moment; I even know
why she has come to Paris. I am perfectly informed--but upon this matter
you will allow me to keep silent. The little one is too dainty a morsel
for me to show her nest to other men, and I am sure that you will
consider that I am right to act thus."
The foreigner rose and bowed to the Gascon.
"Good luck in your love affairs, Chevalier Passedix!"
"Infinitely obliged! Much pleasure in your nocturnal walks, monsieur le
comte!"
The foreigner took his leave. The landlady renewed her humble
reverences, and Passedix muttered:
"A singular man, this Monsieur de Carvajal!"
"You are all sewed up, monsieur," said Popelinette; "but, bless me! I
won't swear it will hold long, the stuff is so rotten!"
"Very good! all right! I didn't ask you about that!--He buys paint,
_mouches_, perfumes!--he's an effeminate creature!"
"I don't think," said the little hostess, "that it is so unpleasant to
perfume one's self, and to leave an agreeable odor behind one as one
passes!"
"I have never needed that to please the fair! And when I eat wild duck,
I don't like to have it smell of musk!"
The Gascon hurried from the room and went up to his fifth floor, while
Dame Cadichard exclaimed:
"Ah! if I only had a loft over his room!"
Popelinette put away her needle and thread, muttering:
"Oh, no! he doesn't smell of musk, that fellow! he doesn't need to deny
it!"
XII
VALENTINE DE MONGARCIN
Let us transport ourselves to Rue Saint-Honoré, to the interior of a
magnificent mansion, where everything is eloquent of wealth, splendor,
and refinement, where the furniture and hangings represent all that is
most beautiful and dainty in the products of that age. There we shall
find Madame de Ravenelle and her niece, Valentine de Mongarcin.
Madame de Ravenelle was seventy-two years of age; she had once been
pretty, she was still fresh and plump; for the anxieties, the cares,
the griefs, which often make one old much more rapidly than time, had
never darkened her life, which had flowed on as placidly and gently as
the waters of a stream hidden by tall grasses and never disturbed by the
traveller's oar.
The old lady, blessed with a cheerful, heedless, and, above all, selfish
disposition, had known how to submit philosophically to those petty
disagreements from which no one is wholly exempt throughout the course
of a long life. Having an excellent stomach, and very little
susceptibility, she always sat down at the table with a good appetite,
and never had recourse to the doctors. Incapable of doing anything
unkind or spiteful, which would have disturbed the harmony of her
temperament, she listened without emotion to the tale of another
person's woes; and yet, she was quite ready to be humane, and often did
a kind deed, when it was not likely to cause her either fatigue or
trouble.
Valentine de Mongarcin had been brought up at a convent; but there, no
less than in society, she had been fully aware that she was the sole
inheritress of a great name and a great fortune; flattery, which
insinuates itself everywhere, makes its way into convents; pretty,
clever, but proud of her name and her rank, Valentine had discovered too
early in life that people were eager to gratify all her desires; she had
grown up with the idea that her will was never to be thwarted; and,
although possessed of a sensitive heart, and of a noble soul capable of
noble deeds, she had contracted a haughty, disdainful manner, which had
made her but few friends.
At the age of eighteen, her figure had developed, her bearing had become
noble and dignified, her features were regular, and the outlines of her
face exquisitely pure; her hair was as black as ebony, and her great
gray eyes, with their long black lashes, had a most seductive expression
when they did not choose to express arrogance or scorn.
On leaving the convent to occupy her father's mansion, Valentine had not
presented herself to her aunt in the guise of a timid girl who claims
the support and protection of her only remaining relation; she had
appeared like a conqueror making his triumphal entry into a city which
he has compelled to capitulate; but she had to deal with a person who
worried her head very little over the airs and tone which other people
adopted toward her.
Madame de Ravenelle received her niece with the smile which had become
stereotyped on her face; she considered her beautiful and well made, and
was gratified that that was the case; but if Valentine had been ugly or
deformed, the old lady would speedily have consoled herself. Between two
persons of such temperaments, there was no danger that there would ever
be any lack of harmony; for to every question that Valentine asked on
her arrival, Madame de Ravenelle replied:
"Do whatever you please in the house; command and you will be obeyed,
provided that you disturb nothing in my apartment and my personal
service. I have my women, you will have yours; I shall not thwart you in
anything, for my brother's daughter would be incapable of doing anything
unworthy of her rank. And if the company I receive should bore you, you
will be at liberty not to appear in the salon."
Mademoiselle de Mongarcin could not ask for more liberty or greater
power; the confidence that her aunt manifested in her pleased her; she
would have rebelled against a stern affection that would have tried to
guide her, but she was amiable and affectionate with one who was simply
indifferent to her.
Young Valentine considered the old hangings of the Hôtel de Mongarcin
gloomy and repellent; she had them all changed or renewed, and the
furniture as well. But nothing was disturbed in the apartment occupied
by Madame de Ravenelle. Some of the servants having failed to carry out
the girl's orders quickly enough, she dismissed them and engaged others;
but her aunt's maid and her old male attendant were outside of her
authority.
The Hôtel de Mongarcin became more fashionable; it assumed a more
youthful, a gayer aspect; frequent entertainments were given there by
musicians, jugglers, and gypsies; it amused Valentine, and it was all a
matter of indifference to Madame de Ravenelle.
One day, however, the old lady said to her niece:
"By the way, Valentine, have you ever heard of the young Comte Léodgard
de Marvejols?"
"The name is familiar to me, and I have an idea that my father often
mentioned it.--Why do you ask me that question, aunt?"
"Because my brother was very desirous that young Léodgard should some
day become your husband."
"Ah! my father desired it?"
"Yes; he told me so again just before he died. He was very closely
attached to young Léodgard's father, who had the same wish."
"Well, aunt?"
"Well, niece, you shall marry the young count, if that meets your
views!"
"Oh! there's time for that! for my father surely would not desire to
force my inclination, if he were alive."
"I cannot say what your father would have done if he had lived; but I
know very well that I have no desire to torment you."
"You are so good, aunt!"
"Why, yes, I am tolerably good!"
"And do you know this young Comte de Marvejols?"
"I have seen him two or three times in company."
"What is he like, aunt?"
"A very good-looking young man; very well built, and with a decidedly
rakish air. But young men sometimes assume those airs in society, in
order to give themselves an appearance of aplomb and self-assurance;
very often they mean nothing at all!"
"Well, if this Monsieur Léodgard desires to become my husband, I suppose
that he will come to pay court to me first."
"Why, that is to be presumed. However, you will see his father, Monsieur
le Marquis de Marvejols, at my receptions before long; he is a man very
highly considered, in very good odor at court, but of a rather severe
humor."
"What does that matter to me? it is not the father who wishes to marry
me!"
"That is true."
"And if this Monsieur Léodgard shared his father's wishes, it seems to
me, aunt, that he would manifest more eagerness to see me; for it is
nearly two months since I left the convent, and he has not called here
as yet."
"That is true, niece; but perhaps the young man is travelling."
Madame de Ravenelle's invariably placid and equable temperament
sometimes irritated Valentine, whose blood was ardent and boiling; but
she dissembled her impatience, for she could not be angry with her aunt,
who always agreed with her.
About a month after this conversation, Valentine had attended a large
party given by the Duchesse de Longueville, and had met Léodgard there.
The young count had presented his respects to Madame de Ravenelle and
her niece, but with the cold and formal manner of a man who had the
greatest disinclination to marriage and did not desire to gratify his
parents' wishes.
On her side, Valentine de Mongarcin, piqued by the young man's lack of
zeal in cultivating her acquaintance, had received his compliments with
an air of indifference, almost of disdain, which deprived her face of
all the fascination it sometimes had.
We have seen that the result of the meeting had been to confirm Léodgard
in his repugnance to that alliance.
As for Valentine, she had not said a single word on the subject of
Léodgard, and Madame de Ravenelle had thought it advisable to imitate
her silence.
One evening, after receiving a visit from one of her friends, or rather
acquaintances, at the convent, Valentine said to her aunt:
"Mademoiselle de Vertmonteil spoke to me this morning of a girl whom her
sister has seen at Milan. This girl wishes to find a place in Paris. She
is said to be clever at millinery work and dressmaking; in fact,
Mademoiselle de Vertmonteil recommended her to me. My maid is a fool,
who does not know how to dress my hair, and I am tempted to discharge
her and take this Italian in her place. What do you think about it,
aunt?"
Madame de Ravenelle, who had listened as to something that was utterly
indifferent to her, replied:
"You will do well to do whatever is most agreeable to you, my dear."
It was a fortnight after this conversation that Miretta appeared at the
Hôtel de Mongarcin, escorted by Cédrille, and still greatly excited by
the risks she had run in front of Master Hugonnet's house.
Valentine was impatiently awaiting the arrival of the girl of whom she
had heard such marvellous things. She was in an immense salon, where her
aunt persisted in having a fire, although the weather was no longer
cold, when the young traveller was announced. Valentine uttered a joyful
exclamation and said:
"Bring her to speak to me; I wish to see her at once!--Will you allow
her to come to this salon, aunt?"
"It is entirely indifferent to me, niece. However, if any visitor should
come, I presume that this girl will know that it is her duty to
withdraw."
Miretta soon made her appearance before the two ladies; she walked into
the salon with an assured step; there was embarrassment, but neither
awkwardness nor stupidity in her bearing. The reverence that she made
was not without a certain charm. Add to this the beauty of her face, her
fresh complexion, her youth, and her piquant costume, and you will
understand Valentine's exclamation:
"Ah! why, the child is very pretty!--Come nearer, come nearer! Your name
is Miretta?"
"Yes, mademoiselle, Miretta Dartaize. Here is the letter of
recommendation with which I have been favored, for mademoiselle."
"Very well; but it is unnecessary--I have seen the sister of the person
who gave you the letter.--You are a Milanese?"
"No, mademoiselle; I was born at Pau, in Béarn; but I have lived at
Milan, or in the suburbs, ever since I was a child."
"And your relations?"
"I lost them when I was very young, all except an old female cousin, who
still lives at Pau, and whose son, who is very fond of me, was kind
enough to undertake to bring me to Paris."
"Where is this youth?"
"In the courtyard, mademoiselle."
"How did you make the journey?"