guard, with his right hand on the hilt of Roland; while Miretta, having
glanced at the young man who had come to her rescue, uttered an
exclamation of surprise, while her eyes beamed with joy and delight.
"I will not stand aside, unless it is mademoiselle's pleasure to accept
my arm and leave this crowd which is pressing upon her," rejoined the
new-comer.
"You! take this little one away from under my nose--from my very beard!
You shall die ten deaths first!"
And Passedix instantly drew Roland from its sheath. The sight of that
bare sword waving in the midst of the crowd made the women shriek and
the children weep; but before he who held it could make use of it the
young man's hand seized the chevalier's wrist and squeezed it with such
force that the fingers opened and the sword fell to the ground.
"Sandioux! I know that grip; I have felt it before somewhere!" cried
Passedix. "Disarm me! Shame! that is unfair! it is treachery!"
But while the Gascon shouted, and shook his benumbed arm, the
_soi-disant_ mechanic took Miretta's arm and disappeared with her in the
crowd.
At that moment loud cries arose on all sides; the great pile had been
set on fire. Thereupon the crowd swayed hither and thither, some trying
to draw nearer the fire in order to see better, others to move away
because they were afraid.
A powerful wave carried Passedix ten or fifteen yards away from the spot
where his sword had fallen. Thereupon he began to whine and lament in
the midst of the crowd, these words being distinguishable:
"Look out, my friends! In the name of what you hold most dear, do not
step on it! If it is broken, I shall not survive; I shall bury the
fragments in my heart!"
But the multitude, engrossed by what it had come to see, paid no heed to
the cries and groans and entreaties of the unhappy chevalier, who
struggled in vain to return to the place where he had lost Roland, and
who before long had no idea himself in which direction it was.
This lasted until the fire died out.
As soon as it was entirely extinct, the crowd scattered; everyone
returned home discussing the pleasure he had had, and some looking
forward to that which the evening promised them.
Soon nobody was left on the square except two men, one very short, the
other quite tall, both of whom were on their hands and knees searching
in every corner, one for his cap, the other for his sword. Suddenly
they came nose to nose, or rather head to head, in that occupation.
"Are you helping me to look for it!" Passedix asked the clerk of the
Basoche; "thanks, my boy, that is very amiable on your part. If you find
it, I will give you six deniers; I have received some funds from my
family."
"If I find it, I don't want your deniers!" rejoined Plumard, in a surly
tone. "It is mine, my own property, and if you find it you will have to
give it to me; don't think for a moment that I will let you keep it!"
"What is the little fellow chattering about? If you find it, you propose
to keep it? Why, you are mad, my dear fellow! What would you do with it,
pray? It is twice too long for you; you could not even wear it."
"I couldn't wear it! that's a good one, that is! On the contrary, it
fits me like an angel; while you don't need it, for you have a cap on
your head."
"Why should my cap prevent me from wearing it, fool that you are?"
"Do you mean to say that you would put it on over your cap? That would
look very pretty! At all events, it's my property."
"Hold your tongue, you little thief! just let me find it and I'll punish
you with it!"
The two worthies who had had this altercation, being still on all fours,
were about to rush at each other like two frantic cats, when a third
personage appeared on the scene, laughing and singing. It was Bahuchet,
with long Roland in his hand, twirling his comrade's cap at the end of
the blade.
"I say! you fellows! here's a find! the cap is mine, and the sword is
mine!"
At sight of the objects they were seeking, Passedix and Plumard rose
spontaneously and pounced upon them. The former seized his sword, the
latter his cap, which he pulled over his eyes, and ran away at full
speed. The chevalier replaced Roland in its sheath, and then he strode
rapidly away.
Bahuchet, left alone in the square, looked after them and said to
himself:
"Well! they are very polite! they did not so much as thank me!"
XX
THE ROSEBUSH
A week after the memorable night on which the Fire of Saint-Jean
attracted so many people to Place de Grève and gave rise to so many
adventures, one evening, just at nightfall, a young man enveloped in a
brown cloak was walking on Rue Dauphine in front of Landry the bath
keeper's house, toward which he glanced every minute, scrutinizing with
especial care a window on the first floor, with a jutting balcony, on
which could be seen a superb rosebush covered with flowers and buds.
And as, when one is looking in the air, one does not see before one's
face, the young man suddenly collided with a person who was walking
along the street at a rapid pace.
"Ten thousand devils! be careful! can you not see where you are going?"
"Par le mordieu! you had only to look, yourself!"
"That voice! why, it is the young Comte de Marvejols!"
"Ah! it is the Sire de Jarnonville. Pray excuse me; but I was too
distraught to see you. I am waiting--I am watching."
"Very good; I understand; you are _en bonne fortune_--there is some new
intrigue on the carpet?"
"A new intrigue, yes; but _en bonne fortune_--not yet. Oh! it will be a
hard task; there are great obstacles; but I must come out of it with
credit to myself!"
"Are there blows to be dealt, sword thrusts to be exchanged? Do you need
me to cudgel someone? to break down a door or to scale a wall?"
"Thanks, Jarnonville, thanks; but my intrigue must be carried on quietly
and without fighting.--It has to do with a young and pretty girl! Oh!
the word _pretty_ falls far short of describing her! She is an
enchanting creature, an angel of innocence and beauty, whom I met by
chance, a week ago, at the Fire of Saint-Jean. She was with Ambroisine
and her father--you know whom I mean, the bath keeper on Rue
Saint-Jacques?"
"Yes, Master Hugonnet.--Well?"
"It was impossible to talk with the girl, for Ambroisine watched her
like a duenna! But I saw that my aspect did not displease her; she
blushed, and lowered her eyes. Her head is worthy of Titian's brush. Ah!
I am mad over her!--You will understand that I did not lose sight of
that adorable girl! After the fire, they left the square; I followed
them and found that they brought that angel to this house. She is the
daughter of Landry, the bath keeper; I tell you this in confidence,
Jarnonville, because I know that you will not try to rob me of my
conquest."
"I! oh, no! My heart is closed henceforth to all such tender sentiments;
it no longer knows aught but regret and grief!"
As he spoke, the Black Chevalier let his head sink on his breast.
"Come, come, Jarnonville! do not abandon yourself constantly to your sad
memories; you are still young; my word for it, you may again see happy
days!--But let me finish my story:
"The next day I went boldly to Master Hugonnet's shop. Ambroisine had
surprised me with my eyes fixed on her friend; I did not choose to feign
with her, so I asked her about her pretty companion of the preceding
night. She received me very harshly, as I expected; she told me that I
would have nothing to show for my sighs, my amorous enterprises; that
Bathilde--that is the divine creature's name--that Bathilde never went
out; that it was an exceptional event, her going to see the fire the
night before; but that her father and mother kept watch over her day and
night as their most precious treasure--in fact, the haughty _baigneuse_
went so far as to read me a lecture. She told me that it would be
frightful in me to think of seducing so much innocence and
simplicity.--Poor Ambroisine! she did not realize that the more she
expatiated on Bathilde's virtue, the more she increased my desire to
possess her.--But I think that you are not listening, Jarnonville."
"I beg pardon; go on."
"I left Ambroisine, swearing that I would respect her friend, and I came
at once to this street and began to do sentry duty here. For two days I
saw no sign of the girl. I entered the baths--nothing. I was shaved in
the shop--still nothing--no Bathilde. At last, three days ago, the
window looking on yonder balcony opened, and a young woman appeared
carrying a pot of flowers. She placed it carefully where it is now.--It
was she, it was Bathilde. But had she seen me pacing the street? had she
recognized me? That was something that I could not know; but the sight
of her gave me hope. That beautiful rosebush had never been at that
window; to place it on the balcony was to afford herself an excuse for
coming there again. And, in fact, a few hours after the rosebush was
placed there, the sweet girl appeared again and examined her flowers
with much care. Never was a rosebush more scrupulously cleaned. She did
not look at me while she was thus engaged, but I was certain that she
saw me. Now and then a furtive glance was cast in my direction; but as
it always met mine, she hastened to turn her head away.--However, since
that day Bathilde continues to tend her flowers, to water them, to come
several times a day to look at them. At first, I sent her kisses;
yesterday, I did better--I wrote a few words, rolled the note around a
stone, and, after dark, seizing a moment when no one was passing through
the street, I tossed it on the balcony. I am certain that she picked it
up, for the stone is no longer there. But to-day she has not once
appeared at the window; the rosebush has been pitilessly neglected! Is
it to punish me for writing to her? Is it to make me understand that she
does not share my love, that I must renounce all hope? Oh, no! that is
impossible! I read that charming girl's eyes, her whole expression; she
has not yet learned the art of concealing what she feels. I noticed her
cheeks flush when she saw me, her lovely eyes kindle with a brighter
light, a gleam of joy illumine her face!--Oh! she loves me! she loves
me, Jarnonville! And she will be mine!"
The Black Chevalier had listened to Léodgard with a gloomy expression;
when the young man had finished his story, he shook his head, saying:
"I do not like this business of seducing young girls! There is at the
root of the whole matter something that offends and oppresses the heart.
Tell me of a deceived husband, of a jealous rival, of a cruel guardian,
if you please. In such cases there is some danger, some risk to be run;
there are often sword thrusts or dagger thrusts to be received or
exchanged.--You fight, and that occupies, distracts, the mind. But in
this instance! seduction! desertion! To make a poor creature weep who
has not had the power to defend herself!"
"Ha! ha! ha! On my word, my dear Jarnonville, I cannot help laughing to
listen to you! What! is it really you, the bully, the miscreant, the man
who believes in nothing--for that is what you are called--who shed tears
over the fate of a girl, because I propose to make love to her, and she
is likely to hear me? A terrible catastrophe, truly!--How does it happen
that you, whose heart, as you have just told me, is closed henceforth to
all tender sentiments; that you who have taken the world in hatred and
who look upon existence as a burden; who seek, in short, by doing ill to
others, to avenge yourself for the ill that destiny has done to
you--that you blame me for gratifying my passions at the risk of causing
a few tears to flow?"
The Sire de Jarnonville drew his heavy eyebrows together and muttered
some words which Léodgard could not hear; then he raised his head
abruptly and said to the young count:
"As I cannot be of any service to you here, I will leave you. Adieu!
good luck!"
"Oh! I beg your pardon--another word, Jarnonville," cried Léodgard,
detaining the Black Chevalier. "I have a favor to ask of you--that is,
if you are in a position to grant it. I lost yesterday at brelan all
that I possessed; I have not a sou.--Money! money! When, in God's name,
shall I have enough to gratify my desires? to enjoy life? For there is
no enjoyment when one is constantly obliged to borrow, to have recourse
to usurers. I have been in such straits of late that my valet, that
knave Latournelle, has left me, on the pretext that I gambled away his
wages! I no longer have any servants, except my father's; but I prefer
to go without. That old villain Isaac Lehmann, the money lender, who
ordinarily supplies me with funds, is away from Paris at this moment. Do
you know another, Jarnonville? If so, will you give me his address;
especially as Isaac is beginning to make trouble about lending me any
more, although the old rascal knows well enough that he will be paid
sooner or later."
"I thought that your father paid all your debts some time ago?"
"Yes, and forbade me to incur any more. Ah! if he knew!--Why, he
threatened me with the Bastille!"
"And that does not prevent your running in debt again?"
"Can I live on the miserable allowance he gives me?--Well, Jarnonville,
do you know a money lender who may consent to help me at this moment?"
"No, I do not know one, for I have never had any relations with those
gentry; but I have two hundred gold pieces about me bearing the effigy
of our monarch; I intended to play lansquenet to-night. Here is my
purse; if you would like it, it is at your disposal."
"Faith! Jarnonville, it would be a great service to me; but I am afraid
of being importunate."
"Not at all--take it."
"And your game of lansquenet?"
"If need be, I will play on credit; but, instead of going to La
Valteline's to gamble, I will go to Durfeuille the financier's, and get
drunk; that will be one way of employing my time."
"Very well; in that case, I accept; but it is my duty to warn you that I
do not now know when I shall be able to repay this loan."
"No matter! no matter! Do not worry about that; it is the least of my
anxieties. Adieu, count, adieu!"
The Sire de Jarnonville walked rapidly away, without listening to his
debtor's thanks; and Léodgard placed the purse filled with gold in his
belt, saying to himself:
"He has done me a great service. He's an original fellow, but he has his
good points.--When I have spent this money, what shall I do to get some
more?--But what am I thinking about? I have a well-lined purse upon me
and I am sighing for a lovely girl. Pardieu! this is not the time to
worry about the future! What disturbs me now is to see that window
remain closed. It has been dark a long while; can it be that Bathilde
will not come to the balcony?--Ah! it seems to me that I have never
loved a woman as I love her. How different she is from the coquettes of
the court! from our courtesans--aye, from our _petites bourgeoises_! The
purest innocence shines on that child's brow.--What bliss to teach her
what love is--to be the first to make her heart beat!--But she does not
appear!"
Léodgard stamped his foot impatiently and began to pace the street,
without losing sight of the bath keeper's house.
Let us see what Bathilde was doing at that moment.
I need not tell you that on leaving the Place de Grève to return to her
home Landry's daughter had not failed to discover that the handsome
Comte de Marvejols was following her. She had not seemed to notice it,
she had not released her hold of Ambroisine's arm for an instant, she
had not turned her head; and yet she had seen that the young man was
following her.
How had she done it?
That is a mystery which I am unable to solve. I can simply assure you
that all women, young or old, from the most sophisticated to the most
innocent, possess that faculty. Probably it is the second-sight of the
Scotch, except that they have it in the back of the head.
Bathilde returned to her little room, disturbed by a sentiment that was
entirely novel to her; her bosom rose and fell more rapidly, she felt
happier than she had ever felt.
Was it her pride that was flattered, or her self-esteem?
No; the sweet child did not as yet know either of those sentiments.
It was something sweeter, more tender, which had found its way into her
heart with the fiery glances of the handsome cavalier, and against which
she had not known how to defend herself, for she was unaware of the
danger; it had not occurred to her that it was wrong to glance
occasionally at a comely youth who kept his eyes constantly fixed on
her.
When she learned that the comely youth was Comte Léodgard de Marvejols,
the girl had felt perhaps a secret thrill of terror; but it had not
lasted--the young man's glances had soon dispelled it.
Bathilde occupied a room that looked on a yard behind the house. It was
impossible for her to see from her window anything that took place in
the street. But since her mother had been absent, the girl had enjoyed
more liberty; so long as she avoided the baths, a place which it would
have been imprudent for her to frequent, she was free to range over the
whole first floor at her pleasure. Knowing that his daughter was in the
house, Landry asked nothing more.
On the day following the Fire of Saint-Jean, Bathilde, although she did
not know why, could not keep still. She went in and out, from one room
to another, arranging the furniture, or rather disarranging it, in order
to have an excuse for putting it to rights again.
In her peregrinations she visited most frequently a room at the front of
the house, which Dame Ragonde used as a linen closet; it was the room
with the balcony. Bathilde had put aside the curtain and glanced into
the street from time to time, without opening the window. She had soon
discovered the young seigneur of the preceding night walking back and
forth in front of the baths, and stopping frequently to scrutinize the
house from top to bottom.
Bathilde had felt the blood rush to her cheeks, although no one could
have seen her put aside the curtain. She had left the window, but had
returned to it a moment later.
"He is there!" she said to herself, trembling with excitement; "he is
still there! Mon Dieu! why does he keep looking at our house?"
The little innocent guessed well enough why he did it; but there are
things which we do not choose to admit at once, even to ourselves,
especially when they give us pleasure; we are much less ceremonious with
those that make us unhappy.
The next day, Bathilde did not fail to go early to the linen closet; she
resumed her manœuvres of the day before, and looked into the street
after cautiously raising a corner of the curtain.
This lasted four days, during which she saw the handsome cavalier almost
always in the street, gazing sadly at the windows, with his hand to his
heart, and probably sighing; she did not hear the sigh, but she divined
it.
On the fifth day, she no longer had the heart to keep the window closed,
and yet she did not wish to appear on the balcony without a reason for
going there.
Suddenly she remembered that she had a rosebush in her chamber, where,
by the way, it rarely received a ray of sunlight.
She ran instantly to Master Landry and said:
"Father, you know I have a lovely rosebush, which Ambroisine gave me two
years ago, on my birthday."
"Very likely; what then?"
"It is in my room, on the window sill, but I have just noticed that it's
dying, the leaves are turning yellow. It's because it doesn't get enough
air. The yard is so small, and then the steam from the baths is bad for
it, perhaps. I should be awfully sorry if it should die. Will you let me
put it on the balcony outside the window of the linen closet? There is
nothing there, so it won't be in the way; it will have the sun, and I am
sure that it will do better there."
"Put your rosebush where you please, my child; what hinders you?"
"Oh! thank you, father!"
And Bathilde went away, pleased beyond words. Dame Ragonde would never
have allowed her to put a rosebush at a window on the front of the
house. A woman would have felt, divined, an intrigue therein. But the
old soldier saw nothing but a rosebush.
XXI
LOVE TRAVELS FAST
Bathilde made haste to take advantage of the permission her father had
given her.
Before carrying the rosebush to the balcony, she cast a glance at her
mirror. Was it coquetry? No. But the daughter of a master bath keeper
did not wish to show herself to the eyes of chance passers-by without
being quite sure that nothing was lacking in her dress.
We know already that for three days the girl did not forget to visit the
balcony several times during the day, and even after dark, to make sure
that her beautiful rosebush needed nothing. Never was flower more
sedulously tended, never were rosebuds examined with such care; and
certainly no insect could have found a resting place on their stems,
unless it had shown the most determined obstinacy in returning thither.
On the third day, or rather the third evening, Bathilde heard the stone
fall on the balcony, where she did not happen to be at the time,
although she was always close at hand. She instantly detected the paper
wrapped about the stone. Her first impulse was to rush out and pick it
up; but she reflected that he who had thrown it must still be in the
street, and that, if she picked up his note at once, she would show him
that she was there, watching behind the curtain.
See how slyly even the most innocent can act sometimes! La Fontaine
tells us _how wit comes to young maids_; for my part, I believe that it
is all there as soon as they feel love for a man.
Bathilde waited, therefore, until the evening was well advanced before
she stole noiselessly out and picked up the stone and the paper. Then
she hastened to her room and locked herself in, to read at her ease that
first love letter, which was destined to put the finishing touch to this
turmoil in her heart, and perhaps to cause her much suffering, and which
it would have been wiser for her not to read.
But wisdom is often the fruit of experience, and Bathilde had had none.
She opened Léodgard's letter with a trembling hand, and eagerly read
these words:
"CHARMING BATHILDE:
"Need I tell you that I love you, that from the moment I first saw
you your cherished image has not gone from my memory and my heart?
You must know who I am: your friend Ambroisine called me by name
before you, but she has slandered me if she has told you that I am
incapable of keeping my faith.
"I shall love you always, Bathilde; because my love is sincere,
because you are the first woman who ever caused me to know a
genuine passion.
"You will say, perhaps, that too great a distance separates us,
that my name, my rank, keep us apart.--But only tell me that you
love me a little, and I will find a way to remove all obstacles.
What does it matter to me in what station of life you were born? In
my eyes, you are far above the _grandes dames_ of the court.
"My fortune, my name--I lay everything at your feet! Yes, before
God, I swear to take you for my wife!
"But come to your balcony, do not fly at night when I come near;
and, in pity's name, grant a few moments' interview to one who will
die if you refuse to love him.
"LÉODGARD DE MARVEJOLS."
Such a loving, ardent note was certain to make great ravages in an
inexperienced heart, in a heart which was conscious of a craving to
love. Love travels fast when it follows an unbeaten path.
Moreover, a secret sympathy drew the girl on; she too loved Léodgard.
Only an instant, a single glance, was necessary for that.
Bathilde read and reread and read again the young count's letter; she
held it in her hand when she went to bed, she kept it against her heart
all night. Ah! a first love letter is such a priceless treasure! A woman
may receive many of them in the course of her life, but the others are
never worth so much as that one.
The next morning Bathilde knew the letter by heart, and she said to
herself every instant:
"He loves me! he will always love me! I am the first woman whom he has
ever really loved! My birth is no obstacle, he says; in that case, he
will ask my parents for my hand, and will marry me. What joy! how happy
I shall be! Not because I shall be a countess; what do I care for that?
But I shall be his wife! and I shall be able, in my turn, to tell him
that I love him!--But then, I must go out on the balcony to-night and
speak to him. Suppose I consult my father first, and show him this
letter? But perhaps he would scold me for receiving it and reading it
without his permission!"