her to find rest on her solitary couch; she opened her window, which
looked on the yard, and after standing there for a moment left it
because there was no air; only that which came from the street could do
her any good.
Suddenly the girl remembered her rosebush, which she had neglected for a
week; she thought that it must be dying for lack of water, or that it
must at least be very sickly; and taking her lamp, which was still
burning on the table, she softly opened her door and went to the linen
closet, delighted to have found a pretext for going out on the balcony.
Bathilde placed her lamp in a corner, then opened the window without
noise, and in a moment was on the balcony, beside the rosebush. But
instead of examining the plant, she gazed into the darkness that
surrounded her.
The street was dark and seemed entirely deserted. Now and then she could
hear shouts in the distance and shrill whistles that seemed to answer
one another--signals far from reassuring to the belated bourgeois, who
quickened his pace as he hurried homeward preceded by a hired
torchbearer.
At other moments the silence of the night was disturbed by the songs of
students and pages, assembled to make an uproar and break windows.
But these lasted only an instant, then everything became quiet once
more.
The girl could see nothing in the dark street; there was no moon to
dissipate the gloom; and yet, she could not make up her mind to leave
the balcony. She felt better there; it seemed to her almost as if she
were with him of whom she thought constantly.
Suddenly she heard her name; the voice came from beneath the balcony.
She shuddered, but not with fear; she listened--her name was called
again. The voice was soft and supplicating.
"Who is there?" faltered Bathilde.
"He who thinks only of you, who cannot exist without you!"
"Oh! that is not true, monsieur; for you have not been here for four
days, you have not even tried to see me; therefore, you no longer think
of me!"
"Oh! you were so cruel, Bathilde! Not a word in reply to my letter; but,
instead of that, you ceased to come out, you no longer appeared on the
balcony!--Yes, I tried to forget you, to return here no more! But that
was impossible; my love is stronger than your disdain!"
"Ah! if that were true! But, no, I must not believe you! You seduce all
the women--Ambroisine told me so."
"Ambroisine simply repeats what she hears. Ought you to give credit to
the assertions of people who do not know me? Dear Bathilde, you should
believe your heart alone, for the heart never deceives."
"But I must not listen to you, for you are a great noble and I am only a
poor girl."
"You are an angel! and angels so rarely appear on earth!"
"Ambroisine told me that you were making sport of me when you swore that
I should be your wife!"
"Why have you more confidence in another person's word than in my oaths,
Bathilde?"
"Ah! I should be very happy if I could believe you!"
"You restore my hope, my life!"
"O mon Dieu! I think I hear my father coughing! adieu! fly!"
Bathilde hurriedly left the balcony, closed the window, took her lamp,
and returned to her room, without giving a thought to the poor rosebush,
which was the pretext of her nocturnal venture. We are ungrateful
creatures; in our happiness, we forget all those to whom we owe it.
And Bathilde was so happy now! he still loved her, he had not for one
instant ceased to think of her! His tender oaths intoxicated her heart
with joy and love. The love that possessed her was so true, so pure, so
sincere, that she no longer felt strong enough to contend against it.
Léodgard went his way no less happy than she; being perfectly certain
now of her love, he had but one thought: to possess her person whose
heart was already his; and with the young count it was a short interval
between the desire and its gratification.
The next night, about half-past eleven, Léodgard was in front of
Landry's house. He listened attentively; everything was quiet; not a
light was to be seen, and the night was as dark as the preceding one.
But the young count was well acquainted with the position of the
balcony, and he had measured its height from the ground beforehand.
Taking from beneath his cloak a short silk ladder to which a strong
iron hook was attached, he dexterously threw the hook over the balcony
rail, satisfied himself that it was firm, then climbed the ladder with
the agility of a squirrel, stepped onto the balcony, drew up the ladder,
and softly opened the window. On the preceding night, Bathilde in her
haste had closed the window without fastening it, so that everything
favored Léodgard's audacious enterprise.
But although he was in the linen closet, he must still find the girl's
bedroom. He opened the door, stepped into the hall, and cautiously felt
his way along, stopping frequently to listen. Something told him that
Bathilde herself would point out the direction he must follow.
And so it proved; he heard a sweet voice singing an old villanelle with
a slow and melancholy refrain.
Léodgard walked in the direction from which the sound came, and soon
spied a light shining through the crack of a door not entirely closed.
It was Bathilde's bedroom.
Suddenly she saw the door open and Léodgard appear before her; she
screamed, but her lover fell at her feet; she tried to fly from him, but
he already held her in his arms.
Poor Bathilde! she loved him too dearly to be capable of defending
herself.
The next morning her rosebush was dead.
* * * * *
Let us allow two months to elapse, during which the lovers rarely passed
a night without meeting. The silk ladder remained in Bathilde's room,
and she herself fastened it to the balcony at the hour agreed upon with
Léodgard, who no longer appeared in the morning in front of Master
Landry's abode.
Thus the lovers were able to enjoy their happiness in peace; no one was
in their confidence, therefore they feared no treachery.
Ambroisine had come more than once to see her friend, and had asked her
if she was beginning to be consoled, to forget Comte Léodgard. And
Bathilde had lied; for her lover had told her that their liaison must be
kept a profound secret until the time when he could mention it to her
father; and to obey Léodgard, Bathilde had pretended, in answer to her
friend, to be cured of her love.
But at the end of the two months which had passed so swiftly for
Bathilde, a message arrived for Landry: he learned that his wife, having
finished her litigation at last and received the amount of her
inheritance, was returning to Paris, and that she would arrive in two
days.
The thought that she was about to stand once more in her mother's
presence made the guilty girl tremble; it seemed to her that her mother
would read her shame on her forehead; and on the night following the
receipt of the news, being with her lover, she looked up at him with her
eyes full of tears, and said:
"Save me! My mother will be here to-morrow! If she learns of my fault, I
shall be undone! Oh! I implore you, delay no longer! Ask my father for
my hand; avow your love to him, so that I may be your wife, so that I
may love you without blushing! Otherwise, my mother will find a way to
prevent me from seeing you; and I shall die of shame and grief
combined!"
Léodgard tried to allay Bathilde's terror and grief; he did not seem
deeply afflicted to learn that Dame Ragonde's return would put an end to
those pleasant nocturnal meetings. But for two months he had had nothing
more to wish for, and he was only waiting for an opportunity to break
off an intrigue in which he had obtained all that he sought.
However, he concealed what was taking place in his mind from the girl,
who wept bitterly; he pretended to share her chagrin; he was most lavish
of oaths and promises, and swore that before long they would meet to
part no more.
The next day Dame Ragonde returned home, bringing the funds which she
destined for her daughter's marriage portion.
XXIII
THE HÔTEL DE MONGARCIN
It was the morrow of a grand reception given at the Hôtel de
Mongarcin,--a function which had brought together the most noble dames
and the gentlemen of the first families of France then residing in the
capital.
Madame de Ravenelle and her niece had done the honors of the fête; but
Valentine especially had displayed that grace and refinement of manner
which made her a noteworthy figure everywhere.
It was she who had conceived the idea of giving a reception; and her
aunt had consented, but on condition that her niece should take it upon
herself to arrange and manage everything.
The guests had conversed; they had played lansquenet, brelan, primero,
dice, and other fashionable games; they had danced sarabands,
_passe-pieds, branles_, and all the dances then in vogue. In fact,
everybody had seemed delighted with the evening's entertainment, and had
lavished compliments upon Valentine and Madame de Ravenelle,
congratulating the latter upon having a niece who did the honors of her
house so gracefully.
And as the givers of a large party are usually very tired on the
following day, the old aunt was stretched out on a reclining chair,
from which she did not stir; while Valentine sat on a sofa, with her
feet on a soft hassock, holding in her hands a piece of embroidery upon
which she was not working.
"Are you asleep, aunt?" inquired Valentine, after a very long silence.
"I think not, niece; at all events, if I had been, your question would
have waked me!"
"Oh! I see that you were not asleep at all.--Our reception last night
was very brilliant, was it not?"
"If it is to ask me that that you interfere with my doze----"
"No; I wanted to ask you also if you noticed that all those whom we
invited came?"
"All! do you think so?"
"Yes, aunt, with the exception of a single one.--Oh! I am quite sure
that you noticed that, too."
"It is true," said Madame de Ravenelle, partly rising, "that the young
Comte de Marvejols did not come."
"He is the one I mean. I trust that now you will not give another
thought to my marrying this gentleman, who shows--I will not say so
little zeal, for he has shown zeal in avoiding me!--but who is almost
discourteous to us!"
"But, Valentine, young Léodgard's father, the Marquis de Marvejols,
accepted our invitation; he apologized for his son and said that
fatigue, an attack of fever, kept him at home."
"Of course you do not suppose that I believe a word of that! Fatigue!
fever! If he were ill, would his father have come to our party?"
"He may be only indisposed; the marquis, his father, was delightfully
amiable with me! He is a man of the old school; he stands very well at
court; it is said that the king is much attached to him, and that the
cardinal himself has the highest esteem for Monsieur de Marvejols."
"Mon Dieu! aunt, I have never ventured to doubt any of monsieur le
marquis's estimable qualities, although his manner seems to me rather
stern than amiable. That he stands very well at court is possible; but
that does not make it any the less true that his son will never be my
husband. Upon my word! fancy my taking for my husband a man who despises
me!"
"Oh! my dear niece!"
"Why, my dear aunt, since this gentleman does not deign to take the
trouble to pay court to me, since he even avoids my society, does it not
mean that he disdains an alliance with me?"
"Have you heard of his paying court to any other woman? No!--If you
could name some nobly born person, some _grande dame_, whose assiduous
attendant he was, I could understand your irritation. But young Léodgard
goes most rarely into society; he likes those parties of young men,
where they gamble and drink and fight and raise the deuce with
passers-by.--Mon Dieu! niece, such amusements have been indulged in by
many young men of illustrious birth. Why, some even go so far as to say
that one of our kings took great pleasure in going out at night with his
favorites, his _mignons_, and that they used to steal cloaks from the
people they met!"
"Oh! aunt! do you approve of that?"
"No, surely not! But I simply mean to say that young Léodgard may be
only a heedless youth, who dreads the moment when he must marry; because
he knows that then he will have to reform, to change his mode of life
altogether and live in a circle where he must maintain his rank
worthily."
Valentine made no reply.
A few moments later she rang, and said to Madame de Ravenelle:
"I am going to tell Miretta to finish this tapestry; the work tires me,
and the little Béarnaise does it so beautifully!--She did that corner,
and it's much better than I can do. She is running over with talent,
that girl--she has excellent taste in everything; she trims a cap with
marvellous skill!--Will you allow her to work here, aunt, on my stool?
We shall not have any visitors to-day."
The old lady confined herself to a nod of assent.
Miretta entered the salon.
"Come here, Miretta," said Valentine, pointing to the stool; "sit here,
and work on my embroidery; this work bores me; in any event, I am in no
mood to hold a needle this morning; I am tired. Sit down. Are you
comfortable?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Don't hurry, work at your ease; this foot rest is not needed at
present.--Did you see everybody last night, Miretta?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; I helped the ladies to take off their cloaks and
mantles and shawls in the small reception room."
"Ah! to be sure. There were some very pretty ladies, were there not?"
"Oh, yes! but----"
"Well! finish."
"Mademoiselle will think that I mean to pay her a compliment; but I am
not given to flattery--I say just what I think."
"Well, say it; what do you think?"
"That mademoiselle was the most beautiful of all the ladies, married or
single, who were at the house last evening."
"Really? Why, that is very prettily said.--Do you hear what Miretta says
to me, aunt?"
Madame de Ravenelle did not reply, but they heard a sound as of
prolonged breathing.
"Ah! my aunt is asleep this time," continued Valentine; "so much the
better; we can talk more freely; but we will speak a little
lower.--Well! my poor Miretta, so you consider me beautiful enough to
carry the day over many other women. Several gentlemen told me last
night what you have just told me. I received a multitude of compliments,
attentions, even declarations! I am well aware that I must look upon
them as the little courtesies which it is customary to address to
ladies, but, after all, I know also that I am not ugly! And,
nevertheless, there is one young man who does not choose to see me, for
fear that he may be obliged to show me a little attention."
"Oh! that is most surprising, mademoiselle; unless, indeed, this young
noble has some other passion in his heart!"
"That is what I thought, myself; but I am told that it is not so!"
"But can anyone know such things?"
"Oh! you are right, Miretta; is it possible to know the secrets of the
heart? But look you, Miretta: I am very sure of one thing--that is, that
you love someone!"
"I, mademoiselle?" replied the girl, blushing.
"Yes, yes! you! Come, tell me the secrets of your heart; since you have
been in my service, I have watched you closely; in the first place, you
are not light-hearted and merry, as a girl should be; you sigh very
often; and when you think that you are not observed, you raise your eyes
to heaven as if in entreaty--for whom? Ah! it can only be for the man
whom one loves that one addresses such eloquent glances to heaven! Am I
wrong, Miretta? have you not in your heart a love which makes you
unhappy? Come, confess it!"
"Yes, mademoiselle, you are not mistaken; it is true that my heart
is--is no longer mine."
"Ah! I was perfectly sure of it; but then the man whom you love so
dearly does not reciprocate, since you sigh so much?"
"I beg pardon, mademoiselle; the man I love does return my love."
"Then why are you sad so often? Perhaps it is because there are
obstacles; you are not allowed to see each other, you are forbidden to
love."
"There are many obstacles, mademoiselle, in truth, and I meet him very
rarely."
"But he is in Paris, is he?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"And it was to join him that you came hither, I will warrant."
"That is true, mademoiselle."
"See what a power of divination I possess! But what does your lover do?
Is he not free? Are you not able to marry?"
Miretta lowered her eyes, her bosom heaved painfully, the pallor of
deadly alarm overspread her brow.
"Well! I see that I make you unhappy!" continued Valentine; "let us say
no more about it. But still, you do see your lover sometimes, and then
you are very happy. Oh! when that happens, I can detect it by your
face; you are no longer the same girl that you were the day before; you
smile and are almost gay. Because, as I believe it is as difficult to
conceal one's happiness as one's suffering.--For my part, I have no love
for the man they would like me to marry; no, indeed! I have not the
slightest love for him, although he is a very well-favored young man."
"Ah! do you know him, mademoiselle?"
"Very little; I have seen him once or twice in society. He is the son of
that old nobleman who was here last night--that tall, thin man with a
severe expression, dressed all in black, in the style of the time of
Henri IV, with a ruff that concealed his chin--the Marquis de Marvejols,
in fact."
"The Marquis de Marvejols! Is it his son whom you are expected to marry,
mademoiselle?"
"To be sure! why that exclamation?"
"Because, last night I was in the main vestibule when that old gentleman
arrived."
"Well! what then?"
"All your servants were there, and also a clerk from the office of your
aunt's solicitor, who had come to give her some information about some
business--a debt due her, or something else, I don't know what! But, as
you may imagine, they told the little clerk--for he is a very small
fellow--they told him that there was a grand reception going on, and
that madame could not receive him."
"What relation has all this to the old Marquis de Marvejols?"
"Why, mademoiselle, when Monsieur Bahuchet--that is the little clerk's
name--when he found that he could not be received, he put his papers in
his pocket, saying: 'Very well; I will return to-morrow.'--But, instead
of going away at once, as the guests were arriving, he remained a long
while in the vestibule, talking with the major-domo and the servants. He
is a great gossip, but he is amusing; for he made comments on everybody
who arrived, and I assure you, mademoiselle, that sometimes he said some
very comical things.--So, when this old gentleman arrived, and the
servant announced Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols, the little clerk
cried:
"'Ah! I know that nobleman, and his son too. He had a pretty little pile
of debts, had the son; but the father paid them all some time ago; it
was my master, my solicitor, who called the creditors together. Comte
Léodgard promised to reform, but he doesn't reform; he is beginning to
run in debt again; and then, he's a great fellow for midnight intrigues!
I'll wager that he won't come here to-night; he is too fully occupied
elsewhere!'"
"The clerk said that?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; I was quite near him and I heard him plainly."
"Well! what else did he say? go on!"
"He said nothing more on that subject, mademoiselle; for other persons
arrived, and he had comments to make on them. It seems that that young
man knows all Paris; but nothing more was said about the son of Monsieur
le Marquis de Marvejols."
"What a pity! I should be so glad to know something more; and it is very
probable that this clerk--what did you call him?"
"Bahuchet, mademoiselle; a bit of a man, not so tall as I am, and with a
most original face!"
"This Monsieur Bahuchet must know more; and as he is so talkative, if
one had an opportunity to question him----"
At that moment the door of the salon opened, and a servant appeared and
said:
"The clerk from the office of madame's solicitor, who came last evening,
wishes to know if he may speak to Madame de Ravenelle."
"Oh, yes! yes!" cried Valentine, jumping for joy. "Let him come in; he
could not come more opportunely!"
"Eh! mon Dieu! what is it? why this noise, these cries?" demanded the
old lady, rudely awakened from her nap. "What is the matter, Valentine?"
"Your solicitor's clerk wishes to speak with you, aunt."
"And that is your reason for shrieking so! Let them send the clerk away;
I do not care to attend to any business to-day, I am too tired."
"But, aunt, he came last night; and then, if you knew--he will tell us
some very interesting things about the young Comte de Marvejols."
"What! my solicitor?"
"His clerk. I beg you, my dear aunt, let me question him; do not you
take the trouble to speak, if it tires you; I will speak for you."
Madame de Ravenelle threw herself back in her reclining chair, and at
the same instant Monsieur Bahuchet was ushered into the presence of the
ladies.
XXIV
THE WHITE PLUME
At sight of that young man of four feet eight, with his enormous head,
his huge mouth, his gaping nostrils, and, with all the rest, a
self-assured and pretentious air which bordered closely upon
impertinence, Valentine turned her head away in order not to laugh in
his face.
Bahuchet took four steps into the salon, then made two very low
reverences, one to Madame de Ravenelle, the other to her niece. As for
Miretta, he simply bestowed a patronizing smile upon her, as if to say:
"I know you, my dear; I know that you are the lady's-maid."
"What do you want with me, monsieur?" inquired the old lady, without
moving.
"Madame, I am sent hither by my employer, Maître Pierre-Guillaume
Bourdinard, your solicitor before the courts, and am instructed to
inform you, on the part of said Bourdinard, that Sieur Benoît-Gervais
Cocatrix, your tenant and debtor, now occupying your property on Rue des
Lions-Saint-Paul, has not yet paid his rent for the current term, or for
previous terms since he has occupied the said property, albeit we have
duly and frequently served upon him notices and citations on stamped
paper, which citations, engrossed by your humble servant, Nicolas
Bahuchet, should be paid for by the debtor, who, however----"
"Enough! enough!" said the old lady, motioning to the little clerk to
hold his peace; "you drive me mad with your pettifogger's jargon. Come
to the point, if you please; has my tenant paid his rent?"
"I was proceeding to certify the contrary by my peroration, if madame
had allowed me to finish.--I continue: And Maître Bourdinard, my worthy
employer, having to no purpose threatened your tenant, desires to know
whether he shall grant him still more time, or shall force him to vacate
the premises _ex abrupto_."
"How now, monsieur! Are you talking Latin to me? Do you imagine that by
any chance I can understand it? Let my solicitor procure my money for
me; he may employ whatever method he chooses--that is his affair. But I
do not choose to be pestered any more with this business; that, I trust,
is understood."
"Perfectly, madame; your orders shall be carried out. I will transmit
them to Maître Bourdinard personally, as I now have the honor to speak
with you, and the law will take its course. _Dixi!_ Whereupon I have the
honor----"
And the little clerk was already preparing to take his leave, when
Valentine said to him:
"One moment, monsieur; I have a question or two--some information to
request from you. But I would be very glad if, in answering me, you
would employ neither Latin nor the phraseology of the courtroom."
"Oh! with pleasure, mademoiselle; now that my employer's errand is done,
I become once more a jovial Basochian, master of his acts and his
tongue. But when we are performing our duties as clerk, we must needs
adopt the manner and language of the office. Moreover, it is always well
to show that one has education! That is what I constantly tell Plumard,
who thinks of nothing but finding pomades to make his hair grow. Plumard
is my fellow clerk, but he is bald and----"
"I do not desire to speak to you of your fellow clerk Plumard, monsieur;
but last evening you made comments in a loud tone upon a large number of
persons who came to our reception."
"That is quite possible, mademoiselle; comments of no consequence. One
must talk and laugh a bit, and show that one has conversational
powers."
"All your comments were not without consequence, monsieur; especially
those in which you indulged concerning the son of Monsieur le Marquis de
Marvejols."