CHAPTER XVI

HOW WILL IT END

When one loves ardently, and when one sees that moment approach which

heralds the consummation of his dearest wishes, when one is for the

first time entirely alone with the beloved of his heart, one experiences

an uneasiness, an agitation which one cannot quell, and which one cannot

reasonably account for; it is almost as though one feared that one's

being would be unable to support the realization of this exquisite

happiness, as though one doubted whether hopes so sweet, and which have

hitherto been so unattainable, can ever be realized.

It is, above all, when one loves with the candor and good faith of early

youth that one yields himself tremblingly to the first interview which

sounds a knell to all the cherished past. Why, at the very moment of

happiness, should one sigh and fear? Poor mortals, it seems that

accustomed to sorrow, we shall always be astonished at being happy. In

truth, this astonishment passes with age and experience; then these

delightful rendezvous do not cause us the same emotion; we regard them

only as distractions, and laugh at the uneasiness, the embarrassment,

which accompanied our first intercourse with the ladies. Ungrateful that

we are, we mock at the source of our happiness, at those sweet

sensations which time has dissipated, with all the other illusions of

our youth, after the manner of the fox in the fable.

"How awkward we were at eighteen years of age," we say; "how embarrassed

and constrained in a tete-a-tete, trembling like a leaf as we went to

the rendezvous; what a difference now, we go to them singing, we reach

that which we desire more quickly, we are a hundred times more

pleasing." Yes, but our hair is becoming grizzly, our figure has become

rotund, and some rather deep lines are imprinted at the corners of our

eyes.

If the approach of long-desired happiness causes in love an inexplicable

trouble, what should be the state of one who, all of a sudden, without

having had even the slightest hope, finds himself in a position where he

may obtain the greatest heights. Such was Urbain's situation; he loved

Blanche with the delirium, the intoxication, which one experiences at

nineteen for his first love, and he found himself at eleven o'clock at

night alone with the object of his tenderness in a little chamber,

separated from all neighbors, with the lovely child drawing the bolt and

beginning to undress herself to go to bed. What lover at such a moment

could preserve his reason? Poor Blanche, I tremble for thee! In truth

thou hast a talisman, but I have no great faith in its power; above

all, if you allow yourself to remain with Urbain in the situation in

which he is placed. The young bachelor tremblingly paused, sighing and

saying not a word he remained standing in a corner of the room, while

Blanche prepared the bed, coming and going, jumping and laughing, and

finally began to undress herself.

"O heavens!" said Urbain to himself, trembling, coloring, and lowering

his eyes, but raising them from time to time to look at Blanche. "O my

God! what must I do. This is not the moment to declare myself, to make

known to her who I am, to implore her pardon, and to confess my love to

her; but, yes, it is indeed the moment. However, if that confession

should frighten her, if her cries should bring somebody here, or if she

should drive me from the room. That will be such a pity when I can, by

deceiving her a little longer, share her bed, and--oh, no! that would be

very ill done! But how pretty she is! great God, how charming! Ah, I

will not look at her." And the rascal looked at her all the time, slyly,

it is true, but the more he looked at her the more he felt his

resolution imperilled; for each moment Blanche took off some part of her

costume, already only a little petticoat covered her seductive form, and

the straight corset which had imprisoned her pretty figure was laid upon

the bed.

Blanche stopped; however, it was time. She looked at Urbain, who was

still standing there, motionless and silent.

"Come, Ursule, why don't you undress yourself?" said the young girl,

approaching the bachelor.

"Because, mademoiselle, I do not know why, I'm afraid."

"What? you're afraid? Are you afraid with me, Ursule?"

"Afraid, mademoiselle? Yes, I feel that I am very much afraid."

"Why, that's just like Marguerite, and I, who am much younger, am a

great deal braver. It is true that the wind blows very hard, but it

won't carry us away from here. How she trembles! Why Ursule, how can you

go every evening alone as far as the Porte Saint-Antoine and yet you

tremble with me in my chamber."

"Ah, that's very different."

"Is it because Marguerite has carried off your talisman? But we still

have mine. Wait, do you see when I take off my corsets I fasten it here,

inside my chemise, for dear nurse says that it is necessary above all to

have it during the night, and that it is when they are in bed that the

sorcerers come to torment young girls. Is that true, Ursule? Do they

sometimes try to torment you in the night?"

"Yes--no, mademoiselle." Urbain did not know what he was saying, for his

eyes, despite himself, turned towards the perfidious talisman which

seemed to be there, like the serpent on the tree of the knowledge of

good and evil, to make him succumb to temptation.

"You are shivering with cold, Ursule, we shall be much better in bed; we

shall be warmer. Do you want me to help you undress? How you are

sighing. Is it because you are in some trouble? You must tell me all

about it. It is so pleasant to have some friend, to be able to tell her

all that one thinks. Let's see; first, we'll take off this cap which

hides all your face. I am sure that mine will become you better, let us

try it. But sit down first; you're so big, my dear Ursule, that I can't

reach your head."

The young bachelor allowed himself to be led to a chair. He seated

himself, and the lovely child, standing before him, began to loosen the

pins which held his cap and his big brown curls. Urbain allowed Blanche

to take off his headdress. He had decided to make himself known, besides

sooner or later she must know the truth, and in order not to frighten

her it was better that the metamorphosis should be gently made. The last

pin was taken out, Blanche lifted the cap and the young man's brown

curls escaped on all sides and fell on his forehead and on his neck. The

young girl uttered an exclamation and stopped. Urbain, fearing already

that she was about to fly, lightly surrounded her waist with his two

arms.

[Illustration]

"How funny that is," said Blanche, at last, looking at Urbain with

astonishment. "Your hair isn't done at all like that of all the women I

ever saw. Is it the fashion to wear it like that in Verberie?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"Do you know, Ursule, that the more I look at you the more you look like

a man to me."

"Somebody told me that before, mademoiselle."

"But it's really astonishing. Your hair is dressed exactly like that of

the men I see passing in the street."

"Do you dislike it so?"

"No--however--it produces a very singular effect on me."

"If I were a man would you be angry?"

"Mercy, yes, I believe I should, for then you couldn't be my friend any

more. I couldn't love you as a sister."

"But Blanche, if I were a man I should be your lover. A most tender, a

most faithful lover. I could love you to distraction, and love is much

stronger than friendship. Then, if you will share my affection, could

there exist a mortal happier than I? Dear Blanche, if I could only

possess your heart. Is there anything more precious on earth? To obtain

it, I would give the last drop of my blood."

While speaking Urbain, engrossed by his love, no longer sought to

disguise his voice. His arms still surrounded Blanche and the young

girl, greatly moved, dropped on the knees of the young bachelor, saying

in a feeble voice,--

"Mon Dieu, Ursule, don't say such things to me. They make me uneasy. I

don't know what's the matter with me. I feel that I wish to cry. What

use is it to tell such falsehoods, to speak of love and of loving?

Ursule, somebody has told me that it is very wrong to talk about those

things. O heavens! since you haven't your cap on, I dare not look at

you."

"Blanche! dear Blanche!"

"Well now, you're still pretending to be a man, and it frightens me.

Come, Ursule, be a woman again, I beg of you."

"No, Blanche, I will not deceive you further. It is a man--it's--the

most tender lover who is near you."

By a sudden movement Blanche rose and escaped to the other end of the

room; Urbain did not seek to restrain her, but fell on his knees and

held out his hands towards her, seeming to await her forgiveness, while

the young girl looked at him with eyes which expressed more surprise

than fear.

"What? are you really a man?" said the amiable child, after a moment.

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"Are you quite sure of it?"

"Oh, yes."

"O good heavens! don't come near me, I beg of you."

"Ah, don't tremble so, I am at your feet, the most submissive of

lovers."

"Of lovers! I don't know what a lover is."

"It was that I might be successful in seeing you, that I might make

known to you all the love that I feel for you, that I have dared to take

this disguise. Without that how should I have managed to see you when

they keep you in prison in this room?"

"I never go out of it. I should not listen to you perhaps. How did you

come to love me?"

"It was through the window that I first saw you. Some singers were

standing under the casement. You seemed to listen to them with great

pleasure. That night I returned and sang under your window the romance

which you like so much."

"That was you?" cried Blanche, joyfully; and already forgetting her

first fear she looked at Urbain with more assurance. Her pure and

innocent mind could not conceive all the danger of her situation. A more

experienced young girl would have cried and have shown much anger, but

Blanche, whose soul was a stranger to all dissimulation evinced the same

confidence in the young bachelor as she did in Ursule, because she had

no other thought which could make her blush. "Why! was that you?" she

repeated, "It isn't astonishing that I found such a resemblance in your

voice, but it wasn't good of you, monsieur, to lie to us like that. I

was quite sure that you were Ursule and I loved you like a dear friend,

and can I continue to love you like that now?"

"And what should prevent you, if I have not displeased you?"

"Oh, no! you haven't displeased me. I even think that you look better

without a cap, but it's not allowable to love a man."

"Why not, when that man wishes to become your husband?"

"Marguerite says that all men are deceivers and then, O heavens! the

devil also takes the form of a man, and presented himself thus to the

sorcerer of Verberie. O mon Dieu, if you should be the devil!"

"O Blanche, what a thought!"

"But no, you look too sweet--you're not all black, and you haven't any

claws."

"My name is Urbain Dorgeville. My parents were honest and respected. I

am an orphan. I haven't much fortune, but when one loves truly is it

necessary to have much in order to be happy? Dear Blanche, will you

forgive me?"

"He calls me his dear Blanche, how funny that is! And if I don't forgive

you, what will happen?"

"You will reduce me to despair and nothing will remain for me but to

die."

"Oh, I don't wish that you should die," cried the amiable child, "and I

will forgive you, for I should be very vexed if I caused you any grief."

"Can it be," said Urbain, rising and running towards Blanche. The young

girl made a movement of fear, then, recovering herself, she smiled, and

signed to Urbain to seat himself near her. The happy bachelor placed his

chair close up to that of Blanche and very gently took one of her hands,

which the ingenuous child allowed him to retain.

"You forgive me for loving you, then?" said he, looking at her tenderly.

"Of course, I'm obliged to, since you say that it will make you die if I

forbid you to."

"And you, also, will love me?"

"Oh, I don't know. I loved Ursule very much, however, but you--it

wouldn't be the same thing, would it?"

"It would be much sweeter."

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure of it, by what I experience at this moment."

"You are very happy now, then?"

"Yes, very happy; for you are no longer afraid of me, are you?"

"No, I am not afraid of you, but why do you hold my hand like that?"

"I should like to press it always, to hold it incessantly against my

heart."

"And is that yet another proof of love?"

"Yes, Blanche, but if it displeases you I will not keep this dear hand."

"Oh, that doesn't displease me, but yours is burning. It makes mine

warm. And why are you trembling? Is it love that makes you like that?"

"Yes, it burns me, it consumes me."

"Oh, it must be very unpleasant to love like that."

The young bachelor, to solace, no doubt, the malady which devoured him,

carried Blanche's hand to his lips and covered it with kisses. The young

girl allowed him to do so, although the passionate glances of her lover

were beginning to produce a strange feeling of uneasiness in her heart.

Her breast rose more frequently, she sighed, and said in a faint

voice,--

"Urbain--Ursule; mon Dieu, I don't know what's the matter with me, but I

am afraid I've caught your malady. Wait! see how I am trembling now! Oh,

my talisman, my talisman!"

Poor Blanche, what will you do? While promising to himself to respect

the virtue of the young girl, Urbain yielded to the ardor which inflamed

him, and pressed Blanche tightly in his arms, begging her not to

tremble; Blanche, astonished, did not repulse him, for excessive

innocence has also its dangers, but at this moment somebody knocked

violently at the door of the room and the barber's stern voice uttered

these words,--

"Open the door, Blanche! I command you to open the door!"

The young bachelor seemed petrified, and Blanche remained motionless in

Urbain's arms, which still enfolded her.

THE BARBER OF PARIS

VOLUME II

CHAPTER I

WHO COULD HAVE EXPECTED IT

The slap in the face which had been so vigorously applied to the

impertinent Chevalier Chaudoreille by Urbain in his character of a

good-looking young woman, though richly deserved, had been so

unexpected, had so thoroughly stunned the poor little specimen of

humanity that he had remained for some moments supported by the stone

post against which he had been flung by the force of the blow, entirely

unconscious as to his whereabouts.

But as his wits returned to their normal capacity, and he fully realized

the indignity to which he had been subjected in being overcome by a blow

from a woman, at a moment, too, when he thought his success certain, the

little fellow drew himself up with fierce determination, and, as he

rubbed his still tingling and burning cheek, he exclaimed,--

"Oh, hang it all! Is it likely I will submit to such treatment. I shall

know how to revenge myself, young Amazon, little as you may think so at

the present moment. Never shall it be said that Venus withdrew from the

transports of Mars; that slap in the face shall prove costly to her

virtue."

Immediately he followed on the steps of his Venus, who was dashing

along, jumping over the streams which came in her way. Chaudoreille's

sharp little eyes recognized the person whom he was pursuing just at the

moment when Urbain reached the barber's house and entered the alleyway,

shutting the door immediately after him.

Chaudoreille knew Touquet's house so well that his distance from the

pretended country woman could not prevent him from recognizing her place

of retreat, and it was with extreme surprise that our poursuivant

d'amour perceived that his beauty had taken refuge in the house of his

friend, Touquet. He approached the alley, presuming that she might

inadvertently have left the door open, but it was closed; besides, the

person he had followed had not hesitated for an instant in the choice of

a hiding-place, all of which seemed to indicate that the barber's house

had been her destination. This incident gave rise to many conjectures on

Chaudoreille's part, awakening his lively curiosity; he decided not to

leave the house until the departure of the one whom he had seen enter,

and walked up and down from the Rue des Mauvaises-Paroles to the Rue

Saint-Honore.

Time passed and Chaudoreille vainly watched, with his eyes directed to

the house, noticing that there was still a light in Blanche's room. Soon

the rain began to fall and the wind blew violently; but the chevalier,

though inadequately protected by a penthouse, under which he had taken

refuge, did not dream of leaving the place, and wrapped himself as well

as he could in his little cloak, saying,--

"She must come out sooner or later. What the deuce! can she be Touquet's

mistress? Oh, hang it! I must seek the clue to this enigma. The light is

still burning in my beautiful scholar's room. Hem! I have certain

suspicions. That devil of a slap in the face was given to me with so

much force that it makes me believe that my Venus may perhaps have a

beard. Patience, she will either come out or I shall go in!"

Poor lovers! While you were enjoying so much the pleasure of being

together, while you were beginning to understand each other and to

exchange loving glances, in which Blanche no longer showed any timidity,

you had no suspicion that at a short distance from you a cursed man had

his eyes directed to your window and proposed to disturb your happiness;

and all because the success of his shuffling, the white wine, and

Urbain's fictitious charms had mounted to Chaudoreille's head.

Eleven o'clock had long since struck. We know what had taken place

upstairs; now let us see what had taken place below.

Chaudoreille, unable longer to contain himself, decided to knock at the

barber's door. The lovers had not heard him, because at that moment

Urbain was kissing Blanche's soft little hand, and in so agreeable an

occupation one is not liable to notice what takes place in the street.

Marguerite was snoring in a manner which did not indicate fear; in

truth, she had gone to sleep with the precious talisman at her side.

But the barber was not asleep; whether it was because of the storm or

the wind, or from some other cause, Master Touquet, who rarely slept

peacefully in his bed at night, had not yet gone up to his room, and was

pacing slowly in his back shop, ever gloomy and preoccupied, and

murmuring at intervals,--

"Cursed night! Why do these shadows incessantly disturb my rest? As soon

as daylight disappears my torments recommence. I have gold--yes, I have

gold, but I no longer enjoy my natural rest. I shall sell this house; I

shall go far from here, very far. I shall return to my country, my

father, if he is still living. He will be very much astonished at the

change in my fortune. He cursed me when I left the country--but I will

ask him to forgive me; yes, he will surely forgive my early faults when

he sees that I am rich and respected. I shall not tell him all; no, I

shall not tell him how I acquired this fortune."

A bitter smile flickered on the barber's pale lips and he returned to

his reflections, from which he was drawn by the knocking at the door.

Touquet started with fright, but immediately appearing ashamed of

himself, took his lamp and went quickly towards the door. He did not

expect anyone so late, but supposed that the Marquis de Villebelle,

finding himself in that neighborhood, was perhaps seeking him in regard

to some new love intrigue.

As he drew near the door he recognized Chaudoreille's voice, calling,--

"Open the door, Touquet. Open the door. Don't be afraid, it's me, but it

is absolutely necessary that I should speak to you."

The barber opened the door; and Chaudoreille, whose soaked garments were

glued to his lean figure, which appeared even more attenuated than

usual, being all shrivelled up under his cloak, came into the alley

huddled together, as if he were afraid that his head would hit the

little lattice-work over the door.

"What the devil has brought you here at this hour?" said the barber,

shutting his door, while the Gascon looked towards the end of the alley

as though he were trying to see someone. Finally, he put his finger on

his mouth and said in a low voice,--

"Are you alone just now?"

"Yes, certainly."

"You have no visitors?"

"Why, no, nobody, I tell you."

"Then it is urgent that I should speak with you."

The barber returned into the lower room, and Chaudoreille followed him,

walking on his tiptoes and turning to the right and left, as though he

were looking for someone.

"Come, what have you got to say?" said Touquet. "What means this visit,

so near midnight? Did you think that I should be inclined to sleep you?

Go. There are still gambling dens open in Paris where you can find a

bed, but my house shall not serve as a shelter for nighthawks."

Chaudoreille, without appearing in the least disconcerted, listened to

Touquet, shaking his hat meanwhile, and wringing his mantle; he smiled

with a mischievous air as he listened to the barber's last words, and

answered,--

"Your house! By jingo, you make a good deal of fuss about your house. We

shall see presently whether you receive any suspicious persons."

"What do you mean by that?" cried Touquet, angrily.

"Hush! Don't make so much noise, I beg of you. Don't wake the cat up,

she is asleep."

"Chaudoreille, I'm losing patience. Say what you want, or I'll be the

death of you."

"Well, what the deuce! I came to do you a service, and it seems to me

that that shouldn't make you angry. Listen now, but I beg of you don't

lose your temper, for that will make me break the thread of my

discourse."

The barber restrained himself as well as he could, and Chaudoreille,

after passing his cuff over the edge of his hat to give it a lustre,

commenced his story in a low voice,--

"I was going this morning to Saint-Germain's fair and found myself

without money, something which very often happens with me. I had eaten

nothing since yesterday."

"You have eaten and drunk since, I'll answer for it."

"Yes, certainly, thanks to my genius. I was making some rather sad

reflections on the instability of my luck at piquet, the treacherous

chances of lansquenet and the lack of solidity in gambling--"

"I should like to make you reflect at this minute on the strength of a

good stick."

"Hush, don't interrupt me. I perceived at the fair two young men,

youths, you know; some of those faces which seem to say, 'Who will come

and do me?' those faces without mischief which are a veritable good

fortune for men of parts. The poor little fellows were playing at

skittles."

"Come to the point. You are abusing my patience."

"This all leads up to the matter which regards you. I approached the

innocents and showed them a new stroke which they did not know, I'll

answer for it. In short, we dined together, and I only took a pistole

from them for the lesson, which was very reasonable, but if they had

refused me I would have spitted them both like sparrows. Don't stamp

your foot, I'm nearing the end. I was returning gayly, according to my

habit, when I met a country woman in the street who seemed to me

agreeable, although I saw little of her. Her carriage was free and

unconstrained, she was big and strong; I was very much taken by her. I

caught up to her and I said some charming things to her. Would you

believe it? not a word in response; I repeated them, still no answer; I

approached her and pinched her, and, my dear fellow, I received a most

vigorous slap in the face."

"Well, hang it! she did well. Finish your chatter if you don't wish to

receive a second."

"Stunned for an instant, I soon recovered my wits. I pursued the

traitress. I saw her enter--where do you suppose?--your house."

"She came into my house? It is impossible; you are deceived."

"No, by all the devils! I know your dwelling well enough. She came in by

the alleyway and shut the door immediately."

"What time was it then?"

"About seven o'clock. And I can answer for it that she didn't come out,

for I haven't stirred from the front of the house."

"What, wretch, that woman has been so long in my house, and you only now

come to tell me?"

"What do you expect? I didn't know what to do; between you and I, I

thought the dame came to see you, but seeing that there was still a

light in my scholar's room, I thought--"

"A light in Blanche's room?"

"Why, yes, by jingo! There's one there at this moment, from which I

concluded--"

The barber hastily arose, lit a second lamp, took his sword and directed

his steps towards the staircase at the back, saying to Chaudoreille,--

"Remain here and wait for me."

"Why, don't you want me to come with you?"

"Remain, here, I tell you, but if you have deceived me, tremble; your

chastisement shall be proportioned to my anger."

"May the devil fly away with him," said Chaudoreille, ensconcing himself

in a corner of the room. "I came to render him a service and he's going

to flog me if he doesn't find the guilty person. That slap in the face

may be followed by something still more cruel."

Touquet ran rapidly up the stairs to Blanche's room; he knocked, and

ordered the young girl to open the door; we have seen the effect which

these unexpected words produced on the young couple within the chamber.

Urbain remained motionless, his arms still embracing the young girl,

who was only half dressed. In a second all the suspicions which the

situation would give rise to, in the mind of the person who had

discovered them, flashed across him. Blanche, still innocent and pure,

though her virtue had been endangered, Blanche would be adjudged guilty,

and he was the cause of it. How could he prevent it? All these thoughts,

rapid as lightning, transpired during the time which elapsed before the

barber knocked for the second time, and loudly reiterated in a

threatening voice the order which he had given. Urbain glanced at the

chimney, seeing only that way of escaping from sight. He was about to

run to it when Blanche stopped him. She had already recovered from her

first fright, and said to him, with a calmness which astonished him,--

"Where are you going?"

"To hide myself."

"No, no, it is unnecessary for you to hide. Why not tell the whole

truth?"

"O Blanche, if anyone finds me with you--at night?"

"Well, what of it? We have done nothing wrong. It is much better to

confess everything at once than to lie about it," and the lovely child

ran to the door, drew the bolt and opened to the barber. The latter

darted into the room. His first looks were bent on Urbain, who was

standing by the hearth. Touquet only looked at him for a moment, for he

had instantly recognized the young bachelor, and drawing his sword he

rushed upon him, crying,--

"Scoundrel! You shall pay with your life for your temerity."

Urbain remained motionless, appearing to brave Touquet's fury, but

seeing the homicidal weapon flash, Blanche cried out, and, quick as the

barber, ran and placed herself before Urbain, whom she covered with her

body; then, lifting her hands towards Touquet, she cried with an accent

which came from her heart,--

"O monsieur, he has done nothing wrong."

The barber's weapon nearly grazed Blanche's bosom, but the young girl's

accents were so touching, her sweet features wore an expression so

noble, that the barber himself could not resist her. His anger seemed

vanquished. He dropped his sword, and said in a less gloomy voice,--

"This man has outraged you, and you don't wish me to avenge you? You ask

me to pardon him? Very well, I shall not strike."

"What?" said Blanche, surprised. "What, monsieur, is it because of me

that you were about to hurt Urbain? Oh, you would have been very wrong.

You say he has outraged me; but, no, monsieur, I swear to you he has

not. He has told me that he loves me very much, that he will love me all

his life, but there is nothing outrageous in that, for when you knocked

at the door I believe I was just going to tell him that I loved him

also. You see that I am just as guilty as he is, and that it is

necessary for you to punish both of us."

Blanche's words had an accent of truth which it was impossible to

mistake. The barber glanced in astonishment at her and at Urbain, who

saw that he then believed, despite appearances, that Blanche still

retained her purity. However, the disorder which reigned in the

apartment, the singular costume of the young girl and of Urbain, which

was divided between that of the two sexes, all appeared to confuse

Touquet's ideas.

"Listen to us," said Blanche to him, "you shall know the whole truth.

Urbain, to be sure, is a little to blame, for he has come to see us

every evening for nearly a fortnight, but he came as a young girl. At

first I was angry with him also, but finally I have forgiven him. Urbain

has such a sweet expression, and then, I already loved Ursule very much,

and that made me love him also. He said that he wished to be my lover,

my husband, that he could not live without me, and that it would depend

upon you to make us happy forever. Ah, you will be good, will you not,

my dear friend? You have already done much for me. Give me Urbain for my

husband, and I promise you that I will never ask anything of you again."

The barber, while listening to Blanche, muttered to himself,--

"For nearly a fortnight he has been coming here every evening, it is by

a great chance that I discovered him today, and yet I believed that I

could easily guard a young girl and brave the enterprises of lovers."

"Monsieur," said Urbain, who up to that moment had kept silent, "I

confess all the wrong I have done, and love alone must be my excuse; but

I adored Blanche, whom I had seen through the panes of that window, and

you would not permit any man to approach her. I tried once to begin an

acquaintance with you, but the manner in which you received me left me

no hope. I then consulted nothing but my love. Thanks to this disguise I

deceived old Marguerite, who consented to introduce me here. I saw

Blanche, and could I renounce the hope of possessing her? She was

deceived as well as her nurse. Under the name of Ursule I had the good

fortune to gain her confidence and, by some interesting stories, to

amuse old Marguerite. I rejoiced in my happiness without daring to make

myself known. Today, on account of the storm, the rain, which fell so

violently, the advanced hour, she invited me to remain."

"Yes," said Blanche, with an angelic smile, "He was going to sleep with

me. I myself begged him to do so."

The barber knit his brows and glanced angrily at the young man. Urbain

instantly threw himself at his feet, crying,--

"I have respected her virtue, her innocence. O monsieur, can I not touch

you with my love. Yes, I adore Blanche, give me her hand or deprive me

of a life which without her would be insupportable."

"Hear us, my friend," said Blanche. "He will absolutely die if I am not

his wife, and if he should die I feel that I should die of grief, too."

The barber appeared to listen to Urbain without being in the least moved

by his prayers, when the young bachelor added,--

"I know, monsieur, all that you have done for Blanche. Her father was

assassinated, she remained an orphan without any support. She owes

everything to you."

"What?" said Touquet, who had paid more attention to Urbain's last

words, "you know--"

"Yes, monsieur, I learned all that concerns her whom I adore. She did

not know her parents and possessed no fortune, but it is she alone whom

I ask of you. You have done well for her. Give me Blanche; she is

sufficient for my happiness. I also am an orphan; my family was honest

and respectable, but I have no relations left. My name is Urbain

Dorgeville; I have an income of twelve hundred livres; that is very

little, but I possess besides a little house in the country, on the

borders of the Loire, there I shall go to live with Blanche. Far from

the tumult of the city, which we shall not regret, nor its pleasures;

and far from society, which we do not wish to know, we shall there pass

our days in peace and love and happiness."

The barber appeared to reflect deeply. He rose, and strolled about the

room with bowed head. Hope and fear were depicted in the looks of the

two lovers, who waited with impatience his answer. Finally, he paused,

and said to Urbain,--

"You are an orphan? Entirely master of your own actions?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"There is nobody to object to your marrying an orphan without means, and

whose family is unknown?"

"Nobody, I repeat to you, can oppose my wishes."

"You will never seek, yourself, to obtain any information in regard to

Blanche's family, which, besides, would prove entirely fruitless."

"Why, what does it matter to me who were her parents. She is a treasure

in herself."

"And you will go to live with her far from Paris--far from everyone?"

"Yes, for I shall make it my care to be all-sufficient to her

happiness."

"O heavens, Urbain," said Blanche, "You know very well that I never left

this room, where I saw no one but Marguerite. If I were to live with you

in the country do you suppose that I should wish for anything else?"

"Dear Blanche, unite with me then in obtaining the consent of your

protector."

The two young people bent on the barber entreating looks. The latter did

not notice them and appeared entirely wrapped in his reflections; at

last, all of a sudden, he stopped before Urbain, and said, in a curt

tone,--

"Blanche is yours."

"Can it be?" cried the young bachelor, in a delirium of happiness.

"Blanche, do you hear? He consents to our union."

"Oh, my dear friend, how much I thank you."

And the two lovers fell on their knees before Touquet, their eyes bathed

with tears of pleasure and gratitude.

"What are you doing?" said the barber, who seemed ashamed to see the

young couple at his feet. "Get up, I beg of you."

"You have made us happy," said Urbain, "and you will not even receive

our thanks."

"No, no, I wish for nothing but silence and discretion."

"Aren't you glad now that you didn't injure Urbain? He meant no harm in

disguising himself as a girl. It was he who sang so beautifully under my

window. Oh, how happy I am! He can sing with me all the time now. He

will teach me that pretty ballad and some others, too. Will you not,

Urbain, teach me many things? Oh, how happy we shall be."

The barber had some trouble in calming Urbain's transports and Blanche's

naive joy. Finally he succeeded in making them listen.

"Until the time of your union," said he, "I repeat to you, I shall exact

the greatest discretion. Urbain you must promise me not to speak of your

marriage, and not to bring any of your acquaintances here."

"I swear to you, monsieur, that I will do as you wish; besides, I don't

know anybody. I have no intimate friends."

"That is better still, you will have less to regret in leaving the city.

Make all your preparations for departure, and procure all the necessary

documents for your marriage. As to Blanche, I will give you the letter

found on her father; that is all which concerns that matter. When you

have made all the necessary arrangements, you can marry Blanche--but in

the evening without any stir, with nothing that can draw people to the

church to see the ceremony; I dislike idlers and curious people.

Afterwards you will immediately start for the country; and you will not

return to this city, where your modest means would not permit you to

live happily."

"Yes, I agree to all, monsieur."

"Are you coming with us, my friend?"

"No, that is not necessary. Later on, perhaps."

"And Marguerite, can we take her with us?"

"Yes."

"How nice that will be!"

"Up to the day of your departure Urbain can come here, but in the

evening only, and not in disguise."

"He will come as a boy. I am very curious to see him like that."

"You understand; it is very late. It is necessary for you to retire.

Urbain, I repeat to you, maintain the greatest silence about all this.

Hasten your preparations, and Blanche will soon be yours."

Urbain renewed his promises and his thanks to the barber, and took

Blanche's hand and covered it with kisses. The young people could hardly

believe in their happiness, and the future that was opening before them

still seemed a dream of their imagination, but Touquet hurried them.

"I shall see you tomorrow," said Urbain.

"Tomorrow," repeated Blanche, "and not in woman's clothes. Do you hear?

I wish to grow accustomed to seeing you as a man."

"Yes, dear Blanche, yes. No more pretence now."

The barber cut their adieux short and led away the young man, and

Blanche closed her door, sighing and murmuring still,--

"Tomorrow."

Touquet guided Urbain, holding the lamp in his hand, and walking rapidly

towards the staircase; but hardly had he taken ten steps in the passage

when his foot caught in something. He lowered his lamp and perceived a

little shapeless heap which moved and appeared to want to glide along

the wall. The barber ran at this object and, quickly lifting the mantle

which covered it, perceived Chaudoreille, with his body on all fours in

such a way as not to take more room than a big cat.

"What are you doing there, clown?" cried Touquet, putting his lamp

against Chaudoreille's face.

"Me? Nothing. I am picking up a pin."

"Go down to the room. I have told you before that I don't like curious

people," and to prove this to him beyond a possibility of doubt the

barber kicked the chevalier vigorously, and the latter, not having had

time to straighten himself, received the kick in three parts of his

body. Touquet did not stop to do more, but led the bachelor to the

street door, and opening it for him said,--

"Go, and remember all that you have promised."

Urbain was about to renew his protestations of gratitude, but the barber

put an end to them by telling him to go immediately to his dwelling, and

closing the door upon him.

Touquet returned into the lower room where he found Chaudoreille, who

had resumed his natural size and was promenading with the air of a

conqueror, evidently awaiting the thanks of the barber.

"Well, now, by jingo!" cried he impatiently, seeing that the latter said

nothing to him. "You have found the magpie in the nest. I haven't dim

sight. And that slap in the face, zounds! I recognized a masculine hand.

I am never deceived. Well, we have, according to what I see, shown the

gallant to the door. As to the little one, hang it! With her

sanctimonious air, who would have expected it?"

"Be silent!" cried the barber, advancing towards Chaudoreille with a

threatening gesture. "Do not outrage Blanche. That the young girl is

still pure is as true as that you are a liar and a coward."

"A coward! By jingo, if Rolande could only speak!"

"Yes, I confess that I found someone there, but that someone was not

alone with Blanche."

"That is singular. I didn't hear old Marguerite's voice."

"You were listening, then, wretch."

"No, it was by chance that some sounds reached my ears; some one called

out. I thought that somebody had need of help and, following my natural

ardor, I went towards the neighborhood from whence the noise came."

"Well, what did you hear? Speak, I tell you!"

"Oh, nothing, some words. It seemed to me that you were promising to

unite the two lovers. At least I believe that's what I caught. However,

if I had not thought that you were keeping the little one for yourself I

would have demanded her hand of you long ago. It seems to me that I

deserve the preference over that little masker, who if it had not been

for his petticoat would have paid dearly for the slap on the face he

gave me."

"You become Blanche's husband!" said the barber, glancing scornfully at

the little man. "Listen, Chaudoreille, it suits me to give Blanche to

this young man; he will make her happy."

"As to that you are the master, but--"

"But, if you say a word about what you have seen and heard tonight I

shall draw down upon you the most terrible vengeance. Do you understand

me?"

"Yes, I understand you. By jingo, marry the little one with whom you

please. I don't care a fig for the pair of them. However, if there is to

be a wedding, I hope--"

"No, there will be neither a wedding nor a repast--"

"That will be gay!"

"But, if you are discreet, I promise you two pieces of gold when

everything is finished and Blanche has left this house."

"Agreed. That will suit me, it is as if I held them now; you might as

well pay me in advance."

"I prefer, however, not to pay you until afterwards. But the night is

drawing to a close; go home, Chaudoreille, and remember your promise."

"Yes, yes, that's settled. Is there any news of the seductive marquis

and the young Italian?"

"I believe that fire is already extinguished. But that doesn't astonish

me; a fortnight, three weeks, is the measure of the constancy of our

great noblemen."

"And after that's ended it's probable that there will be one intrigue

after another to conduct. If so remember me, my dear Touquet."

"Very good, go to your bed!"

"In fact, it's about time. I'll go back to the Rue Brise-Miche;

fortunately my portress has a liking for me, or else I should run a

great risk of sleeping in the street. However, if you wish, I could wait

for day here, on a chair."

"No, no, it's necessary for you to go; I need some rest, also, and it

seems to me that I shall get little of it this night."

Chaudoreille enveloped himself as well as he could in his mantle and

went towards the door, making a grimace. The barber closed it on him and

went to his room, saying,--

"I have done well; she will go away, no one will hear tell of her again,

and everything regarding her will soon be forgotten."

CHAPTER II

HAPPY MOMENTS

Marguerite alone had slept during the night which had wrought so great a

change in the barber's household; greatly cheered and calmed by the

possession of Ursule's talisman she slept more soundly than she had ever

done in her new room. As for Blanche one may well suppose that she did

not close her eyes for a moment. The amiable child, still bewildered by

all the events which had taken place, had hardly had time to pass from

the fear of love to the fear of happiness; she was too innocent, too

childlike to have dreamed of love as yet, her poor heart hardly yet

realized its own state, though one sentiment stronger than all others

dominated its thoughts. She tossed continually on her couch, repeating

to herself,--

"He's a boy, and it was he who sang so beautifully. Mercy, who could

have expected it? He was so pleasing as a girl; however, I believe he

will be still better as a boy. Oh, I wish it was evening now. He said

that he loved me--how strange that is--do I also love him? I believe I

do. However, I must ask Marguerite what love is, she ought to know that.

Poor Marguerite, how surprised she'll be when she learns that he was

not a girl. Oh, I wish it was day now."

The day so much desired appeared at length. Blanche had been up for a

long time; impatient at not hearing the old nurse come down, she could

not resist going up to Marguerite's room. She knocked at the door,

exclaiming,--

"Wake up, dear nurse! it's very late. I have a thousand things to tell

you. Get up, I beg of you--you have slept long enough."

Marguerite, who never had to be awakened, because she always rose

sufficiently early, rubbed her eyes, believing that the house was on

fire, sought to recall her ideas, to recover the talisman which had been

entrusted to her and which had been lost among the bedclothes, while

invoking her patron saint, and muttering,--

"Where has it gone to? I've looked for it--has the devil taken it away

from me during the night? Wait now--ah, I shan't find it again. I

thought I felt something. It must have been the devil who took it

maliciously!"

Finally Marguerite found the little scrap of Urbain's breeches, and

recalling all that had taken place on the evening before, she hastened

to open the door to Blanche, and said,--

"Has Ursule gone? It's necessary to hasten her away, my child."

"Oh, yes, she's gone; that is to say, he's gone. But don't be afraid, my

good friend is willing that he should come--he wishes him to marry me;

he's no longer angry. He's coming here this evening as a boy; you will

see how nice he is; and when we are married, we shall go into the

country and you shall come with us. Oh, how happy I shall be! Come,

Marguerite, laugh too; you see it's no longer necessary to have any

fear."

Marguerite had no desire to laugh, she would rather have wept, for she

understood nothing that Blanche was saying; she opened her eyes as

widely as possible and exclaimed,--

"O good God, my dear child, is your head turned this morning? Can that

Ursule be a sorcerer? Don't jump like that, I beg of you."

Blanche recommenced her narrative and at last made Marguerite understand

that Ursule was a boy. The old woman cried, affrightedly,--

"My God! a boy, and he slept with you?"

"Oh, no, dear nurse, because Monsieur Touquet came in just at the moment

when--mercy! I don't know what we were doing at that moment--oh, yes, I

believe he was kissing me."

"Holy Virgin! it was a goblin disguised as a girl."

"No, dear nurse, he's called Urbain, he's an orphan like me; but his

family was very respectable, and he's going to marry me."

"To marry you?"

"Yes, certainly. You won't oppose it when my protector has given his

consent, will you?"

"What, M. Touquet has consented to it?"

"Yes, yes, I tell you. It's finished. Everything is arranged."

The good old woman hardly believed that her ears did not deceive her,

but the arrival of her master put an end to her doubts.

The barber looked very stern as he approached Marguerite, and the old

woman trembled, for she felt that she was in fault.

"Marguerite," he said, "I could punish you for having betrayed my

confidence, for having, despite my orders, introduced someone into the

house. You will tell me, like Blanche, that you have been deceived--and

I would wish to think so, besides, as I have forgiven it, it is needless

to dwell on what is past. The young man will be Blanche's husband; he

will make her happy. You will go with them when they leave this house. I

have but one command to lay upon you, and that is to keep this incident

from all your gossips in this neighborhood. If you commit the least

indiscretion, I'll send you away and you will prevent this marriage from

taking place."

"Oh, dear nurse, don't say anything about it," cried Blanche.

"No, mademoiselle; no, monsieur," responded Marguerite, still trembling,

"I swear to you that--"

"That's enough," said the barber. "You love Blanche, and her happiness

depends upon your discretion. Urbain will come in the evenings only,

until the day he takes away his bride."

The barber departed after thus speaking, leaving Marguerite still

dumbfounded by all that she had heard.

"How is this?" said she, following Blanche to her room; "M. Touquet

consented to this at once?"

"Yes, dear nurse."

"I'm not to be sent away."

"That surprises me, also; I was so afraid he would refuse Urbain."

"Urbain--Urbain--but you don't know him, my child!"

"Why, yes, I do, dear nurse, since he is Ursule."

"I understand that very well; but Ursule has deceived us."

"It was that he might see me that Urbain disguised himself; it was love

that made him do it, dear nurse."

"Love, indeed! but you cannot yet love him, my child."

"Oh, dear nurse, I believe I shall love him very quickly. Urbain was

teaching me how to love yesterday, when my protector knocked at the

door."

"Jesu, Maria! What, my child, in place of calling for help when you saw

it was a man?"

"I desired to do so at first, but if you only knew! Urbain was not at

all alarming, on the contrary; and then he threw himself at my feet and

begged my pardon with such a sweet air, with eyes so--O Marguerite, what

should I have forgiven him for?"

"Good heavens! And your talisman, my girl, did you not have recourse to

that?"

"Oh, forgive me, dear nurse, I even showed it several times to Urbain."

"And it didn't cause him to fly?"

"On the contrary, dear nurse, he drew still nearer."

"Come, decidedly everything is upside down. It must be that boy is a

magician to work such changes in this house. I shall no longer have any

faith in his little relic."

Blanche and the old woman awaited the evening with impatience;

Marguerite curious to know the young man who had wrought such prodigies

in her master's house, and the young girl ardently desiring to see again

him who had caused her to sigh and to experience an entirely new

feeling. But Blanche's desires were mingled with that timidity, that

bashfulness, which accompany a first love. As the hour of Urbain's

arrival approached she felt more restless and dreamy, and already this

unknown sentiment inspired her with a secret desire to please; she rose,

looked at herself in the mirror, and arranged a lock of hair, then she

said to Marguerite,--

"Dear nurse, do I look all right? Do you think he will love me as much

tonight as he did yesterday?"

"Dear child," cried the old servant, "if he is capable of changing would

he be worthy of you? When one loves truly, my dear, 'tis for life."

"Oh, that is much better, dear nurse; I should like to love like that.

You will see that there's nothing about Urbain to frighten one, and I am

sure I shall love him also."

The young bachelor desired with no less impatience than Blanche the

moment when he could return to the barber's house. Since the evening

before Urbain had entirely lost his head, and his happiness had been so

sudden, so unforeseen, that it had completely unbalanced him for the

time. He had returned to his lodging in the night, dancing, singing and

running in the street. In his intoxication he had lost his skirt and his

kerchief; but he had no further need of his disguise, and without

troubling himself to pick up those portions of his costume he had

arrived at home partly undressed, but so happy that he would not have

changed his lot for the fortune, the favor or the power of the cardinal;

and in that he was right, the joys which love brings are not, as is the

case with grandeur and power, mingled with anxieties and cares.

The next day Urbain would have liked to tell his happiness to all the

world, but he remembered that one of the first conditions of his

marriage with Blanche was that he should keep the matter entirely

secret; he contented himself, therefore, with looking at everybody who

passed with an air of satisfaction and triumph which indicated a mind

impervious to the strokes of fortune.

In the evening his neighbor came, as usual, to propose to help him in

disguising himself; but Urbain thanked her; he had no further need of

her services and the good-natured girl seemed vexed that the

masqueradings were ended.

Urbain wished to please as a man still more than he had wished to do so

as a country woman; he put on his collar and his hat with more care than

he ordinarily took. He looked to see that his hair did not fall in

disorder over his forehead, and sighed as he said,--

"If I should not succeed in pleasing her!" However, the remembrance of

the evening before gave him courage, and he took his way to the barber's

house. He trembled as he knocked at the door, although the fear of being

sent away did not present itself to his mind. The sound of the knocker

went to Blanche's heart, and she jumped from her chair, exclaiming,--

"It's he!" and was about to run to the street door when Marguerite

stopped her, saying,--

"How now, my child, what are you going to do? It would not be decent for

you to go and open the door for this young man."

"Do you think so, nurse. Very well; go then, Marguerite; go quickly."

Marguerite hurried as fast as she could, she was anxious to see the

young man. She opened the door to Urbain and looked at him attentively;

his gentle and diffident appearance made a favorable impression on the

old woman.

"It's singular--he appears to be more embarrassed as a boy than as a

girl. Come in, come in, my handsome young spark; come in. Now we shall

see if you've any more stories to relate of the adventures of your aunts

and cousins."

"Yes, my good Marguerite," said Urbain, "I shall continue to tell them

to you if they give you pleasure."

"He wishes to please me," said Marguerite to herself. "Yes, Blanche was

right, the young man is very charming."

The embarrassment of these two young lovers was a very singular thing,

inasmuch as they had in their first interview spoken so freely of their

love, and were already engaged and certain of being married. Blanche,

who had at first wished to run to the door, now dared not raise her

eyes, and, on hearing Urbain's step, remained motionless on her chair.

The latter, on entering this room where he had been every evening for a

fortnight, experienced an uneasiness, a new embarrassment, and paused

near the door, holding his hat in his hand, and glancing timidly at

Blanche.

"Well," said Marguerite, "here's one who dares go no farther at present.

Come, master boy, when you were a girl you didn't thus remain standing

motionless and mute at the door; and my poor Blanche, who is afraid to

raise her eyes and is trembling like a leaf. My darling, it isn't

necessary to blush like that when one has done nothing wrong. You see, I

am obliged to encourage you."

However, Urbain gently approached Blanche, bent his knees to the floor

and murmured,--

"If you no longer feel friendly to me, if this costume has made you lose

confidence in me--I will resume that of Ursule."

The sweet girl timidly raised her head, and bending on Urbain a look of

the tenderest love, she said, blushing deeper than before,--

"Oh, it isn't that. Excuse me, I don't know what is the matter with me."

She turned her head to hide her face in Marguerite's bosom, and said in

a low tone to the latter,--

"Dear nurse, is it love that makes me feel so shy?"

"I remember scarcely anything about love now," answered the old woman,

shaking her head; "however, yes, I believe in my young days it did

evince itself somewhat in that fashion."

Blanche turned to Urbain and said to him, with a charming smile,--

"Don't be angry with me; if I am awkward and embarrassed it is because I

love you."

Delighted at the candor of the young girl, Urbain took her hand and

pressed it against his heart, then, seating himself near her, he renewed

the vows with which love for her inspired him. Confidence was soon

reestablished between them; when two hearts beat in accord, constraint

is soon banished. Blanche resumed her gayety, her ingenuousness, and

allowed her lover to read all her feelings, and the latter perceived

that he had a treasure of innocence and kindness.

Marguerite joined in the conversation of the young people; Urbain, by

his amiability and the deference he showed for the old servant's advice,

entirely won her friendship. The young bachelor praised the situation of

his little property, which in the midst of a charming country offered

delightful walks and all the pleasures of a rural existence. He promised

the old woman to give her a room impervious to every enchantment, and to

tell her in the long winter evenings some of the gruesome stories which

gave her both fear and pleasure.

While chatting with Marguerite, the tender glances, pressings of the

hand and sweet smiles of the two lovers established between them that

sympathy of mind which gives the first, and perhaps the sweetest, taste

of love.

The time passed rapidly, nine o'clock struck, the hour which the barber

had fixed for Urbain's departure, and they knew they must obey his

commands if they wished him to keep his promises.

"Must I leave you already?" said Urbain.

"I'm sorry you must go," answered Blanche, sighing tenderly.

"You will see each other again tomorrow, my children," said Marguerite,

"and the day will soon come when you will no longer have to part.

Monsieur Dorgeville, have you begun the necessary preparations for your

marriage?"

"Mon Dieu!" said Urbain, "I was so unsettled today that I could think of

nothing but the happiness that I should enjoy this evening; and I have

done nothing yet."

"If you are as heedless every day, your marriage will never take place,"

said Marguerite.

"Oh, tomorrow I will begin to put matters in train. I am anxious for the

time when I shan't have to leave Blanche; but I haven't seen Monsieur

Touquet this evening. Ought I not to go and say good evening to him?"

"No, it is needless; my master is unlike other men; he has no use for

ceremony. He said to me, very positively, 'The young man will come at

seven o'clock; you will conduct him to Blanche's room, where you will

remain with them, and at nine o'clock he will go. When I wish to speak

with him I will seek him, but it is needless for him to endeavor to see

me.'"

"What a singular man!" said Urbain; "but I ought to bless him, for he

has made me happy, and I accused him. I had a suspicion that he wished

to guard this treasure for himself by hiding her from everyone."

"For himself," cried Blanche, "how could that be possible?"

"Forgive me, dear Blanche, love makes one jealous; I see well that I was

unjust."

"Yes, yes," said Marguerite, "but hasten to get your documents drawn and

marry this dear child."

The bachelor left at last, but Blanche's looks followed him and he could

not doubt his happiness; he possessed the heart of an amiable girl who

did not seek to hide from him the sentiments with which he inspired her.

The next day Urbain took the preliminary steps to hasten his marriage;

he had also to sell the little furniture he possessed, for it was very

necessary to obtain some money for the journey; and, in regard to that,

the bachelor soon saw that Monsieur Touquet evinced no generosity of

disposition. But a lover who is about to marry his sweetheart always

believes himself rich enough, and, besides, Blanche having been reared

in retirement had no extravagant desires in regard to household

expenses, dress or ornaments; she would be economical and simple in her

tastes, which qualities are often of more value than the bride's dowry.

Evening again brought Urbain to his sweetheart; on this occasion the

embarrassment had disappeared, and they gave themselves up entirely to

the pleasure they experienced in seeing each other again. The time they

passed together rolled on as rapidly as before, but they consoled

themselves by remembering that the day would soon come when they would

be united forever. On the fourth evening that Urbain passed with Blanche

the door opened, and the barber made his appearance.

He slightly inclined his head to Urbain and said to him, in his ordinary

brief tone,--

"Are you making preparations for your marriage?"

"Yes, monsieur," said Urbain, rising and going up to Touquet, "but you

know employers never share one's impatience. However, within six days,

or a little later, I should have all my papers. I have seen the priest

who is to unite us and have made all my preparations for departure."

"That's well."

The barber made no further remark and left the young people, who were

for a moment astonished at his conduct; but after all they were not

sorry to be able to give themselves up to the pleasure of lovers'

conversation with no other witnesses than old Marguerite, who sometimes

went to sleep while Urbain and Blanche were silently pressing each

other's hands. The time passes quickly when one is happy, and if the

days were long for the two lovers, by way of revenge each evening seemed

shorter than the last. The more they saw of each other the closer love

drew his meshes about their hearts, which seemed formed for adoration,

and now they could not conceive the possibility of an existence apart.

But the day of their wedding approached. Only five days and they would

pledge their vows at the altar; then they would leave the great city and

in a peaceful retreat would enjoy pure happiness undisturbed by the

storm and stress of life. This at least was the future they hoped for.

Chaudoreille, urged by a desire to receive the recompense the barber had

promised him, had already presented himself three times at the latter's

house, saying,--

"Has the marriage taken place?"

"Not yet," answered Touquet.

Then Chaudoreille departed, muttering,--

"I wish they'd hurry now. What the deuce! I need some money. Why, in

twelve days I'd have married a dozen women."

CHAPTER III

A DAY WITH CHAUDOREILLE

Chaudoreille, who had not yet received the two pieces of gold which the

barber had promised him found himself in his usual penniless condition

as he went one fine morning down the Rue des Petits Carreaux. He was

just coming from the Saint-Germain fair, where he had not on this

occasion found anybody disposed to receive a lesson in skittles, and he

was going towards the Saint-Laurent fair, hoping that fortune would be

somewhat more favorable to him in the latter haunt.

Following his custom, Chaudoreille walked with his nose in the air,

ogling from one side to the other; his left hand on his hip, and his

right hand caressing his mustache. As he approached the boulevards he

felt somebody pull gently at his mantle. The pusillanimous fellow

started with fright, but on turning his head he perceived an old servant

maid, and seeing he had nothing to fear he put his hand on his sword,

and cried loudly,--

"By jingo! I thought it was a man and I was going to demand his reason

for touching me. What do you want with me? Don't pull my mantle so

hard, it's a little decayed."

The old woman put her finger on her mouth, and with a mysterious air,

said,--

"My mistress wishes to speak with you."

"Your mistress," cried Chaudoreille, his features becoming cheerful, for

he did not doubt that he had made a conquest, "oh, that's it, my good

woman, I understand you. But is she young? is she rich? is she?--Never

mind, it's all the same, lead me to her."

"No, she can't receive you today, but be here tomorrow at dusk. I will

come and look for you and will introduce you."

"It's enough! I'll be here, I'll not fail, whether it rains or shines.

One word, if you please, messenger of love. Can you not tell me where

your mistress has seen me?"

"In the street, I presume, since she was at her window. Tomorrow

evening, monsieur; I can't stop any longer."

"Go, Flore! go back to Cytheree," said Chaudoreille, as the old woman

went off, then he continued on his way, saying,--

"It's an amorous adventure, I know;--this mystery and a rendezvous at

dusk. She has seen me through the window. By jingo! I do well to look my

best; a pretty man should always carry himself as if everybody was

looking at him." He then walked along, looking so much in the air that

he ran against a water-carrier who was advancing quietly with his two

buckets full, and threw himself so heavily upon him that one of the

buckets escaped from his hand.

"Cursed idiot," cried the Auvergnat. "Wait, take that to teach you to

look before you!" Saying these words the water-carrier calmly emptied

his other bucket over Chaudoreille. The chevalier was drenched. In his

fury he drew Rolande from the scabbard and advanced on the Auvergnat;

but the water-carrier, without appearing at all dismayed by the falchion

which his adversary flashed as he capered and jumped about like one

possessed, took one of his buckets in each hand and tranquilly awaited

the expected onset of the doughty knight, shouting in an aggravatingly

jeering tone,--

"Come on, you baked apple! come on stupid, that turnspit you term a

sword doesn't frighten me in the least."

Chaudoreille put Rolande in his scabbard again and then escaped by the

boulevard, crying, "Watch," and followed by all the idlers, and these

were not a few, of the neighborhood. The chevalier did not pause in his

flight until he was positively sure there was no longer anybody behind

him. He was then quite near the Fosses Jaunes, which were excavated in

the reign of Charles the Ninth, and which extended from the Porte

Saint-Denis nearly to the Porte Saint-Honore. These had been made to

still further enlarge Paris. A new wall was built along the Fosses

Jaunes, and also two new gates; one, Rue Montmartre, near the Rue des

Jeuneurs, replaced the old Porte Montmartre, demolished in 1633; the

other, Rue Saint-Honore, between the boulevard and the Rue Royale,

replaced the one situated between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue

Saint-Honore, which was erected in 1631. On the terrace within this new

wall they presently laid out the Rues de Clery, du Mail, des

Fosses-Montmartre, de Victoires, des Petits-Champs, etc. However, in the

midst of these new constructions the hill of Saint-Roch still preserved

its picturesque form and its windmills.

Chaudoreille was trembling, he was very cold; and he could not change at

his house, for a reason that one may easily divine. Fortunately the

weather was fine and the sun, while it gave little heat, shone on the

promenade, established then along the wall of Paris. The chevalier saw

no other means of drying himself than that of running for two or three

hours in the sun, and he gave himself immediately to that exercise,

looking much less in the air than formerly, and only answering some of

his acquaintances, who asked him why he ran so quickly, by these

words,--

"It's a wager, don't stop me. I have put up a hundred pistoles that I

would sweat some great drops."

The chevalier's garments commenced to have more consistence and he

stopped to take breath.

"You have missed your vocation, my friend; you should have been a runner

for some prince," said a man, who had stopped with two others, and

seemed to take much pleasure in looking at Chaudoreille, while one of

his companions, of an extraordinarily stout build, laughed at the top of

his voice, and the third making comical gestures and extraordinary

grimaces seemed to be trying to copy the features and the figure of the

runner.

"What do you say, monsieur," said the son of Gascony to the three

individuals, who had stopped before him, "can't one run if he wants to,

capededious!"

"Oh, his accent renders him even more comical," said the fat man. "Look

at him well, comrade, it's necessary to reproduce that face for us this

evening. It will be worth its weight in gold."

"I have it," responded the third. "Hang it! may I stifle if I don't copy

it this evening, feature for feature."

"Have you looked at me long enough," said Chaudoreille, ogling them from

the back, because he did not feel enough courage to look them in the

face. "What do you take me to be?"

"Oh, hang it!" said Turlupin, to himself, for it was he who was walking

with his two companions, Gros-Guillaume and Gautier-Garguille. "We must

try to make the little man angry. That can't fail to amuse us."

Approaching Chaudoreille, who was reflecting on the grimace he should

make, he commenced by striking Rolande's scabbard with the stick which

he held in his hand, saying,--

"What the devil do you call that, seigneur chevalier?"

The chevalier became at one moment pale, red, and yellow.

"These men are desirous of seeking a quarrel with me," said he to

himself, looking around him to see if he could make his retreat. But

already some passers-by had stopped and formed a circle; for, having

recognized the three comedians who had been drawing crowds at the Hotel

de Bourgogne, they did not doubt they were going to play some farce with

the personage whom they were surrounding. The sight of all these people

calmed Chaudoreille's fear a little.

"It is unlikely," said he to himself, "that they will let these three

men kill me without rescuing me." He then endeavored to put a good face

on the matter. Glancing at the crowd with what he meant to be a look of

assurance, he exclaimed,--

"I don't understand why these gentlemen molest me. I take everybody to

witness that I have not insulted them."

A general laugh was the only answer Chaudoreille received, which had the

effect of increasing his ill-humor; he angrily drew down his little hat

in such a way that the gold-colored rosette almost touched the tip of

his nose, and tried to make his way through the crowd, but they drew

closer to him on every side, and he found himself face to face with

Turlupin, who put himself on guard with his stick; Chaudoreille turned

another way and was confronted by Gautier-Garguille, who had placed his

hat precisely in the same manner as Chaudoreille's, and imitated exactly

his piteous grimaces; finally, Gros-Guillaume barred the chevalier's

passage with his enormous corpulence.

Chaudoreille was exasperated, he could bear no more and he drew Rolande.

Turlupin advanced to the combat with his cane, and the chevalier, having

eyed his adversary's weapon out of the corner of his eye, put himself on

guard, crying,--

"Look to it, guard yourself carefully; I ply a very strong blade."

At the end of the third bout Turlupin feigned to be wounded; he fell,

uttering a horrible groan, and making a frightful contortion.

Gros-Guillaume threw himself down beside him, exclaiming,--

"He is dead!"

Chaudoreille was stunned and bewildered; he still held his sword in his

hand and looked at everyone as if distracted. Gautier-Garguille took him

by the arm and led him away, saying,--

"Save yourself; you have killed the son of the King of Cochin-China."

Chaudoreille listened no further; he went on his way, left Paris and

darted across the fields and the marshes; the three hours he had spent

in running in the sun had not strained his legs, he felt no fatigue;

fear lent him wings, and he did not stop until he believed that he had

escaped the pursuit of which he imagined himself to be the object. It

may seem astonishing, perhaps, that the chevalier had not recognized, in

the three men who had stopped him on the boulevard, the three comedians

whose performances were then in great vogue, and who permitted

themselves a thousand licenses that the Parisians authorized, and which

delighted even the great noblemen. But when Chaudoreille had any money

he passed the greater part of his time in gambling houses, and had been

but rarely to the theatre called the Hotel de Bourgogne; besides,

Turlupin and Gautier-Garguille were so adept in the art of changing

their physiognomies that it was difficult to recognize them unless one

had often witnessed their performances.

The fugitive had stopped to breathe for a moment, he looked timidly

about him and recognized the locality; he was at the end of the Faubourg

Saint-Antoine, near the Vallee de Fecamp, and he perceived about three

hundred paces from him the Marquis de Villebelle's little house.

Chaudoreille had fasted since the evening before, he was overcome with

fatigue and believed himself menaced by the greatest dangers. In such

circumstances he forgot that the barber had forbidden him to go there

and decided to ring at the little house and seek refuge.

Collecting his strength he turned towards the dwelling; he rang the

bell, and Marcel opened the door almost immediately.

"What, is it you?" said he in astonishment. "Did the marquis or M.

Touquet send you here?"

Before answering, Chaudoreille entered the garden, and closed the door

after him.

"But what the devil is the matter with you?" said Marcel. "What are you

doing here?--and your face is in such a state, all in a cold sweat; one

would believe, on my word, that you'd all the sergeants of Paris at your

heels."

"And you wouldn't be mistaken," said Chaudoreille, in a scarcely audible

voice.

"Why, what are you saying?"

"That I'm pursued, or at least I shall be. That the greatest danger

threatens me."

"My God! What have you done?"

"I've killed the son of the King of Cochin-China."

"The son of Cochin-China?"

"Why, yes, just now, not more than a few minutes ago, against the

Fosses-Jaunes--near the Porte Saint-Denis--but it was in honorable

combat, a duel with equal weapons; and Rolande laid him at my feet.

Heavens, what a cry he uttered as he fell--it still rings in my ears. I

slaughtered him like a bullock."

Marcel listened with his habitual good-humor; however, Chaudoreille's

story appeared so extraordinary that he could not refrain from

exclaiming,--

"But, truly, can all that be possible?"

"What, by jingo, you question its possibility,--my dear Marcel, it's

absolutely true. You know me; you know that I'm a hot-headed fellow, a

rake of honor. It's a habit I've formed, and what can you expect. I

can't reform myself. But this time, at all events, it was not my fault.

I was walking quietly along by the city wall; all of a sudden three men

came before me and uttered some jokes which were very much out of place

and offended me; I politely asked them to allow me to pass, but they

still obstructed my way. I immediately drew my sword, the crowd

surrounded us, one of my adversaries put himself on guard. I immediately

rushed on him; the combat was terrible. My enemy fought desperately; but

soon he fell at my feet, making frightful grimaces, and one of his

companions told me I had killed the heir to the throne of Cochin-China."

"And what the devil was the Prince of Cochin-China doing on the

boulevards with two idiots who allowed him to fight with you?"

"Faith, I didn't have time to get any information on that point; he had

no doubt come to Paris to take some exercise--the poor fellow. But you

can imagine that this adventure will become notorious; they'll send out

a description of me; they'll put all the squads in Paris in pursuit of

me; my dear Marcel, it's necessary that you should hide me for several

days."

"I'm very sorry to say that I can't do it; I thought you'd been sent

here by my master with orders for me; since that's not the case you must

go, for he has expressly forbidden me to receive anybody here except

those that are sent to me. M. de Villebelle will discharge me if, on

arriving suddenly with some of his friends, he should find a stranger in

the place."

"Zounds! I'm not a stranger, since I've already served your master in

his love affairs. My dear Marcel, you don't wish my death."

"No, but I don't wish to lose my place."

"You are alone here?"

"Of course I am; but monseigneur may come when one is least expecting

him."

"He won't come today."

"You don't know anything about it."

"I beg your pardon; I know that his presence is commanded at court. I

only ask shelter of you until tomorrow--but, Marcel, my life is in your

hands."

"Come, your fright is very ill-timed."

"The Cochin-Chinas will be leagued against me."

"Let them league themselves."

"I've eaten nothing since yesterday."

"I'm not to blame for that."

"Marcel, will nothing move you; do you want me to throw myself at your

feet? Well, behold me there. You are softening, you yield; I see tears

in your eyes."

"Well, only just till tomorrow; but hang it, if monseigneur should

arrive this evening?"

"I promise you I'll jump over the wall."

Chaudoreille breathed more freely; and directed his steps towards the

house.

"Oh, delightful purlieus, how has my destiny changed since I quitted

you," said the chevalier, drawing out his little silk handkerchief to

dry his eyes. But on reaching the dining-room, which he recognized, his

sadness appeared somewhat lessened. He was the first to seat himself at

the table; he invited Marcel to go to the cellar, and did not give him a

moment's rest until the supper was served; for it was then five o'clock,

and in those days everybody dined at midday.

"I'm not hungry yet," said Marcel, as he seated himself, "ordinarily I

don't sup until eight o'clock."

"Oh, never mind that, I can eat for both of us, and it needn't prevent

our supping at eight o'clock; for I do not wish to make any change in

your usual habits. O my friend, what a day's work; if you knew all that

had happened to me. At first it began very well; an amorous rendezvous

given to me by a lady who fell in love with me through seeing me from

her window."

"Pshaw!"

"Give me a wing of that fowl. Yes, my friend, a passion I inspired while

watching the flight of some swallows--but--I am used to that. Pour me

out something to drink. I'm sure she's a woman of high rank. She sent to

me by one of her slaves, I think it was a mulatto, or she must take a

devil of a lot of snuff, for her nose was the color of terra-cotta."

"And when are you to meet?"

"Tomorrow evening. But at present, can I think of it? This unfortunate

duel has spoiled all my plans. They'll perhaps put me in the Bastile for

five or six years."

"Well, you are a fool."

"Oh, do you think that anyone may kill the Prince of Cochin-China like a

little shopkeeper of the Marais. My situation is alarming. Give me some

pasty, I beg of you."

"Did you satisfy yourself that your man was dead?"

"If you had heard the cry he uttered as he fell, you would not doubt it

yourself. It's a cursed day's work; that thief of a water-carrier

brought this ill luck upon me!"

"A water-carrier?"

"Yes, one with whom I fought this morning."

"Are you always fighting?"

"Well, by jingo, I can't take twenty steps without fighting; the

government should give me a pension to remain at home. What, another

stroke of ill luck? Good God! it seems to me I hear a great deal of

noise outside."

"What does it matter to us, it's only some pages, lackeys, or students

who are amusing themselves by fighting; oh, I'm accustomed to all that."

"It's more likely they're coming to arrest me."

"Nothing of the kind, I tell you."

"Well, Marcel, you're very fortunate in not being a man of the sword."

"A stick serves just as well to defend me; but I don't seek a quarrel

with anyone."

"You're very right; I envy your gentle urbanity. But I believe I hear

nothing more. Give me something to drink. I feel calmer."

"Have you done eating?"

"Yes, I can now wait till supper. Marcel, it was here we wagered on the

flies."

"I remember it."

"Will you take part in a game to pass the time?"

"Much obliged; but I didn't like the game."

"Oh, it wasn't that one I was about to propose; but I believe I happen

to have some cards in my pocket. Come, a hand at piquet?"

"No, I don't care to play."

"Why, by jingo! it's only to pass a few hours; we shan't ruin ourselves;

I haven't more than two pieces of gold about me; and when I shall have

lost that, to the devil with me if I continue."

Marcel yielded to Chaudoreille's solicitations, who immediately set out

the table and drew a pack of cards from his pocket, looking at them

tenderly as he placed them between himself and Marcel, saying,--

"We'll play for a crown on each side."

"It's too much."

"Pooh! one lost, another gained; it's only between the pair of us."

"Yes, but if one wins all."

"Nonsense, we are equally good players."

"But you haven't laid your money down."

"I've told you I've nothing but gold, I'll change it when I've lost some

hundreds."

They commenced to play. Chaudoreille's face was animated, his eyes were

shining, and seemed as if they would leave their orbits to look at his

adversary's play.

"These cards are not new," said Marcel, "they are all stained or

marked."

"That's because they've been so much used apparently. I leave it to

you," said Chaudoreille, looking carefully at the backs of the cards

which were at the bottom of the pack.

"Hang it! you've made me a pretty present; there, these are the seven

and the eight."

Chaudoreille won the first game, then a second and a third, because,

thanks to the marks he had made on the back of each card, he knew them

as well by their backs as by their faces.

"It's singular," said Marcel, "that I never win anything; you always

have the best cards."

"What would you have? It's chance, luck; but it will probably turn."

The luck did not turn and Marcel's crowns passed into Chaudoreille's

pocket. The chevalier was scarlet, trembling, and the veins on his

forehead were swollen by the ardor of his play, when the bell at the

garden gate rang violently.

"Oh, the deuce! there's somebody," said Marcel.

"I am lost!" cried Chaudoreille jumping on his chair, "it is somebody

come to arrest me."

He immediately rose and ran around the room, went through the first door

he saw and disappeared, without listening to Marcel, who called to

him,--

"It's monseigneur; it's M. de Villebelle; keep still and I'll let you

out without his seeing you."

But Chaudoreille had disappeared and the bell continued to ring. Marcel

was obliged to open the gate without knowing what had become of his

guest.

CHAPTER IV

THE LITTLE SUPPER

"And pray why did you make us wait so long, clown?" said the marquis

angrily to Marcel, as he entered the garden with three men, two of whom

were enveloped in their cloaks, while the third had no hat and nothing

to cover his velvet doublet, which was stained in many places with mud;

this, however, did not prevent its owner from bursting into shouts of

laughter as he looked at himself, as though he still enjoyed some frolic

in which he had participated.

"Follow me, my friends," said the marquis.

"Oh, I know the way to your little nest of the Faubourg," said one,

"it's not the first time I've come here."

"Nor me."

"That's all very well; as for me, messieurs, I make my first appearance

here today and in a brilliant costume I hope. Ha! Ha! What the devil! if

anybody should happen to divine that I ought to be present this evening

at the petit coucher, 'twould be deuced awkward for me!"

"Come, Marcel, show us a light," said the marquis, pushing the valet

before him, while the latter, anxious and uneasy, was constantly

glancing around him.

"You've been sleeping already, rascal, for you look stupefied."

"Yes, monseigneur, that's true, I have been asleep."

"He lives the life of a canon here. He does nothing but eat and sleep."

While speaking they had reached the house. Happily for Marcel the

marquis never went into the lower room, where the card table was still

standing. They went up into the apartment on the first floor. Marcel

lighted many candles, while the marquis' friends threw themselves into

armchairs, and Villebelle took off his mantle, saying,--

"Come, hasten yourself, and serve us supper of all that you can get

together; there are always provisions here. You have a poultry yard, a

pigeon house; put some fowls quickly on the spit. We'll play while

waiting for them to be served. Prepare the card table. Open that drawer,

there are some cards and dice in it. Gentlemen, you will perhaps have

meagre fare. I did not expect the pleasure of entertaining you this

evening, but at least you shall have some good wine. The cellar is well

furnished and we shall not lack champagne."

"Hang it! that's the principal thing," said a big, pale young man whose

features were regular, but who was disfigured by the scar of a sword-cut

across his left cheek.

"I, too, am of the vicomte's opinion," said his neighbor, who appeared

to be some years older, and whose stoutness and high color contrasted

with the physique of the first speaker.

"Champagne before everything."

"Oh, I recognize there that drunkard De Montgeran," said the young man

with disordered costume. "As for me I am not displeased when the

entertainment consists of wine. But let's play, gentlemen, let's play;

it's necessary that I should recoup a hat and a cloak."

"You might even add a doublet; for I don't think that you can present

yourself anywhere in that one."

"Those cursed shopkeepers, how they did resist this evening. That's all

right, I had flogged three of them."

"Yes, but except for the marquis and I you would have been in a very bad

position."

"Well! what the devil brought the quarrel about? for I don't know yet

why I fought."

"A trifling thing, a mere bagatelle; because I was carrying off with me

a little bookkeeper's wife, the impertinent husband permitted himself to

shout! The idiot, I should have sent his wife back at the end of two

days. Hang it! I'd no desire to keep her."

"Perhaps that's why he was angry."

"I said a couple of words for him to the superintendent; before long our

clerk will be destitute."

"That's as it should be, it's necessary to teach these plebeians

manners, who persuade themselves that they only take a wife for

themselves."

"In your place I should have asked for a lettre-de-cachet."

"We shall see; that might still be done."

During this conversation Marcel had prepared everything; he went down to

the groundfloor and, while making his preparations for supper, called

his comrade in a low tone, and looked in every corner of the room, but

he had disappeared.

"Where the devil has he hidden himself," said Marcel, who then looked in

all the other rooms and went down to the cellar, where he called

Chaudoreille again without receiving any answer. "He has apparently

escaped into the garden and from there he will have jumped over the

walls, as he said he would do. However, that astonishes me, for he would

hardly care to leave the house."

The marquis and his companions sat down to play, and while waiting for

the supper they cracked several bottles of champagne to put themselves

in good spirits; that is to say, to arouse in them the desire to commit

new follies. The most extravagant bets were proposed and accepted, and

while playing, drinking, singing, each one related his good fortune, his

gallant adventures, drew his mistress' portrait, and passed in review

the women of fashion, sparing the honest women no more than the

courtesans.

At last Marcel came to announce that supper was served in a neighboring

room and the gentlemen left their play to go to the table. The room in

which the supper was served equalled by its elegance the other rooms of

this delightful retreat; while it served habitually for banquets, the

beauty and the taste of its frescoes, the statues which decorated it,

the sofas which furnished it, the lustres which lighted it, recalled the

salons of ancient Rome where Horace, Propertius and Tibulus, surrounded

by their friends and their competitors, sang of love and the charms of

their mistresses while passing amphorae filled with falernian, or

carrying to their lips cups where sparkled caecubum or massicum; and

while crowned with myrtle and acanthus, in order to resemble their

deities, proving only too well that they had all the weaknesses of

mortals.

Sybarites of a later time, the young men assembled at Villebelle's drank

deep draughts of the generous wine with which the table was so amply

provided; the marquis furnishing them an example by his avidity in

emptying the flasks. Decorum and etiquette were banished from the

repast, where liberty often degenerated into license. The convives had

drawn the sofas to the table, and each one, half lying down like a

pasha, held a glass of champagne which he emptied, shouting with

laughter at the follies of which he heard or at those which he had

himself committed.

The young man who had come without a hat, and who was called the

Chevalier de Chavagnac, was seated opposite a beautiful statue

representing Psyche, to which he often raised his eyes. All of a sudden

he interrupted the fat Montgeran, who was singing, by exclaiming,--

"May the thunder crush me, if this Psyche didn't move!"

"What the devil are you saying now?" asked the marquis.

"I'm saying, I'm saying your Psyche has come to life, or I must be

blind."

"Oh, hang it, how delightful it would be if that pretty woman could come

and take her place amongst us."

"Gentlemen, it was no doubt Montgeran's voice which worked this miracle.

A new Pygmalion, he softens marble."

"You needn't make fun of my voice, gentlemen, it is held in no small

estimation. It must rather have been your cynical conversation which

made poor Psyche blush. But let me sing instead of listening to De

Chavagnac's stupidity, who can't see clearly because he has drunk so

much."

"Yes, assuredly, I have been drinking, but I can still see. I've been

looking at that statue for a long while, and several times it appeared

to me as if it moved."

"Marquis, are there any ghosts in your little house?"

"I have never seen any here, but it would be very amiable of them to

come and pay us a visit while we are at table. We would make them

hob-nob with us."

"Come sing, Montgeran, we will listen to you; but be a trifle less

artificial. I prefer the natural method."

"Yes, gentlemen, I will then give you; 'The shepherd in order to admire

the charms of his shepherdess took the first'--"

"Now, I shall know what it is," said De Chavagnac, rising precipitately

and running towards the statue. As he neared it the Psyche made so

lively a movement that she would have fallen from her pedestal on to the

floor, if the young man had not received her in his arms, and placed her

on the ground. All the convives had their eyes fixed on De Chavagnac,

who, after placing the Psyche in safety, reapproached the pedestal,

which was about three feet high and one and one half in circumference.

"There is something inside it," cried the young man, who perceived that

the pedestal was hollow, and had an opening in the side which was turned

towards the wall.

"Someone inside it?" repeated the others, half rising. At the same

moment a thin, trembling voice, which seemed to come out of the earth,

uttered these words,--

"No violence, gentlemen, I will yield without resistance," and, in a

moment, Chaudoreille's little head peeped from behind the pedestal and

showed itself to the gentlemen, who burst into a shout of laughter,

exclaiming,--

"What a handsome face!"

However, De Chavagnac, who had remained near the niche of the statue,

took Chaudoreille by the mustache and forced him to emerge from his

hiding place. Then, having examined the personage whose piteous face

rendered him still more comic, he went laughingly to take his place at

the table, while the poor devil whom he had dislodged threw himself on

his knees before them and without daring to raise his eyes murmured,

clasping his hands,--

"Gentlemen if I have killed the Prince of Cochin-China it was against my

will and because he had provoked me, but I swear to you that I will not

try it again; I will not even carry Rolande, if they exact it of me."

"What the devil is he saying?"

"Do you understand any of it, marquis?"

"My faith, no! He is speaking about the Prince of Cochin-China."

"He's a fool!"

"Hang it! we must amuse ourselves with him."

"One moment; it is necessary that I should learn how this clown

penetrated here. Hello! Marcel, Marcel."

While Marcel was coming upstairs Chaudoreille's terror became somewhat

lessened. While he had been immured in the pedestal a murmuring sound

only penetrated to his ears, and he believed that the room was filled

with armed men who were looking for him. Now the words which he caught,

the name of the marquis which he heard pronounced, taught him the truth.

Reassured that his life was in no danger, he began to glance pleadingly

at the persons who surrounded the table, and meeting nothing but

laughing faces he entirely recovered his spirits.

Marcel entered and, at the sight of Chaudoreille, remained stunned and

confused before his master.

"Who is this man, Marcel?" said the marquis. "Is he a thief? is it he or

you whom we ought to hang? Come, speak, clown, and tell us the truth, or

you shall be chastised in good fashion."

Marcel, trembling, did not know how to excuse himself for having

received someone despite the commands of the marquis, and muttered,--

"Monseigneur, I couldn't help it, I did not wish to, I refused him at

first."

"Monseigneur," exclaimed Chaudoreille, rising and standing on his

tiptoes, "if you will permit me I will relate to your excellency how all

this happened, for I see that Marcel will find it difficult to come to

an end."

"The trembler has recovered his speech," said the big Montgeran, who

could not take his eyes from Chaudoreille.

"Come, marquis, let him speak."

"Yes, yes, he will make us laugh," cried the others.

"Very well, gentlemen, since you desire it. Come, speak, you little cur;

and you, Marcel, remain there to give him the lie if he attempts to

deceive us."

Though the sobriquet, little cur, made Chaudoreille knit his brow,

permission to speak before noblemen of high rank caused him so much

pleasure that he immediately assumed a smiling expression, and commenced

his speech,--

"Messeigneurs, your excellencies behold in me Loustic-Goliath de

Chaudoreille, Knight of the Round Table; descended on the male side from

the famous Milo of Crotona, and on the female side from the celebrated

Delilah, who, sacrificing herself for her country, had the courage to

cut from Samson, her lover, that which made his strength."

Shouts of laughter here interrupted the orator. "It's delightful! he's

charming! He's worth his weight in gold!"

"Hang it!" said Chaudoreille, "I was sure that I only had to speak."

"In fact, descendant of Delilah," said the marquis, "what is your

business?"

Chaudoreille appeared embarrassed for the moment, then he exclaimed

volubly,--

"Defender and protector of beauty--and of gambling houses;

understanding how to bear arms and to play at piquet; teaching music,

and the way to turn the king or ace at will; succoring young men of

family and girls who have been seduced; bearer of love letters; master

of the sitar; duellist and messenger,--and all at a very moderate

price."

"But what a treasure we have in this man!"

"Finally, who led you here?"

"Your excellencies have heard me speak of my duel this morning. I killed

the Prince of Cochin-China near the Porte Saint-Denis."

"The Prince of Cochin-China, and where the devil did you find such a

prince as that?"

"By the side of the Fosses-Jaunes. I was walking quietly along, he came

up and assaulted me, and I fought him. Isn't that true, Marcel?"

"Yes, it's very true that he told me all that, monseigneur. He arrived

here wild with fright, and exhausted; he told me that he was pursued,

and though I did not understand all his history of the prince, I saw

that he trembled, so I consented to allow him to come in for a moment.

We were having supper when you came in, monseigneur, and immediately he

fled, seeing and hearing nothing."

"Yes, monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, "I believed that the archers and

the sergeants were coming to arrest me, and I hid in the first place

that I could see."

"Do you think, clown, that I believe the story you told Marcel in order

to get some supper?"

"Monseigneur, I swear to you!"

"Peace!"

"There were witnesses to the duel."

"Silence, I tell you! To come to this house to seek Marcel, you must

have known that he lived here. Who taught you the way to this dwelling?

Did you know that it belonged to me? and if you knew it belonged to me,

who gave you the audacity to present yourself here."

Chaudoreille, who perceived that the marquis was no longer joking,

answered with less assurance,--

"Monseigneur, I've already had the honor of visiting here in your

lordship's service."

"To serve me, rascal?"

"Yes, monseigneur; I served you indirectly in a certain matter with a

young Italian, an elopement on the Pont de Latournelle. It was I whom

Touquet charged to keep watch."

"O marquis," said the three guests, smiling, "this is clear enough. The

chevalier of the Round Table has ministered to your love."

"I've had that honor, monseigneurs," answered Chaudoreille, bowing, and

twisting his mustaches.

"Hang it! I don't remember it," cried the marquis, looking hard at

Chaudoreille. "What, Touquet, so clever, so inventive, could he be

served by such a marionette. Come, that is not possible."

"Monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, compressing his lips, "if you knew the

talents of the one you call marionette, you would, perhaps, speak

differently. Touquet himself is only a beginner beside me."

"Oh, as to that, clown, it is necessary that you should justify your

boasting or that you should perish beneath the stick. For some days I

have been suffering from ennui; I don't find anyone, at the court or in

the town, who deserves my homage. My Italian, even, has commenced to

tire me. I wish--I don't know--I would give all the world for the

capacity of falling truly in love; find me a woman who is capable of

inspiring me with this feeling. I will give you twenty-four hours to

discover this treasure for me. A hundred pistoles for you if you gratify

my wishes, a hundred strokes of the stick if you are not successful."

"That's it! That's it," shouted Villebelle's guests, "if he is

successful in what you have given him to do, tell us and we will employ

him in turn."

"O capededious," said Chaudoreille to himself, "a hundred pistoles if I

render him amorous. Zounds! my fortune will be made. But a hundred blows

of the stick if I am not successful. How can I render a man amorous who

is tired of everything, and that in twenty-four hours. O my genius

inspire me! Ah, if my portress resembled this Psyche."

"Wait, drink that," said Montgeran, presenting Chaudoreille with a large

glass full of madeira. "That will help you, perhaps, to find what

Villebelle wants."

Chaudoreille emptied the glass at a draught, after humbly bowing to the

company; then he struck his forehead sharply, made a leap forward, and

exclaimed,--

"I have found her!"

"The wine has already operated," said De Chavagnac.

"Come, speak," cried the marquis, "what have you found?"

"Monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, bowing with respect, "deign to permit

me to speak to you without witnesses."

"The clown is right," said the marquis rising from the table. "If he

should speak before you each one would wish to assure himself of the

truth of his recital, and we should become rivals. Marcel carry a light

into the next room. Come, my Chaudoreille, I will give you an audience.

Have patience, gentlemen, I shall not be long."

Saying these words, the marquis went into the next room, and

Chaudoreille followed him with an air so important and mysterious that

it greatly amused the three persons who remained at the table.

When Chaudoreille found himself alone with the marquis, he examined the

doors to see if they were shut, and stooped to look under the table, but

the marquis pulled him by the ear, saying,--

"What signifies all this ceremony?"

"Monseigneur, it is that I'm about to speak of something mysterious, a

secret, and I don't wish that anybody should know it. I shall expose

myself to great danger in speaking; they will perhaps want to take my

life."

"You'll expose yourself to a great deal more by not speaking," said the

marquis impatiently, seizing the fire shovel.

"I'm about to do so, monseigneur. I wager you've never seen Touquet's

daughter."

"Touquet's daughter. Has he a daughter?"

"Not exactly, monseigneur; she's only a child that he adopted about ten

years ago."

"Touquet adopted a child? Hang it! that surprises me."

"I was very sure, monseigneur, that you were ignorant of the

circumstance."

"There's something mysterious about it."

"Very extraordinary. No one would guard a girl so closely unless he were

keeping her for himself."

"What is this girl like?"

"She's an angel, monseigneur, divinely beautiful, an enchantress; hardly

sixteen years of age, with the figure of a nymph, and Touquet spreads

it abroad that she is ugly and ill-made, that there is nothing pleasing

about her. He has even ordered me to tell it all about. If I have seen

young Blanche it's only because the barber, wishing to have her taught

music, was obliged to introduce me into her room, which she never

leaves."

"This is all very singular," said the marquis, "and you pique my

curiosity."

"Good! I shall have a hundred pistoles," said Chaudoreille to himself,

"that's much better than the two golden crowns which the barber promised

me, to say nothing of the honor of acting as the Marquis of Villebelle's

business man."

"And you say it's not because he is in love with her himself that he

hides this young girl," resumed the marquis, after a moment.

"No, monseigneur, for a few days from now he is about to marry her."

"To marry her?"

"Yes, monseigneur, to a young man whom the beautiful Blanche did not

know, I am sure; for no one ever went near her except your humble

servant. I bet that Touquet has sacrificed her, and that the poor little

thing hates her future husband."

Here Chaudoreille said what he did not think, but he imagined it more

prudent to present the matter in that aspect.

The marquis reflected for some moments, then he said,--

"Tell me quickly all that you know about the adoption of that young

girl."

"Yes, monseigneur. About ten years ago, Touquet, who then had not a sou,

took lodgers in addition to his business as a barber and bath-keeper.

One evening a gentleman went to his house, with a little girl five or

six years old, and requested a bed. Touquet received him. The traveller

went out the same evening, leaving his little girl with Touquet, and

that night he was murdered in the Rue Saint-Honore near the Barriere des

Sergents."

"Were the murderers discovered," said the marquis, looking attentively

at Chaudoreille.

"Oh, no, monseigneur," responded the latter, smiling almost

imperceptibly, "but--sometime afterwards Touquet was possessed of enough

to buy the house which he had rented."

The marquis made a sudden movement, like that of a man who is about to

step on a snake. A long silence succeeded, during which Chaudoreille

kept his eyes bent on the ground, not daring to seek to read those of

the marquis.

"And it is the daughter of that man whom he adopted," said Villebelle,

breaking the silence.

"Yes, monseigneur, it is she."

"What was her father's name?"

"Moranval, at least, so I believe. Nothing was found upon him but an

insignificant letter, which gave no information in regard to his

family."

"And his daughter is beautiful?"

"As far as I am competent to judge, monseigneur, and if you should see

her--"

"Yes, I shall see her."

"Monseigneur, I have the honor to inform you that Touquet has expressly

forbidden me to speak of young Blanche and of her coming marriage. In

order to be agreeable to your lordship I have sacrificed myself; but the

barber is wicked, very wicked. I beg of you, monseigneur, not to tell

him that you learned all this from me."

"Be easy about that."

"In any case I beg to be allowed to claim the protection of monseigneur

in regard to my duel with the Prince of Cochin-China, which is not a

falsehood as monseigneur appears to believe."

The marquis was reflecting deeply; finally he rose, saying to

Chaudoreille,--

"Follow me, and not a word of all this. In twenty-four hours you will

return here, and if you have not deceived me you will receive the

recompense which I have promised you."

Chaudoreille bowed nearly to the ground and followed the marquis. They

returned to the banquet hall, where his guests awaited with impatience

Villebelle's return.

"Well," said De Chavagnac, as he entered, "was it worth the trouble of

leaving the table?"

"I think so," answered the marquis; "but as to that I shall be better

able to tell you after tomorrow. Chaudoreille, go down with Marcel and

make him give you some supper before you leave." The latter did not wait

for this order to be repeated. He went down to look for Marcel and,

already assuming a patronizing air, made the valet serve him with all

that he thought best, while saying to his old friend,--

"I am in great favor with your master, treat me well and I can say two

words for you. Above all never refuse to play a game of piquet with me,

or I'll cause you to lose favor with monseigneur."

Poor Marcel, who understood nothing of all this, allowed his intimate

friend to beat him at six games. Finally, day appeared, and Chaudoreille

left the house saying,--

"I shall come back this evening at ten o'clock. The marquis has made an

appointment with me." Then he ventured into the Faubourg, stopping

whenever he saw from afar two men together, and with a mysterious air

inquiring of some shopkeepers if they had heard anyone speak of the

death of Cochin-China. As nobody understood what he said, he finally

persuaded himself that his prince was dead, but that nobody knew who he

was, and more tranquil as to the result of the affair he at length

ventured to reenter Paris.

After the secret interview of the marquis and Chaudoreille, the four

profligates returned to their play; but the party was no longer gay.

Villebelle was preoccupied and took little part in the conversation;

the vicomte was sleepy; fat Montgeran no longer sang, and Chavagnac was

tired of losing. At six o'clock in the morning these gentlemen

separated, each one returning to his dwelling in the city and the

marquis reentered his hotel, reflecting on all that Chaudoreille had

told him.

CHAPTER V

HAVING MONEY AND POWER ONE MAY DARE EVERYTHING

"Only two days more and I shall be your husband, my Blanche," said

Urbain, pressing the young girl's hands in a tender transport.

"Oh, my dearest, how very happy we shall be, when we no longer have to

part, even for a few hours," answered Blanche, smiling at her lover,

"how much I shall like living in the country! I shall breathe more

freely there in the pure air, I am sure, than in this close room. We

shall play and run on the grass, shall we not, dear?"

"Yes, and we will work in our own garden."

"How delightful! We shall have flowers then, and I am so passionately

fond of them."

"We shall have some cows also, I hope," said Marguerite.

"Oh, yes, dear nurse, and some pigeons, and rabbits and fowls--it will

all be so delightful. It seems to me that when I was a very little child

I lived in the country, in a house where they had all those things."

"Poor Blanche! and is that all you remember of your infancy?"

"I still remember a lady who was always with me, who often kissed me; no

doubt she was my mother."

"Poor woman!" said Marguerite; "perhaps she is still living; and to

think that no one knows. But away with sad thoughts!"

"Then you'll not regret Paris, my dear Blanche," said Urbain.

"Would you wish me to regret it, dear, when you are with me?"

"Those dear children!" said the old servant rising from her chair; "it

is Providence which has brought them together, for they are made for one

another. But it's nine o'clock, Monsieur Urbain, you must go."

"Nine o'clock already! The time is approaching when we need part no

more, but the days seem very long now, because I spend them away from

you."

"It's the same with me, dear; it seems to me that evening will never

come."

"I haven't seen M. Touquet for some days."

"And you'll not see him this evening," said Marguerite; "he received a

letter after dinner. It was no doubt some pressing matter of business,

for he left immediately and has not yet returned."

"Good-by, then, dear Blanche."

"Good-by, my dear."

"Two days more. It seems a long time to wait."

"You have managed to live through a fortnight," said Marguerite.

"Yes, I don't know why, but these last few days seem to me as if they

would be eternal."

Urbain could not tear himself away from Blanche; his heart was

oppressed; the eyes of both the young lovers were filled with tears; the

young girl extended her hand to her friend and he pressed it to his

heart.

"I don't know what's the matter with me," said Blanche, "but your going

makes me sadder than usual."

"What childishness!" said Marguerite; "no one would suppose that you

were going to meet within two days. Isn't M. Urbain coming tomorrow

evening? Come, come, it's time to go to bed."

The lovers again said good-by, sighing deeply, and Urbain finally

followed Marguerite, who shut the street door on him and then went

upstairs to Blanche and scolded her for her sadness. But she could not

restore her gayety, for the dictates of reason may persuade the mind,

but cannot allay the fears of the heart.

Not more than a quarter of an hour after Urbain's departure some one

rapped loudly at the street door.

"That's Urbain, no doubt," said Blanche; "he saw that I was sad and has

come back to console me."

"That's very improbable," said Marguerite; "it's more likely M. Touquet

who has returned. However, I am astonished that he should knock, for I

thought he had taken his master key."

"Go and see who it is, dear nurse."

"Yes, yes, mademoiselle; but if it should not be monsieur? It is

late--we are alone in the house, and I don't know if I ought to open to

any one."

"Do you want me to look out of the window, dear nurse, I shall very soon

see if it's Urbain."

"Yes, do so; that seems to me more prudent."

Blanche had already opened the window, and she looked down into the

street; the night was dark, but love renders the sight clear, and the

young girl soon saw that it was not Urbain.

"Who is there," demanded Marguerite, thrusting out her head.

A deep voice answered, "I come from Master Touquet, he has charged me

with a commission to his adopted daughter, Mademoiselle Blanche."

"How very singular," said Marguerite to Blanche. "What! monsieur, who

has hidden you from everybody's sight, sends a stranger to us at this

hour?"

"But, dear nurse, since he has sent him, it is necessary to open to this

gentleman. Perhaps something has happened to my protector."

"Is the man alone, my child?"

"Yes, dear nurse, I see nobody but him."

"Why don't you open the door," cried the man in the street, "my message

is urgent."

"Wait one moment, somebody will be there.--Remain here, my child."

Marguerite went down, holding her lamp in her hand. She was not

reassured, but opened the door, and a man wrapped in a large cloak, his

head covered with a plumed hat, appeared before her.

"You've been very slow, my good woman," said he, smiling, "however, I'll

indemnify you for the trouble I have caused you."

While saying these words, he slipped several pieces of gold into

Marguerite's hand. The old woman did not know if she ought to accept

them, but said to herself, "His manners are not those of a robber."

The stranger quickly entered the alleyway and the old woman as she

looked at him said to herself, "This is not the first time that I have

seen that figure, and I remember his voice. Yes, I believe that that's

the friend my master was waiting for so late some time ago."

Marguerite was not deceived, it was in fact the marquis who had

introduced himself into the house, having first sent the barber a letter

in which he gave him a rendezvous outside, and ordered him to wait there

until ten o'clock in the evening.

"Monsieur has been here before, I believe," said Marguerite, reassured

on recognizing one whom she believed to be her master's friend.

"Yes, yes, my good mother, I have often been here; but hasten to lead me

to your young mistress. It is absolutely necessary that I should see

her."

"Is my master ill?--has he been involved in some quarrel? Many accidents

happen in this city."

"Don't be uneasy, there's nothing of that kind."

The marquis followed Marguerite, who led him to Blanche's chamber, and

opened the door, saying,--

"Mademoiselle, here is a gentleman who brings you a message from M.

Touquet."

Blanche took some steps forward to meet the stranger; the marquis had

entered abruptly, but on perceiving the young girl he paused, and for

some moments remained motionless, occupied in contemplating her. There

was something in the aspect of the marquis which compelled respect, and

while at that moment there was nothing severe in his expression, the

astonishment and admiration depicted on his features lent additional

animation to his naturally proud and noble look. Blanche involuntarily

lowered her eyes, for she could not meet the fixed gaze with which the

marquis seemed to examine her person, and Marguerite dared not utter a

word, because the stranger intimidated her also.

"This is truly beyond all that I could have imagined," said the marquis,

as if he were speaking to himself.

"Monsieur," said Blanche, with embarrassment, "my nurse informs me that

you have something to say to me, some message from my benefactor; has

anything happened to him, monsieur?"

"No, lovely Blanche, no; your benefactor, since you deign to so call

him, has run into no danger, but I would brave a thousand if by that

means I could make you take the same interest in me."

Blanche glanced timidly at the marquis as if she were waiting for him to

explain himself better; the latter, in hastening to lead her to a chair,

dropped a corner of his mantle, allowing his rich attire to be seen, and

Marguerite said under her breath to the young girl,--

"Mon Dieu, my child, look at those precious stones, that lace, this is

at least a great nobleman."

"Oh, yes," answered Blanche, in the same tone, "it is superb, but I like

Urbain's costume much better."

Villebelle, who had not taken his eyes from Blanche, remained silent.

"Why did you come here then," said she, seeing that he was contented

with looking at her.

"Yes," said Marguerite, who sought to resume her ordinary assurance,

"for you must have come for something."

"And I have found more than I had believed possible," said the marquis,

smiling. Then, without appearing to notice the embarrassment which his

presence caused, he approached Blanche, took her hand, and cried,--

"You in this retreat! you hidden from all eyes!--when you should be the

ornament of the world and receive the homage of the whole universe."

"Forgive me, monsieur," said Blanche, "but I don't understand you."

"I don't understand you either," murmured Marguerite, fixing her small

eyes on the marquis.

"Better still, adorable girl," responded the marquis to Blanche, without

paying the least attention to Marguerite. "They did not deceive me, this

is innocence itself, the most perfect ingenuousness united to the most

seductive grace and beauty."

"But, monsieur, was that what M. Touquet told you to say to me?"

"No, lovely child, not at all," said the marquis laughing, and still

retaining Blanche's hand, which she vainly tried to disengage.

"It's necessary however that you should explain yourself," said

Marguerite in a dry tone, "you have been here for a quarter of an hour

and you have not yet said why you came. It is very late and we are

accustomed to go to bed early."

"Oh, well, old woman, go to your bed; I will remain with this lovely

child until the return of Master Touquet."

"Do you think I will leave you alone with my dear Blanche," cried

Marguerite, rendered still more suspicious by the word old, "no,

monsieur, no, I take better care of her than that. Your laces, your

jewelry, and your fine appearance do not inspire me with much

confidence. Wait! take back your pieces of gold, I don't wish them, for

I begin to believe that your intentions are not good, and Marguerite

will never second the plans of a seducer, whether duke or prince, even

should he offer her the mines of Peru."

The marquis replied only by shrugging his shoulders without turning

towards Marguerite, then he seated himself near Blanche and took off his

hat and mantle, establishing himself in the room like one who is not

disposed to go.

Blanche was trembling, confused; she looked at Marguerite as if to

implore her not to abandon her, and the old woman, whom the conduct of

the stranger had filled with new dread, forced herself to appear calm,

saying in a voice whose faltering accents betrayed her fright,--

"Be easy, my child, I am here, I will not leave you, and while monsieur

does not appear to listen to me it is, above all, necessary that he

should tell us what he came here to do."