It goes without saying that neither Camille nor her uncle knew anything
either of the Abbé de l'Epée, or of his new method. Camille's mother
would assuredly have discovered it, had she lived long enough. But
Chardonneux was far from Paris; the Chevalier did not take _The
Gazette_, nor, if he had taken it, would he have read it. Thus a few
leagues of distance, a little indolence, or death, may produce the same
result.
Upon Camille's return from the opera, she was possessed with but one
idea. She made her uncle understand that she wished for writing
materials. Although the good man wanted his supper, he ran to his
chamber, and returned with a piece of board and a morsel of chalk,
relics of his old love for building and carpentry.
Camille placed the board upon her knee, then made signs to her uncle
that he should sit by her and write something upon it. Laying his hand
gently upon the girl's breast, he wrote, in large letters, her name,
_Camille_, after which, well satisfied with the evening's work, he
seated himself at the supper-table.
Camille retired as soon as possible to her own room, clasping her board
in her arms. Having laid aside some of her finery, and let down her
hair, she began to copy with great pains and care the word which her
uncle had written. After writing it many times, she succeeded in forming
the letters very fairly. What that word represented to her, who shall
say?
[Illustration: "SHE BEGAN TO COPY WITH GREAT CARE."]
It was a glorious night of July. Camille had opened her window, and from
time to time paused in her self-imposed task to gaze out, although the
"view" was but a dreary one. The window overlooked a yard in which
coaches were kept. Four or five huge carriages stood side by side
beneath a shed. Two or three others stood in the centre of the yard, as
if awaiting the horses which could be heard kicking in the stable. The
court was shut in by a closed door and high walls.
Suddenly Camille perceived, beneath the shadow of a heavy diligence, a
human form pacing to and fro. A feeling of fear seized her. The man was
gazing intently at her window. In a few moments Camille had regained her
courage. She took her lamp in her hand, and, leaning from the casement,
held it so that its light illumined the court. The Marquis de Maubray
(for it was he), perceiving that he was discovered, sank on his knees
and clasped his hands, gazing at Camille meanwhile with an expression of
respectful admiration. Then he sprang up, and nimbly clambering over two
or three intercepting vehicles, was in a few minutes within Camille's
room, where his first act was to make her a profound bow. He longed for
some means of speaking to her, and, observing upon the table the board
bearing the written word _Camille_, he took the piece of chalk, and
proceeded to write beside that name his own--_Pierre_.
[Illustration: "HE WAS IN A FEW MINUTES WITHIN CAMILLE'S ROOM."]
"Who are you? and what are you doing here?" thundered a wrathful voice.
It was that of Uncle Giraud, who at that moment entered the room, and
bestowed upon the intruder a torrent of abuse. The Marquis calmly wrote
something upon the board, and handed it to Uncle Giraud, who read with
amazement the following words: "I love Mademoiselle Camille, and wish to
marry her. I am the Marquis de Maubray; will you give her to me?"
The uncle's wrath abated.
"Well!" remarked he to himself, as he recognised the youth he had seen
at the opera--"for going straight to the point, and getting through
their business quickly, I never saw the like of these dumb folk!"