BATHILDE.
In going to make his declaration to the commissary of the quarter and
his arrangements for the funeral, Buvat had not forgotten to look for a
woman who could take care of little Bathilde, an office which he could
not undertake himself; firstly, because he was entirely ignorant of its
duties; and, secondly, because it would be impossible to leave the
child alone during the six hours he spent daily at the office.
Fortunately, he knew the very person he wanted; a woman of from
thirty-five to thirty-eight years of age, who had been in Madame Buvat's
service, and whose good qualities he had duly appreciated. It was
arranged with Nanette--for this was the good woman's name--that she
should live in the house, do the cooking, take care of little Bathilde,
and have fifty livres a year wages, and her board. This new arrangement
must greatly change all Buvat's habits, by obliging him to have a
housekeeper, whereas he had always lived as a bachelor, and taken his
meals at an eating-house. He could no longer keep his attic, which was
now too small for him, and next morning he went in search of a new
lodging. He found one, Rue Pagevin, as he wished to be near the royal
library, that he might not have too far to walk in wet weather. This
lodging contained two rooms, a closet, and a kitchen. He took it on the
spot, and went to buy the necessary furniture for Bathilde and Nanette's
rooms; and the same evening, after his return from business, they moved
to their new lodgings.
The next day, which was Sunday, Clarice was buried; so that Buvat had no
need to ask for a day's leave even for this.
For the first week or two, Bathilde asked constantly for her mamma; but
her friend Buvat had brought her a great many pretty playthings to
console her, so that she soon began to ask for her less frequently; and
as she had been told she had gone to join her father, she at length only
asked occasionally when they would both come back.
Buvat had put Bathilde in the best room; he kept the other for himself,
and put Nanette in the little closet.
This Nanette was a good woman, who cooked passably, and knitted and
netted splendidly. In spite of these divers talents, Buvat understood
that he and Nanette would not suffice for the education of a young girl;
and that though she might write magnificently, know her five rules, and
be able to sew and net, she would still know only half of what she
should. Buvat had looked the obligation he had undertaken full in the
face. His was one of those happy organizations which think with the
heart, and he had understood that, though she had become his ward,
Bathilde remained the child of Albert and Clarice. He resolved, then, to
give her an education conformable, not to her present situation, but to
the name she bore.
In arriving at this resolution, Buvat had reasoned, very simply, that he
owed his place to Albert, and consequently, the income of that place
belonged to Bathilde. This is how he divided his nine hundred livres a
year: four hundred and fifty for music, drawing and dancing masters;
four hundred and fifty for Bathilde's dowry.
Now, supposing that Bathilde, who was four years old, should marry at
eighteen, the interest and the capital together would amount to
something like nine or ten thousand francs. This was not much, he knew,
and was much troubled by that knowledge; but it was in vain to think, he
could not make it more.
To defray the expense of their living, lodgings, and clothing, for
himself and Bathilde, he would again begin to give writing lessons and
make copies. For this purpose he got up at five o'clock in the morning,
and went to bed at ten at night. This would be all profit; for, thanks
to this new arrangement, he would lengthen his life by two or three
hours daily. For some time these good resolutions prospered; neither
lessons nor copies were wanting; and, as two years passed before
Bathilde had finished the early education he himself undertook to give
her, he was able to add nine hundred francs to her little treasure. At
six years old Bathilde had what the daughters of the richest and noblest
houses seldom have--masters for music, drawing and dancing. Making
sacrifices for this charming child was entirely pleasure; for she
appeared to have received from God one of those happy organizations
whose aptitude makes us believe in a former world, for they appear not
so much to be learning a new thing as to be remembering one formerly
known. As to her beauty, which had given such early promise, it had
amply fulfilled it.
Buvat was happy the whole week, while after each lesson he received the
compliments of the master, and very proud on Sundays, when, having put
on his salmon-colored coat, his black velvet breeches, and chine
stockings, he took Bathilde by the hand and went for his weekly walk.
It was generally toward the Chemin des Porcherons that he directed his
steps.
This was a rendezvous for bowls, and Buvat had formerly been a great
lover of this game. In ceasing to be an actor, he had become a judge.
Whenever a dispute arose, it was referred to him; and his eye was so
correct, that he could tell at the first glance, and without fail, which
ball was nearest the mark. From his judgments there was no appeal, and
they were received with neither more nor less respect than those of St.
Louis at Vincennes. But it must be said to his credit that his
predilection for this walk was not entirely egotistical: it also led to
the Marsh of the Grange Bateliere, whose black and gloomy waters
attracted a great many of those dragon-flies with the gauzy wings and
golden bodies which children delight to pursue. One of Bathilde's
greatest amusements was to run, with her green net in her hand, her
beautiful fair curls floating in the wind, after the butterflies and
dragon-flies. The result of this was that Bathilde had many accidents to
her white frock, but, provided she was amused, Buvat took very
philosophically a spot or a tear. This was Nanette's affair. The good
woman scolded well on their return, but Buvat closed her mouth by
shrugging his shoulders and saying, "Bah! one can't put old heads on
young shoulders."
And, as Nanette had a great respect for proverbs, which she occasionally
used herself, she generally gave way to the moral of this one. It
happened also sometimes, but this was only on fete days, that Buvat
complied with Bathilde's request to take her to Montmartre to see the
windmills. Then they set out earlier. Nanette took dinner with them,
which was destined to be eaten on the esplanade of the abbey. They did
not get home till eight o'clock in the evening, but from the Cross des
Porcherons Bathilde slept in Buvat's arms.
Things went on thus till the year 1712, at which time the great king
found himself so embarrassed in his affairs that the only thing left for
him to do was to leave off paying his employes. Buvat was warned of this
administrative measure by the cashier, who announced to him one fine
morning, when he presented himself to receive his month's pay, that
there was no money. Buvat looked at the man with an astonished air: it
had never entered into his head that the king could be in want of money.
He took no further notice of this answer, convinced that some accident
only had interrupted the payment, and went back to his office singing
his favorite
"Then let me go," etc.
"Pardon," said the supernumerary, who after waiting for seven years had
at last been named employe the first of the preceding month, "you must
be very light-hearted to sing when we are no longer paid."
"What!" cried Buvat; "what do you mean?"
"I mean that I suppose you have not gone to be paid."
"Yes, I have just come from there."
"Did they pay you?"
"No; they said there was no money."
"And what do you think of that?"
"Oh! I think," said Buvat, "that they will pay the two months together."
"Oh, yes! two months together! Do you hear, Ducoudray? He thinks they
will pay the two months together. He is a simple fellow, this Buvat."
"We shall see next month," replied the second clerk.
"Yes," replied Buvat, to whom this remark appeared very just, "we shall
see next month."
"And if they do not pay you next month, nor the following months, what
shall you do, Buvat?"
"What shall I do!" said Buvat, astonished that there could be a doubt
as to his resolution, "I should come just the same."
"What! if you were not paid you would come still?"
"Monsieur," said Buvat, "for ten years the king has paid me down on the
nail; surely after that he has a right to ask for a little credit if he
is embarrassed."
"Vile flatterer," said the clerk.
The month passed, and pay-day came again. Buvat presented himself with
the most perfect confidence that they would pay his arrears; but to his
astonishment they told him that there was still no money. Buvat asked
when there would be any. The cashier replied that he should like to
know. Buvat was quite confused, and went away; but this time without
singing. The same day the clerk resigned. Now as it was difficult to
replace a clerk who resigned because he was not paid, and whose work
must be done all the same, the chief told Buvat, besides his own work,
to do that of the missing clerk. Buvat undertook it without murmur; and
as his ordinary work had left him some time free, at the end of the
month the business was done.
They did not pay the third month any more than the two others--it was a
real bankruptcy. But as has been seen, Buvat never bargained with his
duties. What he had promised on the first impulse he did on reflection;
but he was forced to attack his treasure, which consisted of two years'
pay. Meanwhile Bathilde grew. She was now a young girl of thirteen or
fourteen years old, whose beauty became every day more remarkable, and
who began to understand all the difficulties of her position. For some
time the walks in the Porcheron and the expedition to Montmartre had
been given up under pretext that she preferred remaining at home to draw
or play on the harpsichord.
Buvat did not understand these sedentary tastes which Bathilde had
acquired so suddenly. And as, after having tried two or three times to
go out without her, he found that it was not the walk itself he cared
for, he resolved, as he must have air upon a Sunday, to look for a
lodging with a garden. But lodgings with gardens were too dear for his
finances, and having seen the lodging in the Rue du Temps-Perdu, he had
the bright idea of replacing the garden by a terrace. He came back to
tell Bathilde what he had seen, telling her that the only inconvenience
in this lodging would be that their rooms must be separated, and that
she would be obliged to sleep on the fourth floor with Nanette, and he
on the fifth. This was rather a recommendation to Bathilde. For some
time she had begun to feel it inconvenient that her room should be only
separated by a door from that of a man still young and who was neither
her father nor her husband. She therefore assured Buvat that the lodging
must suit him admirably, and advised him to secure it at once. Buvat was
delighted, and at once gave notice to quit his old lodgings, and at the
half-term he moved. Bathilde was right; for since her black mantle
sketched her beautiful shoulders--since her mittens showed the prettiest
fingers in the world--since of the Bathilde of former times there was
nothing left but her childish feet, every one began to remark that Buvat
was young--that the tutor and the pupil were living under the same roof.
In fact, the gossips who, when Bathilde was six years old, worshiped
Buvat's footsteps, now began to cry out about his criminality because
she was fifteen. Poor Buvat! If ever echo was innocent and pure, it was
that of the room which adjoined Bathilde's, and which for ten years had
sheltered his good round head, into which a bad thought had never
entered, even in dreams.
But on arriving at the Rue du Temps-Perdu it was still worse. In the Rue
Pagevin, where his admirable conduct to the child was known, this
remembrance had protected him against calumny; but in their new quarter
this was quite unknown, and their inscribing themselves under two
different names prevented any idea of very near relationship. Some
supposed that they saw in Bathilde the result of an old passion which
the Church had forgotten to consecrate, but this idea fell at the first
examination. Bathilde was tall and slender, Buvat short and fat;
Bathilde had brilliant black eyes, Buvat's were blue and expressionless;
Bathilde's face was white and smooth, Buvat's face was bright red. In
fact, Bathilde's whole person breathed elegance and distinction, while
poor Buvat was the type of vulgar good-nature. The result of this was,
that the women began to look at Bathilde with contempt, and that men
called Buvat a lucky fellow. The previsions of the clerk who resigned
were realized. For eighteen months Buvat had not touched a sou of his
pay, and yet had not relaxed for a moment in his punctuality. Moreover,
he was haunted with a fear that the ministry would turn away a third of
the clerks for the sake of economy. Buvat would have looked on the loss
of his place as a great misfortune, although it took him six hours a day
which he might have employed in a lucrative manner. They took care not
to dismiss a man who worked the better the less they paid him.
Bathilde began to think that there was something passing of which she
was ignorant. She thought it would be no use to ask Buvat, and
addressing herself to Nanette, who, after a short time, avowed all to
her, Bathilde learned for the first time all she owed to Buvat; and that
to pay her masters, and to amass her dowry, Buvat worked from morning
till night; and that in spite of this, as his salary was not paid, he
would be obliged sooner or later to tell Bathilde that they must
retrench all expenses that were not absolutely necessary.
Bathilde's first impulse on learning this devotion was to fall at
Buvat's feet and express her gratitude; but she soon understood that, to
arrive at her desired end, she must feign ignorance.
The next day Bathilde told Buvat, laughing, that it was throwing away
money to keep her masters any longer, for she knew as much as they did;
and as, in Buvat's eyes, Bathilde's drawings were the most beautiful
things in the world, and as, when she sang, he was in the seventh
heaven, he found no difficulty in believing her, particularly as her
masters, with unusual candor, avowed that their pupil knew enough to
study alone; but Bathilde had a purifying influence on all who
approached her. Bathilde was not satisfied with saving expense, but also
wished to increase his gains. Although she had made equal progress in
music and drawing, she understood that drawing was her only resource,
and that music could be nothing but a relaxation. She reserved all her
attention for drawing; and as she was really very talented, she soon
made charming sketches. At last one day she wished to know what they
were worth; and she asked Buvat, in going to his office, to show them to
the person from whom she bought her paper and crayons, and who lived at
the corner of the Rue de Clery. She gave him two children's heads which
she had drawn from fancy, to ask their value. Buvat undertook the
commission without suspecting any trick, and executed it with his
ordinary naivete. The dealer, accustomed to such propositions, turned
them round and round with a disdainful air, and, criticising them
severely, said that he could only offer fifteen francs each for them.
Buvat was hurt not by the price offered, but by the disrespectful manner
in which the shopkeeper had spoken of Bathilde's talent. He drew them
quickly out of the dealer's hands, saying that he thanked him.
The man, thinking that Buvat thought the price too small, said that, for
friendship's sake, he would go as high as forty francs for the two; but
Buvat, offended at the slight offered to the genius of his ward,
answered dryly that the drawings which he had shewn him were not for
sale, and that he had only asked their value through curiosity. Every
one knows that from the moment drawings are not for sale they increase
singularly in value, and the dealer at length offered fifty francs; but
Buvat, little tempted by this proposition, by which he did not even
dream of profiting, took the drawings and left the shop with all the
dignity of wounded pride. When he returned, the dealer was standing, as
if by chance, at his door. Buvat, seeing him, kept at a distance; but
the shopkeeper came to him, and, putting his two hands on his
shoulders, asked him if he would not let him have the two drawings for
the price he had named. Buvat replied a second time, sharply, that they
were not for sale. "That is a pity," replied the dealer, "for I would
have given eighty francs." And he returned to his door with an
indifferent air, but watching Buvat as he did so. Buvat, however, went
on with a pride that was almost grotesque, and, without turning once,
went straight home. Bathilde heard him, as he came up the staircase,
striking his cane against the balusters, as he was in the habit of
doing. She ran out to meet him, for she was very anxious to hear the
result of the negotiation, and, with the remains of her childish habits,
throwing her arms round his neck--
"Well, my friend," asked she, "what did M. Papillon say?"
"M. Papillon," replied Buvat, wiping his forehead, "is an impertinent
rascal."
Poor Bathilde turned pale.
"How so?" asked she.
"Yes; an impertinent rascal, who, instead of admiring your drawings, has
dared to criticise them."
"Oh! if that is all," said Bathilde, laughing, "he is right. Remember
that I am but a scholar. But did he offer any price?"
"Yes," said Buvat; "he had impertinence enough for that."
"What price?" asked Bathilde, trembling.
"He offered eighty francs."
"Eighty francs!" cried Bathilde. "Oh! you must be mistaken."
"I tell you he offered eighty francs for the two," replied Buvat, laying
a stress on each syllable.
"But it is four times as much as they are worth," said the young girl,
clapping her hands for joy.
"It is possible, though I do not think so; but it is none the less true
that M. Papillon is an impertinent rascal!"
This was not Bathilde's opinion; but she changed the conversation,
saying that dinner was ready--an announcement which generally gave a new
course to Buvat's ideas. Buvat gave back the drawings to Bathilde
without further observation, and entered the little sitting-room,
singing the inevitable, "Then let me go," etc.
He dined with as good an appetite as if there had been no M. Papillon in
the world. The same evening, while Buvat was making copies, Bathilde
gave the drawings to Nanette, telling her to take them to M. Papillon
and ask for the eighty francs he had offered to Buvat. Nanette obeyed,
and Bathilde awaited her return with great anxiety, for she still
believed there must be some mistake as to the price. Ten minutes
afterward she was quite assured, for the good woman entered with the
money. Bathilde looked at it for an instant with tears in her eyes, then
kneeling before the crucifix at the foot of her bed, she offered up a
thanksgiving that she was enabled to return to Buvat a part of what he
had done for her.
The next day Buvat, in returning from the office, passed before
Papillon's door, but his astonishment was great when, through the
windows of the shop, he saw the drawings. The door opened and Papillon
appeared.
"So," said he, "you thought better of it, and made up your mind to part
with the two drawings which were not for sale? Ah! I did not know you
were so cunning, neighbor. But, however, tell Mademoiselle Bathilde,
that, as she is a good girl, out of consideration for her, if she will
do two such drawings every month, and promise not to draw for any one
else for a year, I will take them at the same price."
Buvat was astonished; he grumbled out an answer which the man could not
hear, and went home. He went upstairs and opened the door without
Bathilde having heard him. She was drawing; she had already begun
another head, and perceiving her good friend standing at the door with a
troubled air, she put down her paper and pencils and ran to him, asking
what was the matter. Buvat wiped away two great tears,
"So," said he, "the child of my benefactors, of Clarice Gray and Albert
du Rocher, is working for her bread!"
"Father," replied Bathilde, half crying, half laughing; "I am not
working, I am amusing myself."
The word "father" was substituted on great occasions for "kind friend,"
and ordinarily had the effect of calming his greatest troubles, but this
time it failed.
"I am neither your father, nor your good friend," murmured he, "but
simply poor Buvat, whom the king pays no longer, and who does not gain
enough by his writing to continue to give you the education you ought to
have."
"Oh! you want to make me die with grief," cried Bathilde, bursting into
tears, so plainly was Buvat's distress painted on his countenance.
"I kill you with grief, my child?" said Buvat, with an accent of
profound tenderness. "What have I done? What have I said? You must not
cry. It wanted nothing but that to make me miserable."
"But," said Bathilde, "I shall always cry if you do not let me do what I
like."
This threat of Bathilde's, puerile as it was, made Buvat tremble; for,
since the day when the child wept for her mother, not a tear had fallen
from her eyes.
"Well," said Buvat, "do as you like, but promise me that when the king
pays my arrears--"
"Well, well," cried Bathilde, interrupting him, "we shall see all that
later; meanwhile, the dinner is getting cold." And, taking him by the
arm, she led him into the little room, where, by her jokes and gayety,
she soon succeeded in removing the last traces of sadness from Buvat's
face.
What would he have said if he had known all?
Bathilde thought she could do the two drawings for M. Papillon in eight
or ten days; there therefore remained the half, at least, of every
month, which she was determined not to lose. She, therefore, charged
Nanette to search among the neighbors for some difficult, and,
consequently, well-paid needlework, which she could do in Buvat's
absence. Nanette easily found what she sought. It was the time for
laces. The great ladies paid fifty louis a yard for guipure, and then
ran carelessly through the woods with these transparent dresses. The
result of this was, that many a rent had to be concealed from mothers
and husbands, so that at this time there was more to be made by mending
than by selling laces. From her first attempt, Bathilde did wonders; her
needle seemed to be that of a fairy. Nanette received many compliments
on the work of the unknown Penelope, who did by day what was undone by
night. Thanks to Bathilde's industry, they began to have much greater
ease in their house.
Buvat, more tranquil, and seeing that he must renounce his Sunday walks,
determined to be satisfied with the famous terrace which had determined
him in the choice of his house. For a week he spent an hour morning and
evening taking measures, without any one knowing what he intended to do.
At length he decided on having a fountain, a grotto, and an arbor.
Collecting the materials for these, and afterward building them, had
occupied all Buvat's spare time for twelve months. During this time
Bathilde had passed from her fifteenth to her sixteenth year, and the
charming child into a beautiful woman. It was during this time that her
neighbor, Boniface Denis, had remarked her, and his mother, who could
refuse him nothing, after having been for information to the Rue
Pagevin, had presented herself, under pretext of neighborhood, to Buvat
and his ward, and, after a little while, invited them both to pass
Sunday evenings with her.
The invitation was given with so good a grace that there was no means of
refusing it, and, indeed, Buvat was delighted that some opportunity of
amusement should be presented to Bathilde; besides, as he knew that
Madame Denis had two daughters, perhaps he was not sorry to enjoy that
triumph which his paternal pride assured him Bathilde could not fail to
obtain over Mademoiselle Emilie and Mademoiselle Athenais. However,
things did not pass exactly as he had arranged them. Bathilde soon saw
the mediocrity of her rivals, so that when they spoke of drawing, and
called on her to admire some heads by these young ladies, she pretended
to have nothing in the house that she could show, while Buvat knew that
there were in her portfolio two heads, one of the infant Jesus, and one
of St. John, both charming; but this was not all--the Misses Denis sang;
and when they asked Bathilde to sing, she chose a simple little romance
in two verses, which lasted five minutes, instead of the grand scene
which Buvat had expected.
However, this conduct appeared singularly to increase the regard of
Madame Denis for the young girl, for Madame Denis was not without some
uneasiness with respect to the event of an artistic struggle between the
young people. Bathilde was overwhelmed with caresses by the good woman,
who, when she was gone, declared she was full of talents and modesty,
and that she well deserved all the praises lavished upon her. A retired
silk-mercer raised her voice to recall the strange position of the tutor
and the pupil, but Madame Denis imposed silence on this malicious tongue
by declaring that she knew the whole history from beginning to end, and
that it did the greatest honor to both her neighbors. It was a small
lie, however, of good Madame Denis, but it was doubtless pardoned in
consideration of the intention.
As to Boniface, in company he was dumb and a nonentity; he had been this
evening so remarkably stupid that Bathilde had hardly noticed him at
all.
But it was not thus with Boniface, who, having admired Bathilde from a
distance, became quite crazy about her when he saw her near. He began to
sit constantly at his window, which obliged Bathilde to keep hers
closed; for it will be remembered that Boniface then inhabited the room
now occupied by the Chevalier d'Harmental. This conduct of Bathilde, in
which it was impossible to see anything but supreme modesty, only
augmented the passion of her neighbor. At his request, his mother went
again to the Rue Pagevin, and to the Rue des Orties, where she had
learned, from an old woman, something of the death-scene we have
related, and in which Buvat played so noble a part. She had forgotten
the names, and she only remembered that the father was a handsome young
officer, who had been killed in Spain, and that the mother was a
charming young woman, who had died of grief and poverty.
Boniface also had been in search of news, and had learned from his
employer, who was a friend of Buvat's notary, that every year, for six
years past, five hundred francs had been deposited with him in
Bathilde's name, which, with the interest, formed a little capital of
seven or eight thousand francs. This was not much for Boniface, who, as
his mother said, would have three thousand francs a year, but at least
it showed that Bathilde was not destitute. At the end of a month, during
which time Madame Denis's friendship for Bathilde did not diminish,
seeing that her son's love greatly increased, she determined to ask her
hand for him. One afternoon, as Buvat returned from business, Madame
Denis waited for him at her door, and made a sign to him that she had
something to say to him. Buvat followed her politely into her room, of
which she closed the door, that she might not be interrupted; and when
Buvat was seated, she asked for the hand of Bathilde for her son.
Buvat was quite bewildered. It had never entered his mind that Bathilde
might marry. Life without Bathilde appeared so impossible a thing that
he changed color at the bare idea. Madame Denis did not fail to remark
the strange effect that her request had produced on Buvat. She would not
even allow him to think it had passed unnoticed. She offered him the
bottle of salts which she always kept on the chimney-piece, that she
might repeat three or four times a week that her nerves were very
sensitive.
Buvat, instead of simply smelling the salts from a reasonable distance,
put it close up under his nose. The effect was rapid. He bounded to his
feet, as if the angel of Habakkuk had taken him by the hair. He sneezed
for about ten minutes; then, having regained his senses, he said that he
understood the honorable proposal made for Bathilde, but that he was
only her guardian: that he would tell her of the proposal, but must
leave her free to accept or refuse.
Madame Denis thought this perfectly right, and conducted him to the
door, saying that, waiting a reply, she was their very humble servant.
Buvat went home, and found Bathilde very uneasy; he was half an hour
late, which had not happened before for ten years. The uneasiness of the
young girl was doubled when she saw Buvat's sad and preoccupied air, and
she wanted to know directly what it was that caused the abstracted mien
of her dear friend. Buvat, who had not had time to prepare a speech,
tried to put off the explanation till after dinner; but Bathilde
declared that she should not go to dinner till she knew what had
happened. Buvat was thus obliged to deliver on the spot, and without
preparation, Madame Denis's proposal to Bathilde.
Bathilde blushed directly, as a young girl always does when they talk to
her of marriage; then, taking the hands of Buvat, who was sitting down,
trembling with fear, and looking at him with that sweet smile which was
the sun of the poor writer--
"Then, my dear father," said she, "you have had enough of your daughter,
and you wish to get rid of her?"
"I," said Buvat, "I who wish to get rid of you! No, my child; it is I
who shall die of grief if you leave me."
"Then, my father, why do you talk to me of marriage?"
"Because--because--some day or other you must marry, and if you find a
good partner, although, God knows, my little Bathilde deserves some one
better than M. Boniface."
"No, my father," answered Bathilde, "I do not deserve any one better
than M. Boniface, but--"----"Well--but?"
"But--I will never marry."
"What!" cried Buvat, "you will never marry?"
"Why should I? Are we not happy as we are?"
"Are we not happy?" echoed Buvat. "Sabre de bois! I believe we are."
Sabre de bois was an exclamation which Buvat allowed himself on great
occasions, and which illustrated admirably the pacific inclinations of
the worthy fellow.
"Well, then," continued Bathilde, with her angel's smile, "if we are
happy, let us rest as we are. You know one should not tempt Providence."
"Come and kiss me, my child," said Buvat; "you have just lifted
Montmartre off my stomach!"
"You did not wish for this marriage, then?"
"I wish to see you married to that wretched little imp of a Boniface,
against whom I took a dislike the first time I saw him! I did not know
why, though I know now."
"If you did not desire this marriage, why did you speak to me about it?"
"Because you know well that I am not really your father, that I have no
authority over you, that you are free."
"Indeed, am I free?" answered Bathilde, laughing.
"Free as air."
"Well, then, if I am free, I refuse."
"Diable! I am highly satisfied," said Buvat; "but how shall I tell it to
Madame Denis?"
"How? Tell her that I am too young, that I do not wish to marry, that I
want to stop with you always."
"Come to dinner," said Buvat, "perhaps a bright idea will strike me when
I am eating. It is odd! my appetite has come back all of a sudden. Just
now I thought I could not swallow a drop of water. Now I could drink the
Seine dry."
Buvat drank like a Suisse, and ate like an ogre; but, in spite of this
infraction of his ordinary habits, no bright idea came to his aid; so
that he was obliged to tell Madame Denis openly that Bathilde was very
much honored by her selection, but that she did not wish to marry.
This unexpected response perfectly dumfounded Madame Denis, who had
never imagined that a poor little orphan like Bathilde could refuse so
brilliant a match as her son; consequently she answered very sharply
that every one was free to act for themselves, and that, if
Mademoiselle Bathilde chose to be an old maid, she was perfectly
welcome.
But when she reflected on this refusal, which her maternal pride could
not understand, all the old calumnies which she had heard about the
young girl and her guardian returned to her mind; and as she was in a
disposition to believe them, she made no further doubt that they were
true, and when she transmitted their beautiful neighbor's answer to
Boniface, she said, to console him for this matrimonial disappointment,
that it was very lucky that she had refused, since, if she had accepted,
in consequence of what she had learned, she could not have allowed such
a marriage to be concluded.
Madame Denis thought it unsuited to her dignity that after so
humiliating a refusal her son should continue to inhabit the room
opposite Bathilde's, so she gave him one on the ground floor, and
announced that his old one was to let.
A week after, as M. Boniface, to revenge himself on Bathilde, was
teasing Mirza, who was standing in the doorway, not thinking it fine
enough to trust her little white feet out of doors, Mirza, whom the
habit of being fed had made very petulant, darted out on M. Boniface,
and bit him cruelly in the calf.
It was in consequence of this that the poor fellow, whose heart or leg
was not very well healed, cautioned D'Harmental to beware of the
coquetry of Bathilde, and to throw a sop to Mirza.