THE SEVENTH HEAVEN.
Bathilde made some steps backward, for she had nearly fallen into
Raoul's arms. Raoul, having shut the door, followed Bathilde into the
room. Their two names, exchanged in a double cry, escaped their lips.
Their hands met in an electric clasp, and all was forgotten. These two,
who had so much to say to each other, yet remained for a long time
silent; at length Bathilde exclaimed--
"Oh, Raoul, how I have suffered!"
"And I," said D'Harmental, "who have appeared to you guilty, and am yet
innocent!"
"Innocent!" cried Bathilde, to whom, by a natural reaction, all her
doubts returned.
"Yes, innocent," replied the chevalier.
And then he told Bathilde all of his life that he dared to tell her--his
duel with Lafare; how he had, after that, hidden in the Rue du
Temps-Perdu; how he had seen Bathilde, and loved her; his astonishment
at discovering successively in her the elegant woman, the skillful
painter, the accomplished musician; his joy when he began to think that
she was not indifferent to him; then he told her how he had received, as
colonel of carabineers, the order to go to Brittany, and on his return
was obliged to render an account of his mission to the Duchesse de Maine
before returning to Paris. He had gone directly to Sceaux, expecting
only to leave his dispatches in passing, when he had found himself in
the midst of the fete, in which he had been obliged unwillingly to take
a part. This recital was finished by expressions of regret, and such
protestations of fidelity and love that Bathilde almost forgot the
beginning of his discourse in listening to the end.
It was now her turn. She also had a long history to tell D'Harmental; it
was the history of her life. With a certain pride in proving to her
lover that she was worthy of him, she showed herself as a child with her
father and mother, then an orphan and abandoned; then appeared Buvat
with his plain face and his sublime heart, and she told all his
kindness, all his love to his pupil; she passed in review her careless
childhood, and her pensive youth; then she arrived at the time when she
first saw D'Harmental, and here she stopped and smiled, for she felt
that he had nothing more to learn. Yet D'Harmental insisted on hearing
it all from her own lips, and would not spare her a single detail. Two
hours passed thus like two seconds, and they were still there when some
one rang at the door. Bathilde looked at the clock which was in the
corner of the room; it was six minutes past four; there was no mistake,
it was Buvat. Bathilde's first movement was one of fear, but Raoul
reassured her, smiling, for he had the pretext with which the Abbe
Brigaud had furnished him. The two lovers exchanged a last grasp of the
hand, then Bathilde went to open the door to her guardian, who, as
usual, kissed her on the forehead, then, on entering the room, perceived
D'Harmental. Buvat was astonished; he had never before found any man
with his pupil. Buvat fixed on him his astonished eyes and waited; he
fancied he had seen the young man before. D'Harmental advanced toward
him with that ease of which people of a certain class have not even an
idea.
"It is to Monsieur Buvat," he said, "that I have the honor of speaking?"
"To myself, sir," said Buvat, starting at the sound of a voice which he
thought he recognized; "but the honor is on my side."
"You know the Abbe Brigaud?" continued D'Harmental.
"Yes, perfectly, monsieur--the--that--the--of Madame Denis, is he not?"
"Yes," replied D'Harmental, smiling; "the confessor to Madame Denis."
"Yes, I know him. A clever man."
"Did you not once apply to him to get some copies to make?"
"Yes, monsieur, for I am a copyist, at your service."
"Well," said D'Harmental, "this dear Abbe Brigaud, who is my guardian
(that you may know who you are speaking to), has found an excellent
customer for you."
"Ah! truly; pray take a seat, monsieur."
"Thank you."
"And who is the customer?"
"The Prince de Listhnay, Rue du Bac, 110."
"A prince, monsieur, a prince!"
"Yes; a Spaniard, who is in correspondence with the 'Madrid Mercury,'
and sends all the news from Paris."
"Oh! that is a great honor."
"It will give you some trouble, however, for all the dispatches are in
Spanish."
"Diable!" said Buvat.
"Do you know Spanish?" asked D'Harmental.
"No, monsieur; I do not think so, at least."
"Never mind," continued the chevalier, smiling; "one need not know a
language to copy it."
"I could copy Chinese, monsieur; caligraphy, like drawing, is an
imitative art."
"And I know that in this respect, Monsieur Buvat," replied D'Harmental,
"you are a great artist."
"Monsieur," said Buvat, "you embarrass me. May I ask, without
indiscretion, at what time I shall find his highness?"
"What highness?"
"His highness the prince--I do not remember the name you said," replied
Buvat.
"Ah! the Prince de Listhnay."
"Himself."
"He is not highness, my dear Monsieur Buvat."
"Oh! I thought all princes--"
"This is only a prince of the third order, and he will be quite
satisfied if you call him monseigneur."
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it."
"And when shall I find him?"
"After your dinner; from five to half-past five. You remember the
address?"
"Yes; Rue du Bac, 110. I will be there, monsieur."
"Now," said D'Harmental, "au revoir! And you, mademoiselle," said he,
turning to Bathilde, "receive my thanks for your kindness in keeping me
company while I waited for M. Buvat--a kindness for which I shall be
eternally grateful."
And D'Harmental took his leave, while Bathilde remained astonished at
his ease and assurance in such a situation.
"This young man is really very amiable," said Buvat.
"Yes, very," said Bathilde, mechanically.
"But it is an extraordinary thing; I think I have seen him before."
"It is possible," said Bathilde.
"And his voice--I am sure I know his voice."
Bathilde started; for she remembered the evening when Buvat had returned
frightened from the adventure in the Rue des Bons Enfants, and
D'Harmental had not spoken of that adventure. At this moment Nanette
entered, announcing dinner. Buvat instantly went into the other room.
"Well, mademoiselle," said Nanette softly, "the handsome young man came,
then, after all?"
"Yes, Nanette, yes," answered Bathilde, raising her eyes to heaven with
an expression of infinite gratitude, "and I am very happy."
She passed in to the dining-room, where Buvat, who had put down his hat
and stick on a chair, was waiting for her, and slapping his thighs with
his hands, as was his custom in his moments of extreme satisfaction.
As to D'Harmental, he was no less happy than Bathilde; he was loved--he
was sure of it; Bathilde had told him so, with the same pleasure she had
felt on hearing him make the same declaration. He was loved; not by a
poor orphan, not by a little grisette, but by a young girl of rank,
whose father and mother had occupied an honorable position at court.
There were, then, no obstacles to their union, there was no social
interval between them. It is true that D'Harmental forgot the
conspiracy, which might at any time open an abyss under his feet and
engulf him. Bathilde had no doubts for the future; and when Buvat, after
dinner, took his hat and cane to go to the Prince de Listhnay's, she
first fell on her knees to thank God, and then, without hesitation, went
to open the window so long closed. D'Harmental was still at his. They
had very soon settled their plans, and taken Nanette into their
confidence. Every day, when Buvat was gone, D'Harmental was to come and
stay two hours with Bathilde. The rest of the time would be passed at
the windows, or, if by chance these must be closed, they could write to
each other. Toward seven o'clock they saw Buvat turning the corner of
the Rue Montmartre; he carried a roll of paper in one hand, and his cane
in the other, and by his important air, it was easy to see that he had
spoken to the prince himself. D'Harmental closed his window. Bathilde
had seen Buvat set out with some uneasiness, for she feared that this
story of the Prince de Listhnay was only an invention to explain
D'Harmental's presence. The joyous expression of Buvat's face, however,
quite reassured her.
"Well!" said she.
"Well! I have seen his highness."
"But, you know," answered Bathilde, "that M. Raoul said the Prince de
Listhnay had no right to that title, and was only a prince of the third
order."
"I guarantee him of the first," said Buvat, "sabre de bois! a man of
five feet ten, who throws his money about, and pays for copies at
fifteen francs the page, and has given twenty-five louis in advance!"
Then another fear began to come into Bathilde's mind, that this
pretended customer, whom Raoul had found for Buvat, was only a pretext
to induce him to accept money. This fear had in it something
humiliating; Bathilde turned her eyes toward D'Harmental's window, but
she saw D'Harmental looking at her with so much love through the glass,
that she thought of nothing but looking at him in return, which she did
for so long, that Buvat came forward to see what was attracting her
attention; but D'Harmental, seeing him, let fall the curtain.
"Well, then," said Bathilde, wishing to turn off his attention, "you are
content?"
"Quite; but I must tell you one thing."
"What is it?"
"You remember that I told you that I thought I recognized the face and
voice of this young man, but could not tell you where I had seen or
heard them?"
"Yes, you told me so."
"Well, it suddenly struck me to-day, as I was crossing the Rue des Bons
Enfants, that it was the same young man whom I saw on that terrible
night, of which I cannot think without trembling."
"What folly!" said Bathilde, trembling, however, herself.
"I was on the point of returning, however, for I thought this prince
might be some brigand chief, and that they were going to entice me into
a cavern; but as I never carry any money, I thought that my fears were
exaggerated, and so I went on."
"And now you are convinced, I suppose," replied Bathilde, "that this
poor young man, who came from the Abbe Brigaud, has no connection with
him of the Rue des Bons Enfants."
"Certainly, a captain of thieves could have no connection with his
highness; and now," continued Buvat, "you must excuse me if I do not
stay with you this evening. I promised his highness to begin the copies
directly, and I must do so." Buvat went into his room, leaving Bathilde
free to resume the interrupted conversation. Heaven only knows at what
hour the windows were closed.