Part 15

The Sire de Jarnonville walked rapidly away, without listening to his debtor's thanks; and Léodgard placed the purse filled with gold in his belt, saying to himself:

"He has done me a great service. He's an original fellow, but he has his good points.--When I have spent this money, what shall I do to get some more?--But what am I thinking about? I have a well-lined purse upon me and I am sighing for a lovely girl. Pardieu! this is not the time to worry about the future! What disturbs me now is to see that window remain closed. It has been dark a long while; can it be that Bathilde will not come to the balcony?--Ah! it seems to me that I have never loved a woman as I love her. How different she is from the coquettes of the court! from our courtesans--aye, from our _petites bourgeoises_! The purest innocence shines on that child's brow.--What bliss to teach her what love is--to be the first to make her heart beat!--But she does not appear!"

Léodgard stamped his foot impatiently and began to pace the street, without losing sight of the bath keeper's house.

Let us see what Bathilde was doing at that moment.

I need not tell you that on leaving the Place de Grève to return to her home Landry's daughter had not failed to discover that the handsome Comte de Marvejols was following her. She had not seemed to notice it, she had not released her hold of Ambroisine's arm for an instant, she had not turned her head; and yet she had seen that the young man was following her.

How had she done it?

That is a mystery which I am unable to solve. I can simply assure you that all women, young or old, from the most sophisticated to the most innocent, possess that faculty. Probably it is the second-sight of the Scotch, except that they have it in the back of the head.

Bathilde returned to her little room, disturbed by a sentiment that was entirely novel to her; her bosom rose and fell more rapidly, she felt happier than she had ever felt.

Was it her pride that was flattered, or her self-esteem?

No; the sweet child did not as yet know either of those sentiments.

It was something sweeter, more tender, which had found its way into her heart with the fiery glances of the handsome cavalier, and against which she had not known how to defend herself, for she was unaware of the danger; it had not occurred to her that it was wrong to glance occasionally at a comely youth who kept his eyes constantly fixed on her.

When she learned that the comely youth was Comte Léodgard de Marvejols, the girl had felt perhaps a secret thrill of terror; but it had not lasted--the young man's glances had soon dispelled it.

Bathilde occupied a room that looked on a yard behind the house. It was impossible for her to see from her window anything that took place in the street. But since her mother had been absent, the girl had enjoyed more liberty; so long as she avoided the baths, a place which it would have been imprudent for her to frequent, she was free to range over the whole first floor at her pleasure. Knowing that his daughter was in the house, Landry asked nothing more.

On the day following the Fire of Saint-Jean, Bathilde, although she did not know why, could not keep still. She went in and out, from one room to another, arranging the furniture, or rather disarranging it, in order to have an excuse for putting it to rights again.

In her peregrinations she visited most frequently a room at the front of the house, which Dame Ragonde used as a linen closet; it was the room with the balcony. Bathilde had put aside the curtain and glanced into the street from time to time, without opening the window. She had soon discovered the young seigneur of the preceding night walking back and forth in front of the baths, and stopping frequently to scrutinize the house from top to bottom.

Bathilde had felt the blood rush to her cheeks, although no one could have seen her put aside the curtain. She had left the window, but had returned to it a moment later.

"He is there!" she said to herself, trembling with excitement; "he is still there! Mon Dieu! why does he keep looking at our house?"

The little innocent guessed well enough why he did it; but there are things which we do not choose to admit at once, even to ourselves, especially when they give us pleasure; we are much less ceremonious with those that make us unhappy.

The next day, Bathilde did not fail to go early to the linen closet; she resumed her manœuvres of the day before, and looked into the street after cautiously raising a corner of the curtain.

This lasted four days, during which she saw the handsome cavalier almost always in the street, gazing sadly at the windows, with his hand to his heart, and probably sighing; she did not hear the sigh, but she divined it.

On the fifth day, she no longer had the heart to keep the window closed, and yet she did not wish to appear on the balcony without a reason for going there.

Suddenly she remembered that she had a rosebush in her chamber, where, by the way, it rarely received a ray of sunlight.

She ran instantly to Master Landry and said:

"Father, you know I have a lovely rosebush, which Ambroisine gave me two years ago, on my birthday."

"Very likely; what then?"

"It is in my room, on the window sill, but I have just noticed that it's dying, the leaves are turning yellow. It's because it doesn't get enough air. The yard is so small, and then the steam from the baths is bad for it, perhaps. I should be awfully sorry if it should die. Will you let me put it on the balcony outside the window of the linen closet? There is nothing there, so it won't be in the way; it will have the sun, and I am sure that it will do better there."

"Put your rosebush where you please, my child; what hinders you?"

"Oh! thank you, father!"

And Bathilde went away, pleased beyond words. Dame Ragonde would never have allowed her to put a rosebush at a window on the front of the house. A woman would have felt, divined, an intrigue therein. But the old soldier saw nothing but a rosebush.

XXI

LOVE TRAVELS FAST

Bathilde made haste to take advantage of the permission her father had given her.

Before carrying the rosebush to the balcony, she cast a glance at her mirror. Was it coquetry? No. But the daughter of a master bath keeper did not wish to show herself to the eyes of chance passers-by without being quite sure that nothing was lacking in her dress.

We know already that for three days the girl did not forget to visit the balcony several times during the day, and even after dark, to make sure that her beautiful rosebush needed nothing. Never was flower more sedulously tended, never were rosebuds examined with such care; and certainly no insect could have found a resting place on their stems, unless it had shown the most determined obstinacy in returning thither.

On the third day, or rather the third evening, Bathilde heard the stone fall on the balcony, where she did not happen to be at the time, although she was always close at hand. She instantly detected the paper wrapped about the stone. Her first impulse was to rush out and pick it up; but she reflected that he who had thrown it must still be in the street, and that, if she picked up his note at once, she would show him that she was there, watching behind the curtain.

See how slyly even the most innocent can act sometimes! La Fontaine tells us _how wit comes to young maids_; for my part, I believe that it is all there as soon as they feel love for a man.

Bathilde waited, therefore, until the evening was well advanced before she stole noiselessly out and picked up the stone and the paper. Then she hastened to her room and locked herself in, to read at her ease that first love letter, which was destined to put the finishing touch to this turmoil in her heart, and perhaps to cause her much suffering, and which it would have been wiser for her not to read.

But wisdom is often the fruit of experience, and Bathilde had had none.

She opened Léodgard's letter with a trembling hand, and eagerly read these words:

"CHARMING BATHILDE:

"Need I tell you that I love you, that from the moment I first saw you your cherished image has not gone from my memory and my heart? You must know who I am: your friend Ambroisine called me by name before you, but she has slandered me if she has told you that I am incapable of keeping my faith.

"I shall love you always, Bathilde; because my love is sincere, because you are the first woman who ever caused me to know a genuine passion.

"You will say, perhaps, that too great a distance separates us, that my name, my rank, keep us apart.--But only tell me that you love me a little, and I will find a way to remove all obstacles. What does it matter to me in what station of life you were born? In my eyes, you are far above the _grandes dames_ of the court.

"My fortune, my name--I lay everything at your feet! Yes, before God, I swear to take you for my wife!

"But come to your balcony, do not fly at night when I come near; and, in pity's name, grant a few moments' interview to one who will die if you refuse to love him.

"LÉODGARD DE MARVEJOLS."

Such a loving, ardent note was certain to make great ravages in an inexperienced heart, in a heart which was conscious of a craving to love. Love travels fast when it follows an unbeaten path.

Moreover, a secret sympathy drew the girl on; she too loved Léodgard. Only an instant, a single glance, was necessary for that.

Bathilde read and reread and read again the young count's letter; she held it in her hand when she went to bed, she kept it against her heart all night. Ah! a first love letter is such a priceless treasure! A woman may receive many of them in the course of her life, but the others are never worth so much as that one.

The next morning Bathilde knew the letter by heart, and she said to herself every instant:

"He loves me! he will always love me! I am the first woman whom he has ever really loved! My birth is no obstacle, he says; in that case, he will ask my parents for my hand, and will marry me. What joy! how happy I shall be! Not because I shall be a countess; what do I care for that? But I shall be his wife! and I shall be able, in my turn, to tell him that I love him!--But then, I must go out on the balcony to-night and speak to him. Suppose I consult my father first, and show him this letter? But perhaps he would scold me for receiving it and reading it without his permission!"

Bathilde was in dire perplexity, not knowing what she ought to do. But her heart was bursting with joy and happiness because she knew that Léodgard loved her.

She was still hesitating about going to her window, when Ambroisine suddenly appeared.

The _belle baigneuse_ had not had time to visit her friend since the Fire of Saint-Jean; and yet a secret presentiment told her that her friendship was more than ever necessary to Bathilde. At last, she stole a moment during the morning and hastened to Rue Dauphine; she ran up to her friend's room and did not find her there; a servant told her that her master's daughter passed almost all her time now in the linen closet, and pointed it out to her.

This change of habit surprised Ambroisine. However, she went to the small room where Bathilde was. The latter, when she saw her friend, was confused for a moment, and hastily thrust into her bosom the letter which she was reading for the hundredth time.

Ambroisine ran to Bathilde and kissed her, saying:

"Well! here I am at last! I succeeded in making my escape to-day.--We have so many people at our baths, and so many young men come to be shaved by father! But I found a moment this morning, and I ran away. I was so anxious to see you! And you--have you no desire to talk over our evening on the Place de Grève? We have so many things to say to each other! haven't we?"

"Oh, yes! yes! I longed to see you, too."

"It's strange, but you don't say that with all your heart, as I do! You have a curious manner. Have you been sick? You are quite pale.--Oh! there is certainly something wrong!"

"Why, no--you are mistaken; I am not sick at all!"

"So much the better.--But how does it happen that you are in this room looking on the street--you, who never used to leave your own bedroom?"

"Why, I am here--I am here----"

"Yes, I see that you are here!"

"I am here because I asked father's permission to put my lovely rosebush on this balcony, which is a much better place for it; and then--I--I have to come here to tend it."

"Ah! so it's on account of your rosebush?"

"And then, it is much livelier here than in my room."

"That is true enough. But when your mother comes home, I am very sure that she will make you carry your rosebush back to your room, and will forbid your coming here any more."

"Do you think so? O mon Dieu!"

"Well! now you are as pale as a ghost! Come, Bathilde, kiss me and tell me all; you have something on your mind, and you do not want to confide it to me. Am I no longer your sister, your friend? Do you propose to have secrets from me? Oh, no! that is impossible! You are going to tell me why it is that you are so distressed, that your eyes are full of tears, that you are afraid to look me in the face. Do you mean to tell me that you will not open your heart to me any more? Come, speak out!"

Bathilde hesitated, but at last she faltered:

"Ah! but you will say more unkind things about him!"

Ambroisine shuddered; those few words told her the whole story. Her face assumed an expression of profound sadness.

"About him! him! Mon Dieu! have you seen Comte Léodgard again?"

"Did I say that?"

"Yes. The words you have just dropped tell me that it is so.--Come, Bathilde, tell me everything now. You cannot have anything to conceal from your sister, who loves you so dearly. I will not scold you, I have no right to; but my friendship may be useful to you.--Speak, I entreat you!"

Bathilde no longer felt strong enough to resist her friend's entreaties; she had not yet learned to dissemble. She seated herself beside Ambroisine and told her all that had happened since they had met; and finally, taking Léodgard's letter from her bosom with a trembling hand she gave it to her friend.

Ambroisine shuddered as she read the letter, then turned her eyes on Bathilde, who was gazing into her face and waiting to hear what she would say.

But Hugonnet's daughter was silent for several minutes; her eyes were swimming in tears. At last she took Bathilde's head in her hands, pressed it to her breast, and covered it with tears and kisses, murmuring:

"No! no! I do not propose that you shall be ruined! Poor child, I am determined to save you. It is my duty; for is it not my fault that this man, who is now trying to seduce you, ever saw you? Was it not I who insisted on taking you to see the Fire of Saint-Jean? Mon Dieu! was it possible for one to foresee, to divine, that the Evil One would be there in the person of this Comte Léodgard, seeking to ruin you? For he is the Evil One, I tell you; that man is the fallen angel!--But I trust that you do not believe him? Surely you place no faith in what he has written you? This letter--why, there is not a word of truth in it!"

"Not a word of truth!" cried Bathilde, in a heart-rending tone. "But in that case, why should he write me all this, if he did not think it? Why should he pass whole days walking in front of our house? Why should he come here again in the evening--always looking at this window? And I am not sure that he is not here at night too.--Ah! when I go out on the balcony to tend my rosebush, if you could see how he looks at me--how happy he seems all the time that I am there!"

"So you look at him too, do you? O Bathilde!"

"Oh, no! I don't look at him; indeed, I should not dare to. But, you know, one can see, out of the corner of one's eye, without seeming to look."

"My poor dear! can it be that you already love this Monsieur Léodgard?"

"Oh! I don't know--I don't dare to tell you. But since I read his letter, in which he swears that he will always love me--ah! I no longer know how I feel, what I am doing, what I am saying; my head is on fire, and my whole body is like my head. I believe that I have a fever; I think of nothing but him, I cannot drive away his image; I seem to feel pain and pleasure at the same time.--Mon Dieu! I no longer know myself!"

"Dear child! be calm. Listen to me; you have too much good sense not to understand me.--Now, Bathilde, let us admit that the count loves you at this moment; in the first place, his love will very soon pass away. But even if it should be more sincere than all the loves that he has promised, sworn, to other women, how would that help you? You know perfectly well that you can never become the wife of a count, of a great nobleman."

"But you see that in his letter he says that he cares nothing for rank and fortune."

"In his letter he has put down everything that was likely to turn your head!--Ah! Bathilde, do the great nobles ever marry us poor girls, the daughters of humble tradesmen? When we are pretty, they make love to us and try to seduce us, and they are not sparing of lies and promises to effect that purpose! But if we are unfortunate enough to listen to them, they very soon abandon us, leaving us nothing but shame and regret.--What I say is absolutely true, Bathilde. You know perfectly well that I desire nothing but your happiness. But if you listen to Comte Léodgard, you will be unhappy, you will be ruined!--Think of your father, who is so proud of you. Think of your mother, who has watched over you so carefully. They would curse you!"

"Oh! do not say any more! Yes, you are right; I was mad! But you bring me back to myself.--Tell me how I must act; I will do whatever you wish."

Ambroisine embraced her friend again, and said:

"Dear Bathilde, you suffer at this moment, because I am tearing away illusions that made you happy. But I do it so that you may enjoy truer happiness in the future. Listen: first of all, you must not appear on this balcony for a week, at least; nay, you must not even come into this room, for you would look into the street in spite of yourself. Resume your usual mode of life, work as if your mother were by your side.--In the second place, you must--you must not read this letter any more; and, in order to be certain of not yielding to temptation, you must burn it."

"Burn his letter! the only token I shall have of his love--the only souvenir of him when he has ceased to think of me! Oh, no! let me keep it, Ambroisine, I implore you! I will do everything that you have said; but don't burn his letter!"

And Bathilde almost fell at her friend's knees. Ambroisine raised her and replied:

"How do you expect to be cured if you keep that paper with you, in which he says such sweet things--things that turn the heads of us poor women? You will read it every day, and it will simply keep your grief alive."

"Very well! take it, Ambroisine, carry it away, but keep it for me; and later--in a very long time--when I am cured, if I ever can be cured, then you will give the letter back to me, and I shall be very glad to read it again."

"Very well; then I will take the letter away."

"But you won't burn it, will you?"

"No, I promise."

"And you will take good care of it? you will not lose it?"

"I will put it away in my little jewel box. How do you suppose that I can lose it?"

"But you--you won't read it, either, will you? For, if I deprive myself of that happiness, it would not be fair for another to enjoy it in my place!"

"Dear Bathilde! this letter, which is so priceless in your eyes, is of no value at all to another woman.--Never fear, I will not touch it.--Now I must leave you, I must go home.--You will surely do as I have told you. And first of all, my dear, to begin with, you will leave this room?"

"Yes."

"And you will not come here again--for ten days?"

"You said a week!"

"Well, so long as Comte Léodgard continues to walk this street."

"I will not come here."

"And your mother--will she not return soon?"

"I think not. It seems that she is having litigation about her inheritance there in Normandie, where she is; for our kinswoman is dead; but our mother has all the right on her side, so she is not alarmed."

"Litigation--in Normandie! That will take some time!" muttered Ambroisine, shaking her head. Then she kissed her young friend again. "Adieu! I will come to see you as soon as possible. Courage, my poor Bathilde! Your heart is heavy at this moment; but that will pass away. And then, you see, when one is doing one's duty, it gives one strength to endure sorrow."

"Adieu, Ambroisine! I will try to be brave. But take good care of my letter; don't lose it on your way home. I shall never be consoled if you lose it!"

"Never fear, I am no child. Au revoir!"

Ambroisine ran down the staircase; and Bathilde followed her to the foot, whispering to her:

"Remember that you are to give it back to me!"

XXII

THE BALCONY

Bathilde having followed her friend's advice to the letter, Léodgard walked Rue Dauphine in vain on the evening of his meeting with the Sire de Jarnonville. And as Léodgard was very much in love, as he flattered himself that he would win a facile triumph over Landry's daughter, he remained until midnight in front of the barber's house; but the balcony was deserted, the window dark; the girl did not appear.

Thereupon vexation and wrath took possession of our lover. Accustomed as he was to defy and surmount all obstacles, his desires were sharpened by the disdain with which he was treated. He was especially enraged because his note, instead of completing his conquest of Bathilde, had produced just the contrary effect.

He struck the ground impatiently with his spurs and measured with his eye the height of the balcony. If some friend had been there to lend him his shoulders, he would already have tried to scale it. But, instead of a friend, Léodgard spied a patrol coming down the street; and as he was not anxious to fight a patrol single-handed, he decided to decamp. But as he walked away, he said to himself, looking back at the balcony:

"Oh! it is useless for you to conceal yourself, Bathilde; it is useless for you to try to escape from my love; you shall be mine, for I have sworn it--for you are the loveliest, the most fascinating girl whom I know in Paris to-day!"

Early the next morning Léodgard entered the barber's shop; he ordered a bath, and while it was being prepared he looked at all the windows on the yard, and entered into conversation with the attendant who waited on him.

"Is Master Landry married?"

"Yes, seigneur."

"Where is his wife?"

"Travelling at present; she has gone to Normandie to secure an inheritance."

"Master Landry has a daughter?"

"Yes, seigneur."

"Very pretty, I am told?"

"That is true, seigneur."

"Why do we never see her in the shop or about the baths?"

"For the very reason, seigneur, that she is so pretty."

"Is she watched so closely, pray?"

"When Dame Ragonde, her mother, is here, she doesn't leave her daughter for an instant."

"But now that she is away, is there no way of obtaining a word with the girl--a single word? Here--take this piece of gold and just tell me where Bathilde's room is."

But Léodgard had applied in the wrong quarter. Landry was an old soldier who had a keen eye for an honest man; he had selected his attendants with care, and they esteemed him too highly to betray him. The gold piece was declined; Léodgard insisted to no purpose, for the attendant merely replied:

"I don't work on the women's side, seigneur; I don't know where their rooms are. I am too well treated in Master Landry's service to do anything that would cause my discharge."