Part 16

"Pardieu! I have bad luck!" said Léodgard to himself. "All our valets and esquires are ready to be bribed; and I must come to a bath keeper's to find an incorruptible servant. And people calumniate these houses! They say that they serve to cloak clandestine love affairs, that the most delicious intrigues are formed and consummated in them.--Gad! that surely is not true of Master Landry's!"

And Léodgard cast his eye over all the windows looking on the yard; but they were closed and supplied with very heavy curtains; it was impossible to discover anything, to guess where Bathilde's room was; for the young man was confident that she did not occupy the front room with the balcony, as there had been no light there throughout the preceding evening.

The young count left the establishment without taking the bath he had ordered; once more he marched up and down the street, but with no better fortune; and at last, weary of the struggle, he left the place, saying to himself:

"I am very sure, none the less, that I did not displease her."

The two following days, Léodgard played sentinel again to no purpose. Bathilde did not appear. The windows on the balcony remained closed, and she did not even come to tend the poor rosebush, which, however, was sorely in need of being watered, for the buds were beginning to droop on their stems.

"What! she will allow her rosebush to die, for fear of seeing me!" said Léodgard to himself. "She must be terribly afraid of me, then! Ah! when a woman is so afraid of a man, it is a good sign; she does not fear those who are indifferent to her. But I will stake my head that Ambroisine has been to see her, that it was she who urged her not to show herself any more. How do I know that Bathilde, without letting herself be seen, is not hidden somewhere, at some other window, whence she watches what I do, and says to herself: 'He is still thinking of me!'--If I thought that!--However, I will try this method: I will force myself to stay away for several days, to avoid passing through this street; she will believe that I have ceased to think of her; and perhaps her vexation, or her confidence, will serve me better than this fruitless watching."

Thereupon our lover wrapped himself in his cloak, pulled his hat over his eyes, and, with the air of a man who has suddenly decided upon a course of action, he walked rapidly away and disappeared, without once turning his head.

Léodgard had read only too well Bathilde's guileless heart, that heart which longed to love, and which found happiness even in the pangs which that sentiment already caused it to feel.

The girl had kept the promise she had made her friend; she had not returned to the room with the balcony; but adjoining that room, and, like it, at the front of the house, there was another, occupied by Master Landry and his wife. Since Dame Ragonde had been away, that room had been deserted throughout the day; for the old soldier went down early to his baths, and did not go up to his room again until bedtime.

On the day following Ambroisine's visit, Bathilde remembered that her father had given her an old jacket to mend; the work was not at all urgent, but Bathilde hastened to do it so that she might have an excuse for going to her parents' bedroom. She went there to return the garment belonging to her father; and once she was in that room, which looked on the street, but had no balcony at the windows--because the architects of those days did not make a point of regularity in their buildings--once there, Bathilde could not resist the temptation to go to one of the windows; and, while she pretended to adjust a curtain which presumably did not fall gracefully, she allowed her glance to wander into the street, where she instantly espied the man she had promised to forget.

This first step once taken, Bathilde found other excuses for going every day to her father's chamber, where, by putting the curtain aside the least bit in the world, she could look into the street--the eye requires such a narrow space to see so many things!

To excuse herself to her own conscience, Bathilde reasoned thus:

"I promised Ambroisine not to go to the linen closet for a week; and I do not go there. I have business in this room, and I am obliged to come here! It isn't my fault that there are windows here from which I can look into the street."

This reasoning was that of a lawyer rather than of an innocent maiden; wit, you see, comes to the most inexperienced simultaneously with love.

Thus Bathilde knew that Léodgard was there, always there, with his eyes fixed on the balcony; and with every moment that passed, she put less faith in what her friend had said to her.

"If he did not love me sincerely," she said to herself, "would he pass his days like this, trying to see me?"

It is so pleasant to make excuses for those whom we love.

But when the young count changed his plan of attack, when he ceased entirely to appear on Rue Dauphine, a new form of torture, a pang sharper than all the rest, tore the poor child's heart.

A whole day passed, and Léodgard did not appear. At first she flattered herself with the thought that he had come just at the time when she was not peering from behind the curtain; for, with the best will in the world, one cannot pass every moment with one's face glued against a window.

But on the following day there was no lover on the street, and so on the day following that.

Bathilde's heart was heavy and oppressed; the tears longed to flow, but she forced them back; she was pale; she was consumed by fever and she could not eat.

Landry noticed his daughter's depression and was disturbed by it; he asked her if she was in pain, if she felt sick.

"Nothing is the matter with me, father, nothing!"--Such is the invariable reply of a maiden whose suffering has its source in her heart.

But Ambroisine was determined not to leave her friend without consolation, and one morning she paid her a hurried visit. She was alarmed by her pallor, her prostration, and the grief-stricken expression of her face.

When she saw Ambroisine, however, Bathilde strove to conceal the misery that was devouring her.

"I came to find out if you have been brave, if you have kept the promises you made me?" said Ambroisine, as she embraced Bathilde, who submitted to her friend's caresses without responding to them.

"Yes," she faltered, "I have done what you ordered."

"Ordered!--As if I gave you any orders! don't you know that it is my affection which leads me to advise you, to keep watch over you?--But how pale you are! Are you so very unhappy?"

"I? oh, no!"

"You have not been on the balcony again?"

"No; but I might as well go there now; for it is all over; he doesn't come any more; he has not passed the house, not once, for four days."

"How do you know? So you have been looking out of the window, have you?"

"Indeed! I was in father's room, and I could not help seeing. Besides, I wanted to be certain that he was not there.--It is all over; he has forgotten me!"

As she said these words, Bathilde, despite all her efforts, could no longer restrain her tears; she let her head fall on Ambroisine's shoulder and gave free vent to her sobs.

Hugonnet's daughter mingled her tears with her friend's, for at that moment she could think of no better way to comfort her. A grief which is able to find a vent always loses its force; it is a torrent changed into a brook.

Bathilde recovered her courage to some degree, and wiped her tears away, saying:

"I will be sensible; I will forget him, too; I will imitate him!--Ah! you were right, Ambroisine, his letter contained nothing but falsehoods; for he told me that he would die rather than cease to love me. Yes, it was nothing but lies, false oaths--so I never want to read it again; you may burn that letter, which deceived me so, you may destroy it; I must not keep anything to remind me of that--that fatal meeting."

"What you say is very wise, my dear child; yes, I will burn his letter this very day--as soon as I go home.--Ah! he well deserves to be roasted, too, the villain! who has caused my poor Bathilde so much misery!"

"Oh, no! you must not wish him ill, Ambroisine! On the contrary, I wish that he may be happy! And when I pray, I will beseech God to watch over him too, and to give him every felicity!"

"Upon my word! you are too kind! But heaven will take pity on you; and before long, I am sure, it will have banished from your memory, from your heart, everything that can possibly recall that seducer! If you could come to see me--if you could go out a little to divert your thoughts.--But, no! no! that would be dangerous; he might be on the watch for you and follow you again! I will come here; I will come whenever I have a moment to myself. I would have liked to bring my other friend with me,--Miretta, the girl I have spoken to you about; she is very agreeable, and she has so many interesting things to tell about Italy! But she never comes to see me, except in the evening; and father will not let me go out after dark, because there is a very dangerous brigand in Paris who attacks everybody, and whom they cannot succeed in arresting. So that many people declare that he is not a natural person at all, that he has dealings with the devil! Indeed, there are some who say that this Giovanni is the devil in person! As if that was not absurd! Why should the devil amuse himself robbing and stripping people in the streets?--But my friend Miretta is no coward, I tell you. She isn't afraid of the brigand, for she sometimes stays at our house quite late; and when father hasn't gone out to drink with the neighbors, he always offers to take Miretta home to the Hôtel de Mongarcin, but she will never accept anybody's escort. Several times father has said to her: 'Beware! you will fall in with Giovanni, and he will attack you!'--But she simply shakes her head and replies: 'I am not afraid of robbers.'--I am not very timid myself; but I confess that I haven't as much courage as Miretta, that I would not dare to go out alone so late, especially as they say that this Giovanni is horrible to look at. It seems that his head is all covered with bristling black hair like a wild beast, and that he has a beard that reaches to his breast.--He must be a frightful creature, mustn't he?"

Bathilde, who had ceased to listen when her friend no longer spoke of Léodgard, answered with a sigh:

"Look you, Ambroisine, I have been reflecting. You must not burn his letter; I prefer to keep it, because it is a proof--because it shows that men tell us things that they don't mean! Oh, no! you must not burn it, but you must give it back to me, after a while, when I can read it without danger, you know!"

Ambroisine shrugged her shoulders; and finding that it was useless to try to divert Bathilde's thoughts, she decided to leave her.

"Very well," she said; "I will not burn that wicked letter, since you wish to treasure it!--Adieu! you no longer listen to my words of consolation, but I trust that time will have more power than I have."

And the _belle baigneuse_ took her leave.

It was midnight; the hour which it is said that lovers and burglars select for their enterprises.

Everything was quiet in Landry's house; it was the hour of repose. But one does not sleep at eighteen, when one's heart is torn by the torments and pangs of love.

Bathilde was in her room; she had risen because it was impossible for her to find rest on her solitary couch; she opened her window, which looked on the yard, and after standing there for a moment left it because there was no air; only that which came from the street could do her any good.

Suddenly the girl remembered her rosebush, which she had neglected for a week; she thought that it must be dying for lack of water, or that it must at least be very sickly; and taking her lamp, which was still burning on the table, she softly opened her door and went to the linen closet, delighted to have found a pretext for going out on the balcony.

Bathilde placed her lamp in a corner, then opened the window without noise, and in a moment was on the balcony, beside the rosebush. But instead of examining the plant, she gazed into the darkness that surrounded her.

The street was dark and seemed entirely deserted. Now and then she could hear shouts in the distance and shrill whistles that seemed to answer one another--signals far from reassuring to the belated bourgeois, who quickened his pace as he hurried homeward preceded by a hired torchbearer.

At other moments the silence of the night was disturbed by the songs of students and pages, assembled to make an uproar and break windows.

But these lasted only an instant, then everything became quiet once more.

The girl could see nothing in the dark street; there was no moon to dissipate the gloom; and yet, she could not make up her mind to leave the balcony. She felt better there; it seemed to her almost as if she were with him of whom she thought constantly.

Suddenly she heard her name; the voice came from beneath the balcony. She shuddered, but not with fear; she listened--her name was called again. The voice was soft and supplicating.

"Who is there?" faltered Bathilde.

"He who thinks only of you, who cannot exist without you!"

"Oh! that is not true, monsieur; for you have not been here for four days, you have not even tried to see me; therefore, you no longer think of me!"

"Oh! you were so cruel, Bathilde! Not a word in reply to my letter; but, instead of that, you ceased to come out, you no longer appeared on the balcony!--Yes, I tried to forget you, to return here no more! But that was impossible; my love is stronger than your disdain!"

"Ah! if that were true! But, no, I must not believe you! You seduce all the women--Ambroisine told me so."

"Ambroisine simply repeats what she hears. Ought you to give credit to the assertions of people who do not know me? Dear Bathilde, you should believe your heart alone, for the heart never deceives."

"But I must not listen to you, for you are a great noble and I am only a poor girl."

"You are an angel! and angels so rarely appear on earth!"

"Ambroisine told me that you were making sport of me when you swore that I should be your wife!"

"Why have you more confidence in another person's word than in my oaths, Bathilde?"

"Ah! I should be very happy if I could believe you!"

"You restore my hope, my life!"

"O mon Dieu! I think I hear my father coughing! adieu! fly!"

Bathilde hurriedly left the balcony, closed the window, took her lamp, and returned to her room, without giving a thought to the poor rosebush, which was the pretext of her nocturnal venture. We are ungrateful creatures; in our happiness, we forget all those to whom we owe it.

And Bathilde was so happy now! he still loved her, he had not for one instant ceased to think of her! His tender oaths intoxicated her heart with joy and love. The love that possessed her was so true, so pure, so sincere, that she no longer felt strong enough to contend against it.

Léodgard went his way no less happy than she; being perfectly certain now of her love, he had but one thought: to possess her person whose heart was already his; and with the young count it was a short interval between the desire and its gratification.

The next night, about half-past eleven, Léodgard was in front of Landry's house. He listened attentively; everything was quiet; not a light was to be seen, and the night was as dark as the preceding one.

But the young count was well acquainted with the position of the balcony, and he had measured its height from the ground beforehand. Taking from beneath his cloak a short silk ladder to which a strong iron hook was attached, he dexterously threw the hook over the balcony rail, satisfied himself that it was firm, then climbed the ladder with the agility of a squirrel, stepped onto the balcony, drew up the ladder, and softly opened the window. On the preceding night, Bathilde in her haste had closed the window without fastening it, so that everything favored Léodgard's audacious enterprise.

But although he was in the linen closet, he must still find the girl's bedroom. He opened the door, stepped into the hall, and cautiously felt his way along, stopping frequently to listen. Something told him that Bathilde herself would point out the direction he must follow.

And so it proved; he heard a sweet voice singing an old villanelle with a slow and melancholy refrain.

Léodgard walked in the direction from which the sound came, and soon spied a light shining through the crack of a door not entirely closed.

It was Bathilde's bedroom.

Suddenly she saw the door open and Léodgard appear before her; she screamed, but her lover fell at her feet; she tried to fly from him, but he already held her in his arms.

Poor Bathilde! she loved him too dearly to be capable of defending herself.

The next morning her rosebush was dead.

* * * * *

Let us allow two months to elapse, during which the lovers rarely passed a night without meeting. The silk ladder remained in Bathilde's room, and she herself fastened it to the balcony at the hour agreed upon with Léodgard, who no longer appeared in the morning in front of Master Landry's abode.

Thus the lovers were able to enjoy their happiness in peace; no one was in their confidence, therefore they feared no treachery.

Ambroisine had come more than once to see her friend, and had asked her if she was beginning to be consoled, to forget Comte Léodgard. And Bathilde had lied; for her lover had told her that their liaison must be kept a profound secret until the time when he could mention it to her father; and to obey Léodgard, Bathilde had pretended, in answer to her friend, to be cured of her love.

But at the end of the two months which had passed so swiftly for Bathilde, a message arrived for Landry: he learned that his wife, having finished her litigation at last and received the amount of her inheritance, was returning to Paris, and that she would arrive in two days.

The thought that she was about to stand once more in her mother's presence made the guilty girl tremble; it seemed to her that her mother would read her shame on her forehead; and on the night following the receipt of the news, being with her lover, she looked up at him with her eyes full of tears, and said:

"Save me! My mother will be here to-morrow! If she learns of my fault, I shall be undone! Oh! I implore you, delay no longer! Ask my father for my hand; avow your love to him, so that I may be your wife, so that I may love you without blushing! Otherwise, my mother will find a way to prevent me from seeing you; and I shall die of shame and grief combined!"

Léodgard tried to allay Bathilde's terror and grief; he did not seem deeply afflicted to learn that Dame Ragonde's return would put an end to those pleasant nocturnal meetings. But for two months he had had nothing more to wish for, and he was only waiting for an opportunity to break off an intrigue in which he had obtained all that he sought.

However, he concealed what was taking place in his mind from the girl, who wept bitterly; he pretended to share her chagrin; he was most lavish of oaths and promises, and swore that before long they would meet to part no more.

The next day Dame Ragonde returned home, bringing the funds which she destined for her daughter's marriage portion.

XXIII

THE HÔTEL DE MONGARCIN

It was the morrow of a grand reception given at the Hôtel de Mongarcin,--a function which had brought together the most noble dames and the gentlemen of the first families of France then residing in the capital.

Madame de Ravenelle and her niece had done the honors of the fête; but Valentine especially had displayed that grace and refinement of manner which made her a noteworthy figure everywhere.

It was she who had conceived the idea of giving a reception; and her aunt had consented, but on condition that her niece should take it upon herself to arrange and manage everything.

The guests had conversed; they had played lansquenet, brelan, primero, dice, and other fashionable games; they had danced sarabands, _passe-pieds, branles_, and all the dances then in vogue. In fact, everybody had seemed delighted with the evening's entertainment, and had lavished compliments upon Valentine and Madame de Ravenelle, congratulating the latter upon having a niece who did the honors of her house so gracefully.

And as the givers of a large party are usually very tired on the following day, the old aunt was stretched out on a reclining chair, from which she did not stir; while Valentine sat on a sofa, with her feet on a soft hassock, holding in her hands a piece of embroidery upon which she was not working.

"Are you asleep, aunt?" inquired Valentine, after a very long silence.

"I think not, niece; at all events, if I had been, your question would have waked me!"

"Oh! I see that you were not asleep at all.--Our reception last night was very brilliant, was it not?"

"If it is to ask me that that you interfere with my doze----"

"No; I wanted to ask you also if you noticed that all those whom we invited came?"

"All! do you think so?"

"Yes, aunt, with the exception of a single one.--Oh! I am quite sure that you noticed that, too."

"It is true," said Madame de Ravenelle, partly rising, "that the young Comte de Marvejols did not come."

"He is the one I mean. I trust that now you will not give another thought to my marrying this gentleman, who shows--I will not say so little zeal, for he has shown zeal in avoiding me!--but who is almost discourteous to us!"

"But, Valentine, young Léodgard's father, the Marquis de Marvejols, accepted our invitation; he apologized for his son and said that fatigue, an attack of fever, kept him at home."

"Of course you do not suppose that I believe a word of that! Fatigue! fever! If he were ill, would his father have come to our party?"

"He may be only indisposed; the marquis, his father, was delightfully amiable with me! He is a man of the old school; he stands very well at court; it is said that the king is much attached to him, and that the cardinal himself has the highest esteem for Monsieur de Marvejols."

"Mon Dieu! aunt, I have never ventured to doubt any of monsieur le marquis's estimable qualities, although his manner seems to me rather stern than amiable. That he stands very well at court is possible; but that does not make it any the less true that his son will never be my husband. Upon my word! fancy my taking for my husband a man who despises me!"

"Oh! my dear niece!"

"Why, my dear aunt, since this gentleman does not deign to take the trouble to pay court to me, since he even avoids my society, does it not mean that he disdains an alliance with me?"

"Have you heard of his paying court to any other woman? No!--If you could name some nobly born person, some _grande dame_, whose assiduous attendant he was, I could understand your irritation. But young Léodgard goes most rarely into society; he likes those parties of young men, where they gamble and drink and fight and raise the deuce with passers-by.--Mon Dieu! niece, such amusements have been indulged in by many young men of illustrious birth. Why, some even go so far as to say that one of our kings took great pleasure in going out at night with his favorites, his _mignons_, and that they used to steal cloaks from the people they met!"

"Oh! aunt! do you approve of that?"

"No, surely not! But I simply mean to say that young Léodgard may be only a heedless youth, who dreads the moment when he must marry; because he knows that then he will have to reform, to change his mode of life altogether and live in a circle where he must maintain his rank worthily."

Valentine made no reply.

A few moments later she rang, and said to Madame de Ravenelle: