Part 19

"Oh! I am in no hurry now; I may remain as long as I please; my mistress herself gave me permission, for she thinks that I am employing my time in her service."

"What does that mean?"

"That Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin, furious with rage because she is disdained by the young Comte Léodgard de Marvejols, who was to marry her, wishes to know if he is really in love with the daughter of a bath keeper on Rue Dauphine, and if it is really he who obtains access to her at night by scaling the balcony of a window on the first floor. Mademoiselle instructed me to investigate, to resort to every possible means of ascertaining the truth."

"Your investigation is all made, the truth is ascertained for you.--I know better than anyone what takes place in Paris at night. I know Comte Léodgard; on a certain night last winter I had quite a long conversation with him; and for some time past I have, in fact, noticed him several times scaling the bath keeper Landry's balcony. It would never have occurred to me to interfere with him; I should have been more inclined to assist him, if he had needed assistance."

"In that case, my errand is done. Mademoiselle Valentine is not happy in her love; for, although she will not admit it, I am very certain that she loves this young seigneur; but not so much, surely, as I love my Giovanni! O Giovanni! why must I leave you again? If you would----"

"The day will soon break," said Giovanni, interrupting her, "and I must not wait for it. Let us go this way and walk faster; I am going to take you home."

Miretta dared not remonstrate; but she sighed as she quickened her pace, and they walked along in silence.

They were soon within a few yards of the Hôtel de Mongarcin. Giovanni released his companion's arm, saying:

"Here you are at home; adieu!"

"Already! what! must I leave you so soon? Just a moment more!"

"Really, Miretta, you are not reasonable to-night; do you not see that point of light in the sky, which announces the dawn? The stars are growing dim, the darkness is beginning to fade away. Do not keep me longer; adieu!"

Giovanni dropped the hand which tried to press his once more; he hurried away and disappeared.

Miretta stood like a statue when he had left her; she was conscious of a sharp pain at her heart, as if she had been stabbed.

XXVI

THE PONT-AUX-CHOUX

Historians are not agreed as to the first two encircling walls which were built around Paris; but there is no doubt as to the location of the third, which we owe to Philippe-Auguste, and which was begun in 1190.

This wall, starting from the right bank of the Seine, where the Pont des Arts now is, traversed the site of the Louvre in the direction of the Oratoire Saint-Honoré, where Porte Saint-Honoré stood; it then described a curve to the _carrefour_ now formed by Rues Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Coquillière, and de Grenelle. When it reached Rue Montmartre, the wall was broken by Porte Montmartre. It continued along the northern side of Rue Mauconseil to Rue Saint-Martin, where there was a gate called Porte de Nicolas Huidelon. Crossing the sites of Rues Michel-le-Comte, Geoffroy-Langevin, du Chaume, de Paradis, where Porte de Braque stood, to Vieille Rue du Temple, it went on to Porte Beaudoyer, crossed the enclosure of the Convent of the Ave Maria and Rue des Barres, and ended at the right bank of the Seine.

The work on the wall south of the river began in 1208. This wall, built through gardens and vineyards as far as Porte Saint-Marcel, skirted the enclosure of Sainte-Geneviève to the Château de Hautefeuille, cut across Clos Bruneau to Porte de Bussy, and, following the outer wall of the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and the smaller Pré-aux-Clercs, came to an end at the Tour de Nesle.

This third wall had round towers at intervals to protect it. But the most formidable ones were at the extremities, on the banks of the Seine.

Under the reign of François I, the wall had been considerably enlarged. But, in the year 1536, the Cardinal du Bellai, lieutenant-general of the armies of King François, being informed of the approach of the English, who were already devastating Normandie and Picardie, and dreading the result of an attack upon Paris, ordered trenches and moats to be dug from Porte Saint-Antoine to Porte Saint-Honoré. These were afterward called the Fossés Jaunes [yellow moats].

This little digression into the domain of history is necessary to recall old Paris to the minds of our readers, especially so that they may be able to form an accurate idea of the localities where the events took place which we are about to describe.

Pont Saint-Louis, otherwise called the Pont-aux-Choux, because of the proximity of Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and because it was principally used by the market gardeners, who crossed it to carry their vegetables into the heart of the city, was situated between Porte du Temple and Porte Saint-Antoine, and was built over the moats of which we have just described the origin. Over this bridge, which was a dismal and often deserted structure, there was a gate of a commonplace type of architecture, called Porte Saint-Louis. But as it had not been closed for many years, there was no keeper; it was very dilapidated, and on the point of falling in ruins.

All about the Pont-aux-Choux were swamps, a large portion of which was uncultivated. Tall grass grew along the edges of the moat, which contained nothing but a little slimy water, through which it would have been difficult to force a boat. Thus the whole locality had a sort of wild and forbidding aspect, well calculated to inspire terror in the solitary traveller whom the darkness surprised on that road.

However, on a certain lovely night in summer, several young gentlemen, some of whom were acquaintances of ours, having crossed the Pont-aux-Choux on their way back to Paris, halted about three hundred yards beyond it, and one of them threw himself on the turf, crying:

"Faith, I don't care! go on if you choose, my masters; but I am going to rest here; it is very comfortable on the grass. Besides, I feel that I am drunk; I cannot stand on my legs."

"How now, my poor Monclair! Can you carry your wine no better than this? What a pity!"

"Don't put on airs, Sénange! You are at least as drunk as I am, if not more so."

"The fact is that I am quite as willing to sit down as to stumble at every step on these horrible roads.--What an infernal way for Léodgard to make us take!--I say, Comte de Marvejols, where are you? I want to congratulate you!--Where in the devil is my valet Bruno? Let him bring a torch here, and we will have another game."

"Your esquire is ahead; he walked on."

"I must call him.--Messieurs, messieurs, you fellows who are still on your legs, have the kindness to call my esquire, my page, my varlet--that rascal who is going off with the lanterns yonder, without taking the trouble to see if his master is following him."

These words were addressed to three other young gentlemen who had halted a few yards away. Among them was Léodgard de Marvejols, whose features were far from denoting hilarity, and who did not seem, like some of his friends, to have left his reason at the bottom of his glass.

The servant, being recalled, came back and placed a lighted lantern on the ground, near the two gentlemen who were already seated on the grass. The others decided to join them; but Léodgard remained a little behind, leaning thoughtfully against a solitary tree.

"Do you propose to stay here, my fine fellows?" he asked.

"Yes; the fresh air has finished us, we cannot stand on our legs any longer."

"It is a fact that the supper was delicious and the wines exquisite. Montrevert did things very handsomely; his _petite maison_ is a delightful place."

"Speaking of Montrevert, did he not say that he was coming with us?"

"Yes; he said: 'Go on, and I will overtake you.'"

"Well, he does not seem to have overtaken us, and we are a good quarter of a league from his house."

"That is true, and it is an additional reason why we should rest here and wait for him."

"Bah! he won't come; he has probably remained with his infanta. She is a very pretty girl, that Herminie!"

"But I tell you, messieurs, that Montrevert will come; he cannot stay at his _petite maison_, for he must be in Paris to-morrow for the king's _lever_. He has hopes of being admitted to the company of Gray Mousquetaires, which his majesty has just organized; it is a bodyguard that is to attend him everywhere, even to the hunt.--Vive Dieu! messieurs, but it is a fine corps! Such a coquettish uniform--red, trimmed with gold. Ah! what conquests those fellows will make with that uniform!"

"Look you, I too have some hope of entering this corps of mousquetaires," said the young Marquis de Sénange, trying to straighten up and maintain a sitting posture on the grass. "I too ought to be at the king's _lever_ to-morrow--or rather, this morning. But I think that I shall not be there! I am too dizzy--deuce take it! Youth is the age of folly and pleasure.--Ah! I wish I could find someone who would sit back to back with me; we would support each other.--Monclair, sit behind me."

"No; I am very comfortable, I refuse to stir."

"What a selfish beast that little Monclair is!--Come, La Valteline, and you, Beausseilly--come and sit down with us."

The two young men who were still standing decided to seat themselves on the grass near their companions. But he who was called La Valteline turned toward Léodgard and shouted:

"Well! Comte de Marvejols, aren't you going to join us? What the deuce are you doing there, all alone, with your eyes fixed on the sky? are you going into astrology? Beware! you know that a commission is sitting at the Arsenal, in the Poison Chamber, for the express purpose of trying persons accused of magic! And astrologers are very closely related to sorcerers!"

"Messieurs," said the Sire de Beausseilly, lowering his voice, "poor Léodgard is in no laughing mood, and you must understand why: he was very unlucky at cards to-night, he lost all that he possessed to Montrevert, and, I believe, a hundred pistoles more on credit."

"He is always unlucky with Montrevert, he ought never to play with him; for that charming _petite maison_ where we supped, which is decorated so suggestively, used to belong to Marvejols; he staked it against heaven knows what sum with Montrevert! And now that delicious resort no longer belongs to him! To be sure, Montrevert often invites him there."

"If he does it in order to win his money, as he has done to-night, it is not very amusing for Léodgard. I have noticed that fortune has been very adverse to him for some time past. He always loses, poor fellow!"

"And I believe he is in debt; he owes everybody!"

"Vive Dieu! messieurs, should a man torment himself because he is in debt? As for myself, I have creditors, and plenty of them--I am proud of the fact! But when the knaves have the impudence to ask me for money, then I draw my sword and shout and curse and excite myself to such a frenzy that they run away as if the devil was at their heels! That is the way to arrange one's affairs!"

Léodgard had not heard La Valteline's call, for he was still looking at the stars.

"Stay, messieurs; I will wager that I will make him come; I know the way.--Holà! Bruno! come here, knave! Have you the dice and diceboxes in your pocket?"

"Yes, seigneur."

"Give them to me."

The valet handed to his master, the Marquis de Sénange, two ivory diceboxes and the dice; the young man placed the dice in one of the boxes and shook them a long while, then began to exclaim:

"Seven--eleven--twelve! I have won! I have won!"

The rattling of the dice produced the effect which Sénange anticipated: Léodgard, roused from his reverie, left his place and drew near the gentlemen who were seated about the torch.

"What, messieurs! are you shaking dice on the grass?" he asked.

"Sénange is shaking all by himself at this moment."

"I heard him say that he had won."

"Pardieu! yes, for I have won; I bet that with my dice I would draw the Comte de Marvejols hither.--Tell me, my masters, did I succeed?--Come, Léodgard, sit down and laugh a bit with us! What is the use of losing your temper with Fortune? What good does it do? She's a woman; what she will not grant to-day, she will grant to-morrow."

"Moreover, Comte Léodgard cannot accuse Fortune with a good grace; for if she is adverse to him at play, with the fair she seems to treat him like a spoiled child."

"There is a report of a certain _bonne fortune_ with a damsel on Rue Dauphine; and I hear that the little one is as beautiful as Cupid. She was kept carefully concealed, but that devil of a Léodgard would discover her kind at the bottom of a well or on top of the steepest cliffs!"

"Come, Léodgard, tell us about this intrigue."

"Yes, yes! tell us about this bourgeois _bonne fortune_. It will help us to pass the time until Montrevert comes; he must have fallen into some hole in the road."

Léodgard stretched himself out carelessly on the grass and looked at his companions, saying:

"Has anyone anything to drink? I am extremely thirsty, and I can't tell my story unless I have something to drink."

"By Saint Jacques! I would like a drink, too!" muttered young Monclair, making vain efforts to sit up.

"What! not a drop? and no wine shops near by!"

"A cheerful spot, the neighborhood of this horrible Pont-aux-Choux!--There is not a house in sight--not even a hovel!"

"Wait, my friends, wait.--Holà! Bruno!"

The Marquis de Sénange's valet approached the group.

"Bruno, do you not always carry a gourd, like the pilgrims when they set out on a long journey?"

"Yes, seigneur, I do."

"What is there in your gourd?"

"There is some--some very bad eau-de-vie."

"Very bad!--Ah! you rascal! from the way in which you say that, I would swear that you are lying. Give us your gourd; and we will judge whether its contents are so bad as you say."

"But, seigneur, I have been drinking from it, and I could not allow----"

"Give it to me, all the same; we must be governed by circumstances. Come, gallows bird! I verily believe that you hesitate!"

Repressing a sigh, the valet handed his master an enormous gourd. Sénange swallowed a mouthful, then cried:

"Ah! I suspected as much; it is exquisite, delicious,--it is thirty years old, I will stake my head! The villain must have stolen it from my father's cellar.--Here, Léodgard, judge for yourself."

Léodgard took the gourd and drank slowly but at great length, so that the young men called out:

"Enough, count, enough!--He will drink it all! We too want a chance to judge of the liquor!"

At last Léodgard passed the gourd to his neighbor, who, after drinking, passed it to another. They did not cease to drink, until they had exhausted the contents of the gourd. Then they returned it to Bruno and made themselves comfortable on the grass, some half reclining, others at full length. Léodgard, who had maintained a sitting posture, with his head resting on his left hand, said to his companions:

"What do you wish me to tell you about, messieurs? an amourette among the common people? Mon Dieu! it is always the same story! They kept the girl closely confined, but not so closely that she did not see me pacing the street under her window."

"So long as parents leave windows in their houses," said Monclair, "they cannot answer for the innocence of their daughters!"

"There was a balcony on which she had placed a pot of flowers, which she used to come out to water."

"Messieurs, it is not without a motive that women display so much love for flowers; intrigues almost always begin with bouquets."

"Hold your tongue, Monclair! sleep off your wine, and allow the count to finish his story."

"Sleep off your eau-de-vie, you fellows!"

"I threw a billet-doux in at the window; she pretended to be angry at first; I did not appear again for four days, and on the fifth I found the little one on the balcony at midnight, peering into the darkness in quest of me!"

"Ah! that's the way! it is always like that!"

"The next day, with the aid of a silk ladder, I stood by my charmer's side!--You see, messieurs, that this affair was like every other; indeed, it was too easy--no jealous husband, no guardian keeping watch."

"Oh! that sort of thing is very insipid; when there's no danger, there's no pleasure."

"Oh! Sire de Beausseilly, what you say is altogether false; there is always pleasure in the conquest of a pretty girl! And it seems that this one is an angel of beauty.--Is that so, Léodgard?"

"Yes, she was very pretty."

"She _was_! Is she dead, pray?"

"No, but I have not seen her for several weeks; that is why I use the past tense."

"Oho! so it is already over?"

"Already? An amourette that lasts two months--is not that long enough?"

"It's a long time!"

"It is too long!"

"It is never too long when one is happy."

"And then a mother arrived--a very unamiable person, so it seems, who had been absent a long while. If I had still been in love, the obstacles that would thenceforth have made our rendezvous an affair of some difficulty would have served only to sharpen my desires; but my love was extinct. Faith! the little one may look out for herself now as best she can; it is no longer any concern of mine."

"Well said! Of course, a gentleman could not run the risk of a controversy with churls!"

"Faith! messieurs, for my part, I care for none but _grandes dames_! They are so adroit in carrying on an intrigue, they display so much coquetry, that it keeps you in breathless suspense! A fellow is much more in love when he is not certain that he is loved in return!"

"And you, Sire de Beausseilly?"

"I! do you suppose that I have patience to make love to a woman? to dance attendance on her and languish and sigh? Nonsense! never! I like the love affairs that give one no trouble!"

"Oh, yes! we all know what that means! He frequents Rue Fromenteau, Rue Tire-Boudin, Rue Brisemiche, Rue du Hurleur, Rue de la Vieille-Bouclerie."

"Peste! La Valteline, you seem to know perfectly where all the wantons' houses are; for you mention all the streets to which _girls who are mad over their bodies_, as they are called, are obliged to confine themselves."

"One must needs know his Paris, messieurs."

"Yes; especially when one desires to meet _golden girdles_."

"Oh! messeigneurs, the edict of King Louis VIII has long been forgotten, and those damsels no longer comply with it; so that the proverb: 'A good reputation is worth more than a golden girdle' has no meaning now."

"I say, messieurs, it must be very late."

"You mean that it must be very early in the morning!"

"About three o'clock, I fancy."

"Oh! more than that; it is four o'clock at least; I am sure that the dawn will soon be here."

"Do we propose to finish the night in this place?"

"It is very strange that Montrevert has not overtaken us!"

"He certainly will not come now!"

"I do not propose to wait for daylight to return to Paris, in the condition in which I am! If some _âme damnée_ of the cardinal should happen to meet me, Richelieu would hear of it, and I should receive a sharp reprimand.--Come, messieurs, let us get up and go on."

"No, no!" murmured the Marquis de Sénange, rolling over on the grass; "I am very comfortable here. Let La Valteline go, if he pleases! I shall stay; for when day breaks, the little dairymaids from the country will cross the Pont-aux-Choux; we will watch for the prettiest ones, and they will have to pay toll,--eh, Léodgard?--Well, he is still thinking of his losses at cards!"

"Sénange, you have dice there," cried Léodgard suddenly, raising his head; "I will play you for my cloak--you were admiring it last night. I will stake it against fifty livres, and, on my word as a gentleman, it cost me more than a hundred--which I have not yet paid, it is true, but which I still owe to my tailor."

"What, Léodgard! do you want to play again?" cried Beausseilly; "but you are not in luck, and if you lose your cloak, how can you return to Paris?"

"I will stake my sword, my doublet, my knee-breeches! I will stake myself, when I have nothing else left! But I must play! So long as I have anything left to stake, by hell! it will always be so.--Well, Sénange, do you accept the stake I propose?"

"Yes, I agree; your cloak against fifty livres. But what shall we play on? We can't throw dice on the grass; they would not lie evenly, and the result would be doubtful."

"Play on my back, messieurs," said Monclair, lying flat on his stomach on the grass. "I promise not to stir."

"So be it; on Monclair's back."

The two young men each took a dicebox, and their companions drew near to watch the game. The valet brought the lantern nearer, while Monclair lay on his stomach and did not stir.

"Begin!" said Léodgard in a gloomy voice, handing the dice to his adversary.

"As you please," said Sénange; and placing the dice in the box, he threw them on Monclair's back.

"Four!" cried Beausseilly and La Valteline.

"Four!" echoed Léodgard, with a smile of satisfaction.

"What a beastly throw!" muttered Sénange; "I fancy that I may say good-bye to my fifty livres.--Go on, count--play!"

Léodgard took the dice and threw them with a trembling hand.

"Three!" cried Sénange. "Pardieu! but I am in luck! Your cloak belongs to me, Léodgard!"

The young Comte de Marvejols dropped his head on his breast, while the other gentlemen held their peace and seemed distressed by the ill fortune which pursued Léodgard.

At that moment a distant, indistinct noise reached the ears of the young men.

"Do you hear, messieurs?" said La Valteline, listening intently; "do you hear?"

"I hear nothing," said Monclair.

"I do," said Beausseilly; "I hear a noise that seems to be coming nearer; it sounds like outcries, imprecations."

"It seems to me that someone is coming toward us. Listen! listen! the footsteps are becoming more distinct."

"Suppose it were Montrevert?"

"Can he have been attacked? We must go to his assistance!"

"We had better hail him first.--Take that lantern, Bruno, and hold it in the air.--Do as I do, messieurs.--Holà, Montrevert! is that you?"

The shouts of the young men were met by an answering shout.

"It is he," said Léodgard; "and he is not far away."

"There he is! there he is!"

"Come this way! this way!"

A young man of twenty-eight to thirty years, dressed with elegance, but with his garments in disorder, his belt gone, his face transformed by excitement, and without his sword, crossed the Pont-aux-Choux at full speed and joined the friends whose shouts had guided him.

"It is Montrevert!"

"Mon Dieu! what is the matter with him? what a ghastly pallor!"

"What a state his clothes are in!"

"What has happened to you, Montrevert?"

"Have you been attacked?"

"Wait a moment, messieurs; give me a chance to breathe.--Yes, I have been attacked."

"Are you wounded?"

"No, not a scratch! And yet, I assure you that I tried to defend myself. It was Giovanni, the famous brigand, who attacked me--yonder, on the other side of the bridge, on the right."

"Giovanni?"