Part 10

"Yes, fascinating brunette! Can you understand such a thing?--I am not acquainted with the famous robber, but it is impossible that he should have this elegant figure, this noble carriage, in a word, this distinguished physique which I possess!"

"Oh! surely not! he does not resemble you!"

"What? Do you know him, siren?"

"No, but I have heard him described so often!"

"And Giovanni is not likely to have a costume like this, is he, my dear?--But we have said enough of this brigand. Pray tell me, adorable brunette, what has become of a certain Comte de Carvajal, whom you know rather intimately, I believe?"

Miretta was disturbed by the question, but she made haste to reply:

"I do not know what you mean, monsieur le chevalier; I know no one of that name."

"Really? But all those rustics, with the wrist of steel, with whom I have met you,--and notably the one who, I know not how, caused Roland to fall from my hand,--were devilishly like the foreigner who lodged at the Hôtel du Sanglier."

"What do you want with that foreigner?"

"What does it matter to you, if you do not know him? But you know that is not true, naughty wench!"

"Adieu, monsieur le chevalier! I can stay here no longer."

"What! deprive me of your company already! I will escort you to Rue Saint-Honoré."

"I no longer live there; since Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin became Marquise de Santoval, we live on Rue Sainte-Avoie."

"Aha! so your lady is now Marquise de Santoval! And that is the reason why my vigils in front of the Hôtel de Mongarcin have led to nothing!"

"Take my advice, monsieur le chevalier, and make no further attempt to see me."

"Ah! I am rich now, Miretta; I will cover you with fine pearls!"

"You might offer me all the treasures of the Indies, and I would still say to you: 'You are wasting your time; I do not love you; I shall never love you.'"

"Then it must be that mysterious Carvajal whom you love. But, by death! if I ever meet him!"

"Ah, me! I would like right well to meet him!"

As she said these words, Miretta darted away so swiftly that she soon disappeared from the eyes of Passedix, who pulled his cap over his forehead, muttering angrily:

"Mordioux! she defies me still. I must forget her! I must show my dignity! Let us get tipsy!"

Miretta hurried back to the Hôtel de Santoval; she remembered how precipitately she had left the house, and she feared that her mistress would be displeased with her for absenting herself at a time when she required her services; so that Miretta was almost trembling when she returned to the house.

She had no sooner entered than a servant informed her that her mistress wished to see her.

Valentine was alone in her bedroom; her expression was not at all stern, but it denoted profound reflection.

When she saw Miretta, she motioned to her to lock all the doors with care, then beckoned her to a seat on a stool by her side.

Miretta walked toward her and began to falter some words of apology; but Valentine placed a finger on her lips and again pointed to the stool.

The girl seated herself, speechless with surprise, and waited anxiously to hear what her mistress could have to say to her that demanded so much mystery.

Valentine fastened her great velvety dark-gray eyes on those of her maid, who looked down at the floor; then she said to her, taking care to speak low:

"Miretta, swear that you will answer frankly the question I am about to ask you; swear that you will not lie to me!"

The girl looked up, glanced at her mistress, and, seeing nothing in her expression to indicate anger, answered:

"I swear, madame."

"That is well; now, listen to me. I have just discovered a secret of great importance to you, which we must not let anybody else discover! I know who your lover is--the man whom you love."

"You know, madame?"

"Yes, I tell you; and you are going to tell me if I am mistaken. The man whom you have not seen for so long a time, the man for whose sake you came to France, of whom you are constantly thinking, and who causes you so much anxiety--is Giovanni!"

"O madame! you think----"

"It is Giovanni! Contradict me if you dare!--Have no fear of me, Miretta; you should know me well. But remember your oath: the man you love is Giovanni, is he not? Answer--answer!"

Miretta fell on her knees before her mistress, clasping her hands, and murmured at last:

"Yes, madame, yes--it is Giovanni who is my lover.--Oh! forgive me!"

"Rise, rise, my child! Your frankness makes me more fond of you. Do you think, pray, that I asked you for your secret with the intention of reproaching you? You loved this Giovanni, doubtless, before he became a brigand?"

"Oh! yes, madame."

"And since you have known the trade he was plying, you have not ceased to love him!--I understand that. I understand all that love can lead one to do. Under the sway of that passion, is it possible to reason, to reflect?--And then, this man must be very brave; the reputation he has made for himself, the very terror inseparable from his name--yes, there is something in all that which almost makes one forget his crimes."

"Oh! if you knew, madame, how earnestly I have begged, implored him to renounce his pursuit! And he promised to do it.--'Only a few months more,' he said, 'and we will return to Italy, and no one will recognize in me the dreaded bandit.'--But, alas! it is more than a year since he told me that, and I have not met him since."

"But he has not been arrested, as Joseph said.--Another servant, whom I sent out to make inquiries, has just returned and told me that they made a mistake, that the man who was arrested was not the famous robber."

"That is true, madame. Thank heaven, my fears were unfounded! Ah! if you knew what a feeling of despair took possession of me!"

"Do you think that I did not see it, poor girl? Do you think that I was not struck by your pallor, by your confusion, by that grief-stricken cry which you uttered, when Joseph said: 'Giovanni is arrested'?--It was that that revealed your secret to me. Luckily, the servants saw nothing but curiosity in your precipitate exit--nothing but the desire to see a man who spreads terror throughout Paris.--Now that you know that he is not arrested, you are calmer and happier. In future be more prudent; be careful not to betray yourself."

"Oh! you are right, madame; I will try to conceal my feelings."

"But, look you, Miretta--try more earnestly than ever to meet the man you love; and the first time that you see him, remember to tell him this: that I wish to see him and speak with him; that I have need of his services; that he can safely trust me; that I will go, alone with you, to whatever place of rendezvous he may appoint; and that I will reward him generously for what he does for me.--Will you tell him all that, Miretta? Do you promise?"

"Yes, madame, I will do whatever you command. But, alas! in order to tell Giovanni this, I must see him; and, as you know, I cannot succeed in that."

"Do not despair; you will see your lover again. Chance often serves us better than we serve ourselves, and our wishes are gratified at the moment when we least expect it.--Look at me: since I have been Marquise de Santoval, I have been to all sorts of festivities, balls, and receptions, and yet I have not met the man I seek. He avoids me doubtless, but it is useless; he will be obliged to see me again, for I am determined that he shall.--But I hear the Marquis de Santoval's step!--Go, take this secret door!--It is as well that he should not see you, for you are still perturbed, and he has eyes that read deeper than our faces.--Go."

XL

A FÊTE AT CAMILLA'S

The courtesan Camilla occupied a charming little house near Porte Saint-Honoré; it was in the city, and yet it was almost in the country.

A garden of lilacs, syringas, and roses was behind the wing of the house in which its mistress spent most of her time; and in summer it seemed a continuation of a delightful salon on the ground floor, the portières of which were drawn aside in graceful folds, affording a view of the flowering shrubs and the well-kept paths, where the dense foliage of numerous lovely sycamores made the air as cool by day as by night.

It was midsummer; a heavy, oppressively hot atmosphere had relaxed the nerves of the people of Paris.

Camilla had chosen that time to give an evening party; for evening was the only part of the day when one could breathe with any pleasure, when the air was made somewhat cooler by gentle breezes, and it was delicious to stroll in the garden and rest under the shrubbery.

The fascinating courtesan had chosen her time with most excellent judgment. What could be more voluptuous in summer than a garden intersected by vague gleams of light, beneath a sky thickly strewn with twinkling stars!

Not far from a brilliantly illuminated circle of velvety turf, a dark path wound among darker thickets.

The strains of the instruments, the perfume of the flowers, the bouquet of the wines and liqueurs of all sorts which were served to the guests, charmed and intoxicated the senses. Everyone was at liberty to do only what he pleased--constraint and etiquette were not admitted to Camilla's abode; and they who did the most extravagant things were considered the most agreeable.

But it was not solely to display her gardens, her flowers, the furniture of her salons, and the magnificence of her toilet, that Camilla was giving this fête. For some time past, Léodgard's favorite had observed a noticeable abatement in the ardor of the count's passion; her lover was still as generous, as magnificent as ever in his dealings with her, but he felt no pleasure in seeing her and left her without regret; and when he passed a few hours with her, those hours seemed interminable to him, for his eyes expressed ennui rather than enjoyment.

A woman seldom mistakes these symptoms; vanishing love is even more visible than dawning love; for the latter does at least observe the proprieties, while the other is sometimes most discourteous.

Camilla tried to keep her lover with her, in some slight degree from love perhaps, but largely for selfish reasons: a young and comely lover who throws money about lavishly is not always easily replaced.

In those days, as to-day, there were men who dealt magnificently with their mistresses, but they were for the most part old and ugly.

After employing many methods of seduction to rekindle a flame that was on the point of dying out, Camilla determined to resort to that final method, which sometimes succeeds, but which destroys all hope when it fails of its effect. She determined to try to make Léodgard jealous.

In that multitude of young noblemen, brilliant dandies, and confessed libertines whom she had invited to her evening party, it was inevitable that there should be more than one who made love to her and aspired to take her away from Léodgard, or at least to induce her to be unfaithful to him.

"I will be more fascinating, more coquettish than ever," said Camilla to the fair-haired Flavia, her friend and confidante. "I will accord a very marked preference to some of my adorers, so that Léodgard must notice it! He will be annoyed--he is so hot-blooded, so passionate! perhaps a scene will result--sword thrusts--a duel!--Oh! that would be delicious! for then he would come back to me, more in love than ever."

"And suppose he should be killed in the duel?" rejoined Flavia.

"So much the worse! What would you have? he who risks nothing obtains nothing.--But, no--Léodgard is as brave as he is skilful; he would be the victor."

"In that case, the other will be killed."

"Well, my dear! I shall have given him the sweetest of hopes all the evening! Will he be so very much to be pitied?"

That is how courtesans loved in those days; and even among the _grandes dames_, there were some, you know, who cast their glove into an amphitheatre filled with lions and said to their lovers:

"If you really love me, you will go there and pick it up."

What affection, great God! What a melancholy idea of love that would give one!

Luckily, to comfort our hearts, we have Philemon and Baucis, Pyramus and Thisbe, Hero and Leander; but they are fabulous characters, and the others are historical.

It was midnight, and almost all Camilla's guests had arrived. The apartments were resplendent with light, the gardens exhaled the sweetest perfumes, and an orchestra, which certainly was not equal to those of our time, but which seemed very tuneful then, executed sarabands, chaconnes, and bransles.

There was card playing in one room, drinking in another; those who did not dance went out into the garden to chat and stroll. The heat was not insupportable, but the guests sought the outer air, the cool evening breeze; the ladies had been careful to wear the lightest of gowns, which did not conceal their charms, and which gave them the aspect of nymphs or of hamadryads, at least, as they flitted about the garden paths.

Camilla wore a seductive costume of irresistible effect. She had donned a gown similar to those worn by the lovely Spanish girls who dance boleros and cachuchas with so much ardor and supple grace. The dress, which was of puce-colored satin, trimmed with rich black lace, and rather short, permitted the spectator to admire a shapely leg, a well-arched foot, and a charming figure; it left almost entirely bare a dazzlingly white breast and shoulders worthy to serve as models for a sculptor.

In her hair, which was dressed in an original fashion, were sprays of foliage, and long gold pins with pearls and diamonds for heads.

Beneath this fanciful costume, the courtesan, whose eyes flashed fire, and whose least movement, least pose, was full of voluptuous suggestion, could not fail to add to the number of her conquests; and even the women did her justice; to be sure, they were almost all pretty, and envy could hardly find a foothold among them.

Léodgard had arrived but a short time before. When he caught sight of Camilla, he simply smiled at her, but she stood in front of him and asked in a low tone:

"How do I look?"

"Beautiful, very beautiful, as always," the count replied, and walked into another room.

"As always!" muttered Camilla, biting her lips in vexation; "I look as I always do! Whereas all these other young gentlemen do not tire of telling me that I have never been so beautiful, so seductive! Why, he did not even look at my hair, or notice this Spanish costume! He no longer loves me, and yet I do not think that he loves another."

"Of what are you dreaming, divine Manola?" said the Marquis de Sénange, as he approached Camilla, taking her hand and passing it through his arm.

"Why--of you, perhaps!" replied the courtesan, displaying a double row of teeth of irreproachable whiteness.

"Of me! of me! Ah! if I could believe it!--Look you, Camilla--your eyes and this costume were quite enough to turn my head; but the words you have uttered make me mad with love!"

"Well! what harm would it do, after all, if you were a little mad? It would not change you much, I should say."

"Camilla, I would gladly endure all possible tortures, pass through every conceivable trial, if you would reward me by allowing me to love you!"

"Love me! why, what prevents you? Have you not as much right to love me as another man?"

"But let us understand each other, adorable siren! It is not cheerful to love all by one's self! Love is increased twofold when it is shared."

"Indeed! What a pity that it is not so with everything! I would become very charitable!"

"Look you, Camilla, have you not been faithful to Léodgard long enough? Frankly, you cover yourself with ridicule! A woman with such a wealth of attractions is a flower; it is not fair that a single man should inhale all her perfume!"

"Ah! marquis, you wish to plunder your friend's garden!"

"There are no friends where a lovely woman is concerned! Besides, Léodgard is becoming very unamiable of late--you must agree to that."

"Why, he is married, poor dear! and that is quite enough to change a man's expression!"

"Oh! little he cares for all that! Moreover, you are well aware that, although he is married, he lives absolutely as if he were a bachelor! But, I say again, he is no longer the roué, the jovial scapegrace, of the old days; one would say that he had grown fifteen years older; his features are altered, his face is always careworn or gloomy, he has forgotten how to laugh and drink; he must also have forgotten how to love!"

"Ah! do you think so? You may be mistaken. Léodgard always was of a fantastic humor."

"I have known him only as a man who was always laughing and singing!--Give me some hope, Camilla."

"Well! we shall see. The night is young yet. But here are more people coming; I must go to receive them."

The young marquis left Camilla, but he deemed himself sure of his triumph, and his face expressed his delight.

Flavia went to her friend a moment later and whispered:

"So it is the fascinating Sénange whom you have chosen for your victim?"

"Why not he as well as another?"

"Rather he, for he is very agreeable, and it would be a pity if anything should happen to him!"

"Nothing will happen to him. See how indifferent Léodgard is to me! He passed us while I was on the marquis's arm, and did not even notice us!"

"Oh! do not torment yourself!--Think of nothing but your fête--it is simply delicious! There are great numbers of very attractive gentlemen here; you expect nobody else, I suppose?"

"I believe that everybody has come.--Oh, yes! I did also invite--but I suspected that it would be useless; he will not come."

"Who is it?"

"Do you remember that gentleman in black, whom we tried in vain to rouse one night, at a fête given by Léodgard?"

"The Sire de Jarnonville, was it not?"

"Precisely."

"Oh! what a pity that he is not here! I considered him very original. Why should he not come?"

"Because for some time past he has not been seen at any festivity; he no longer drinks, no longer gambles, no longer fights, even! In short, he is a lost man, so far as his friends are concerned! That is why I feel sure that he will not come."

At that moment a servant appeared at the door of the salon and announced:

"The Sire de Jarnonville!"

"Well, this is strange!" cried Flavia; "at the very moment when we despaired of seeing him!"

"He confers a great favor on me! And I am proud of it, I assure you!"

As she spoke, Camilla went to meet Jarnonville, who was just entering the salon. Everybody was impressed by the advantageous change that had taken place in his appearance; his face was expansive, amiable, almost smiling; even his costume had undergone some modification; although his doublet and short-clothes were still black, his girdle was pale blue, and his cloak was of velvet of the same color. In short, the chevalier's person no longer wore that stern and sombre aspect which caused pleasure and love to flee at his approach.

"It is most amiable of you, Sire de Jarnonville," said Camilla, "to accept my invitation. I am the more sensible of your kindness, because you are seen very seldom now in society, at our parties."

"Yours, _belle dame_, certainly deserved that I should make an exception in its favor."

"Can it be that you have renounced misanthropy, chevalier? Have you ceased to be the Chevalier de Verglas, as you used to be called?--So much the better! in that case, you are one of us once more."

"I have never renounced anything, not even the pleasure of telling you that you are ravishingly beautiful in this costume."

Having achieved this compliment, Jarnonville bowed to the courtesan and lost himself in the crowd that thronged the salons and gardens.

"Why, he is becoming a charming cavalier!" said Camilla; "he told me that I was ravishingly beautiful; _he_ noticed my costume! He is more gallant than Léodgard.--I believe that we can make a conquest of him now, Flavia."

"Oh! I no longer care about it; I preferred him when he was all in black and looked like a bear."

While the two ladies exchanged their opinions concerning Jarnonville, the new-comer was being discussed also in a group of young gentlemen.

"Did you see Jarnonville, Monclair?"

"Yes, I have just bade him good-evening."

"Don't you think that he cuts an entirely different figure from what he used?"

"Why so? because he wears a blue cloak instead of a black one?"

"No, it is not that; but because he no longer has that gloomy, unhappy expression that he used to carry with him everywhere."

"That is true," said young La Valteline; "I noticed the change; it impressed me when Jarnonville entered the salon."

"Well, messieurs, what is there so surprising in that?" said Monclair; "after all, grief is not eternal! After the rain comes the sunshine! And Jarnonville's coming here proves that he is no longer a foe to pleasure."

"I tell you, messieurs," said the Baron de Montrevert, shaking his head with an air of importance, "that a change in humor, in disposition, never happens without a cause."

"Well! do you know what the cause is, Montrevert?" inquired Sénange.

"Oh! perhaps! perhaps!"

"He knows it, messieurs, he is going to tell us what it is. Speak, my dear fellow, speak, we will not lose a syllable!"

"I will tell you, messieurs, what someone told me--the reports that are current; I vouch for nothing, however."

"The preamble is perfect! Come down to the facts, advocate."

"Well! this is what people say: for several months past, Jarnonville has been a frequent visitor at the Hôtel de Marvejols, where the young countess lives."

"Oh! the deuce! is it so? And what does he go there for?"

"Why, it seems to me to be very easy to guess; he goes to see our friend Léodgard's wife."

"The bath keeper's daughter!"

"Hush! you wretch! Suppose Léodgard should hear you! He will not allow anyone to speak of his wife, either kindly or unkindly. Only a few days ago, the young Vicomte de Saunois ventured in his presence to jest about ill-assorted marriages; he threw his glove in his face, and the next morning he killed Saunois by running him through with his sword."

"What do we care for all that?--Let us return to Jarnonville; so he goes to pay court to the little countess, eh?"

"I cannot tell you absolutely why he goes to the Hôtel de Marvejols, but he goes there very often; and they say that, despite her low birth, this young countess is extremely pretty."

"Indeed!"

"And it is since Jarnonville has been going to see that young woman that his melancholy has vanished, that his eyes have lost their savage expression."

"And that he has worn a blue cloak! Ha! ha! this is delicious!--Pardieu! messeigneurs, I consider it most diverting that this ill-tamed ex-bear should hunt on Léodgard's preserves, who, by the way, has become far from agreeable since he became rich!"

"Oh! that would be a most excellent joke!"

"It is possible to hunt on another part of his domains," said Sénange, playing with his moustache; "but I take that task upon myself."

"Ah! is it so?" rejoined the young men, laughingly; "it is evident that the Comte de Marvejols is beset on all sides."

The two persons who were the subjects of this conversation were in the garden at the time. Léodgard, pausing beside a basin surrounded by flowers, with which lights of all colors were mingled, gazed gloomily at the reflection of the hyacinths and lilies in the water; it is probable that he did not appreciate the charm of that portion of the garden, where the water cooled the air, where the illuminations were not so brilliant as to tire the eye; yet he remained there, musing, lost in thought.