Part 12

"Well! what is it, Montrevert? Is not a man the master of his thoughts and actions here?"

"Oh, the devil! How surly you are to-night, Léodgard! Have I disturbed you in some very pleasant occupation? I will wager that I know what has nailed you to this pillar! Yes, now I know!--Aha! my dear master, we are admiring the Marquise de Santoval, who is on one of the benches yonder!--Well! in that case, I forgive you for snarling at me--such a lovely woman is quite capable of making us forget our friends!--But look--it seems to me that she casts a glance in our direction; this is a good place, apparently!"

Léodgard had resumed his contemplation of the marchioness and was no longer listening to Montrevert.

At that moment the little old hunchback joined them and stood on tiptoe, crying:

"What are you looking at there? Is the cardinal in that direction? I don't care about seeing him--I know him; still, as they say that he is thinner than ever, I should like to judge.--Montrevert, take me in your arms a moment, so that I may see."

Montrevert followed Léodgard's example--he did not reply. The Chevalier de La Valteline, who also had stopped near them, said to Monsieur de Noirteuil:

"Console yourself; it is not the cardinal they are looking at; it is the young Marquise de Santoval, whom everybody is admiring."

"The Marquise de Santoval! Oh! that makes a difference; I know her! I am very intimate with her husband!--But what a noise there is in the next room! Doubtless the cardinal is making his _entrée_; he seems to be coming this way, for the commotion is approaching us. So much the better! we shall be able to see him."

At that moment, the new arrival, whose peculiar costume and unique figure caused such a lively sensation in the throng that filled the rooms, made his appearance at the door of the gallery where the benches were. At sight of him many ladies could not control their desire to laugh, which they tried to dissemble behind their fans, while the little hunchback cried:

"By Notre Dame! who is this green man, who looks not unlike an asparagus stalk?--But I know him! why, yes, it's the Gascon chevalier, Monsieur de Passedix!--Where in the devil did the Prince de Valdimer pick up all these people?"

"My dear De Noirteuil," said La Valteline, "do not make a mistake; Passedix is a genuine chevalier of good family! He is absurd with respect to his physique, his costume, and his pretentious ways--that may be; but he is in no wise out of place here!"

The Gascon had, in fact, laid aside his orange costume. Having succeeded in obtaining an invitation to the Prince de Valdimer's ball, he had determined to create a sensation there by his magnificence, and, above all, by the originality of his costume; he had, in short, decided to do his utmost to forget Miretta; and having found no cure for his troubles in wine, he proposed to himself to make other conquests, hoping that another love would cure him of the passion which had caused him naught but vexation.

For several days, Passedix had reflected upon the subject of the color which would be most becoming to him and at the same time would be likely to attract the eyes of the ladies at a ball. He had decided on apple-green, and had ordered a satin doublet and short-clothes of that color, both slashed with olive-green, to form a contrast with the background. A dark-green girdle surrounded his waist; a short apple-green cloak was fastened to the left shoulder; and lastly, a sea-green velvet cap, surmounted by plumes of the same shade, completed the costume of the chevalier, who resembled an ambulatory tree, and whose entrance had produced an effect even beyond his hopes.

"One could never imagine anything like it, if one did not see it!" said the little old man.

Passedix, who had recognized La Valteline and Montrevert, pushed through the crowd which escorted him, and hastened to join them.

"Hail to the flower of chivalry!" exclaimed La Valteline, smiling.

"Enchanted to meet you, my fine fellows!--Cadédis! what a crowd at this ball! it is gorgeous! it is elegant! The fair sex predominates--so much the better, sandis!--I say with François I: a ball without ladies is a court without roses--no, I mean a springtime--but, no matter!--Ah! but there is our friend the Comte de Marvejols, glued to yonder pillar.--Good-evening, Léodgard! How now! not a word for a comrade?--Can he have gone deaf, I wonder? he does not answer!"

"No," said Montrevert; "but I believe that he has fallen in love with the Marquise de Santoval, who is sitting over yonder."

"The Marquise de Santoval!" repeated Passedix, with difficulty repressing a sigh.

"That name makes you sigh, chevalier," said La Valteline; "can it be that you too are one of the adorers of that lady, who sows confusion in all hearts?"

"I! oh! not at all; but I remembered that the Marquise de Santoval is no other than Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin--that is all."

"Vertuchoux! monsieur," said the little old man, saluting Passedix in his turn, "you have chosen an exceedingly dashing costume for the ball, and one which, as you must have noticed, produces a great effect here."

"My costume is graceful and distinguished, is it not? I have always had a weakness for apple-green; it is very becoming to me!"

"Yes, you wear it in a way that is peculiar to yourself."

"You have the general aspect of a shrub," said Montrevert.

"So much the better, sandioux! I am a rosebush; the ladies will be the roses."

"You represent hope also!" said Monsieur de Noirteuil.

"As you say, I am the chevalier of hope."

"One might also take him for a lettuce!" said the little hunchback, in an undertone.

"But, if I remember aright, you were all orange not long ago?"

"Yes, yes, that is true; but I have had enough of my orange costume; it came very near costing me dear.--Did Sénange and Monclair never tell you what happened to me, thanks to that infernal doublet?"

"No, we know nothing about it. Was it not a love adventure?"

"Love adventure! Bigre!--I beg pardon, I meant to say no, by Roland!--I was arrested, taken away--the crowd was already beginning to talk of hanging me! and all because they absolutely insisted that I was the famous robber Giovanni!"

"Giovanni! you, Giovanni! Ha! ha! ha! that is too absurd!--I say, Léodgard, Passedix was mistaken for Giovanni!"

The name of the Italian robber produced a magical effect upon Léodgard. The amorous expression of his glance instantly disappeared; he turned toward those who had addressed him, gazed at them with a distracted air, and replied in a metallic voice:

"What? what is it? what do you say? I did not hear."

"I said, count, that the Chevalier Passedix, whom you see before you disguised as a lawn----"

"What do you mean by _lawn_?" cried the Gascon.

"No; I meant to say dressed as a meadow--in short, this worthy gentleman was arrested by mistake for the robber Giovanni!"

"Ah! he was arrested?"

"Don't you agree with me that it is very comical?"

"Sandis! baron, I see nothing amusing in it at all! What do you see in it that moves you to laughter?"

"Pardieu! Passedix, the fact that you no more resemble Giovanni than that enormous lady yonder resembles the Marquise de Santoval; and I speak by the card, having had the honor of being set upon and robbed by the illustrious brigand!"

"What, monsieur le baron! have you been attacked by the famous Giovanni?" said the little hunchback, raising his head in order to look at Montrevert more closely.

"Yes, monsieur, and much more than attacked--I was beaten; for I tried to defend myself. But Léodgard here knows Giovanni much better than I, for he has had two encounters with him: the first, when he was robbed, like myself; on the second occasion, he tried to avenge me and kill the villainous thief; he fought with him and wounded him.--Is not that so, count?"

"Yes, it is true, I wounded him; at least, I thought so!" Léodgard replied, trying to hide his emotion, and glancing uneasily in every direction.

"You thought so!" rejoined Montrevert; "why, it was no delusion, as you were covered with blood when you came back to us."

"Cadédis!" cried Passedix, raising his hand to put aside one of the plumes, which fell over his left eye; "I don't know what I would give to cut that infernal robber in four pieces!"

"In that case, messieurs," said Monsieur de Noirteuil, "you must indeed know this Giovanni perfectly."

"That is why I said just now that the Chevalier Passedix did not resemble him at all!" said Montrevert. "Not that you can see his face, which is all hidden by his beard, but you can distinguish his eyes, which are very black and very bright, and his nose, which is long and sharp."

"Well! all that resembles me, I should say!"

"But he is a long way from having a figure like yours--he is not even so tall as Léodgard; he is very active, and seems to be powerfully built and quite young."

"I see no great difference from your humble servant."

"For some time past, we have heard nothing of people being attacked by this robber," said the little old man; "it would seem that he is reposing, or that he has left Paris."

"No, indeed!" said La Valteline; "but the shrewd rascal always awaits a good opportunity before acting; he does not steal for trifles! No, no! he is a fellow who selects his victims.--Not more than fifteen days, that is to say, fifteen nights ago, the wealthy Destaillis, receiver of the salt tax, was robbed by him as he left a gambling house in which he had broken the bank!"

"Sandis! if I were lieutenant of police, I would be ashamed of not having captured this Giovanni yet!"

"It seems that he has retreats, hiding places, in every quarter; he throws off the track all the bloodhounds that are set on him."

"Patience, messieurs," said the little hunchback; "I have been assured that the Cardinal de Richelieu said lately that he proposed to turn his attention to that villain! And if his eminence takes a hand in it, Giovanni will be caught."

"But what is this commotion in the gallery?--Ah! messieurs, this time it is really the cardinal; he is going to pass through here."

"I don't care about seeing him," said the hunchback, darting toward the crowd, "but he may have something to say to me; that is why I think it better to be where he can see me."

"For my part, I should not be sorry to have him notice me!" said Passedix.

"Oh! parbleu, chevalier!" said Montrevert; "he cannot help it! You have a costume that attracts every eye."

"So much the better! Sandis! you make me swim in joy! Bigre! here he is! we must stand erect!"

Richelieu came forward slowly, surrounded by a throng of courtiers, all of whom strove to obtain a favorable glance or a mere word from his eminence; and those who were vilifying the prime minister most savagely a few moments before were not the least eager to bend their backs double to obtain a smile.

As it was absolutely necessary for the guests to stand aside and make room for the cardinal to pass, he stopped a moment in front of the pillar against which Léodgard was leaning, and glanced at the persons nearest him.

"His eminence paused to look at me," said Passedix, leaning toward La Valteline. "Look--see----"

"He turns and speaks in an undertone to the Prince de Valdimer, who is at his side."

"I should not be surprised if he were to call me! He wishes to know the address of my tailor!"

But the Gascon's expectations were not fulfilled; it was not upon him that Richelieu had cast his eagle eye; it was Léodgard whom he had noticed; it was the name of the Comte de Marvejols that had come from his mouth.

After gracefully saluting the ladies who stood along his path, Richelieu walked through the gallery; but before he took his leave he cast at Léodgard another glance, of which all the courtiers then present sought in vain to divine the meaning.

XLII

THE PLOT THICKENS

During the first few weeks after the ball given by the foreign prince, Léodgard tried to forget Valentine's image, to banish her from his mind; he said to himself that it would be madness on his part to fall in love with a woman whose husband he had refused to be.

But the young marchioness's tender and expressive eyes were not the kind that one easily forgets, especially when they have seemed to say to one:

"Love me, I insist upon it!"

Tired of fighting against a sentiment which gave him no rest, Léodgard said to himself at last:

"Well! I will love this woman!--She will love me in return, I am certain of it; I saw it in her eyes. What do the obstacles that lie between us matter to me? Two lovers, when they understand each other, admit no obstacles!--She does not love this Marquis de Santoval; I saw that too. There are things which a glance suffices to reveal to us.--Now, I wish to be in Valentine's company again. I will go wherever she is likely to be; ere long she will cease to doubt my love. Yes, that woman shall be mine. I will trample under my feet anyone who may seek to prevent me from obtaining her."

A few days later, a brilliant reception was given by a great personage. Léodgard attended; he wore a costume the magnificence of which heightened the beauty of his face and his soldierly figure. A diamond of great value held the plumes that waved above his cap; his sword hilt and the aglets that glistened on his shoulders were incrusted with gold and precious stones.

As he passed, the Comte de Marvejols might have gathered more than one loving glance bestowed upon him by lovely and noble dames, whose conquest many a cavalier struggled to achieve. But Léodgard paid no attention to them; he had come there for but one woman--all others were indifferent to him; he passed unscathed through the fire of their glances.

At last he spied her who engrossed all his thoughts.

Valentine was seated among a number of ladies of the court, whom she dominated by the power of her charms as the majestic oak dominates the slender saplings that surround it.

The young marchioness's toilet was noble in its simplicity; it was less ornate than those of her neighbors, and yet hers was the one that was observed and admired; for veritable beauty imparts a charm to everything that it wears.

Léodgard stopped in front of Valentine and fastened his eyes upon her; he made no attempt to conceal the admiration she aroused in him.

Valentine, on her side, had perceived Léodgard at once, and a faint smile played about her lips, while her eyes expressed the keenest satisfaction.

Léodgard stood on the same spot, gazing at Valentine longer than strict propriety permitted. But suddenly the marchioness's lovely eyes ceased to respond to his burning glances, and seemed, on the contrary, to do their utmost to avoid them.

He sought to discover the cause of the change and soon succeeded: as he turned his head, he saw the Marquis de Santoval standing within a few steps and watching what was taking place.

The Comte de Marvejols decided, albeit regretfully, to leave his position. He did not lose sight of Valentine, however; he waited, hoping and seeking constantly to approach her; but Monsieur de Santoval remained near his wife; when Léodgard thought that he had gone into another room, he suddenly reappeared like a ghost, like a threatening spectre; for his brow was dark, and his eyes emitted ominous flashes which seemed the precursors of a violent storm.

At last the marchioness left her seat, to walk through the salons on her husband's arm. Seizing a moment when they were surrounded by people, Léodgard approached Valentine and said in her ear:

"I am dying with love for you, madame!"

"It is very late!" murmured the young woman, with a glance of flame at him who had addressed her.

"What? what did you say, madame?" demanded the Marquis de Santoval, turning to his wife.

"I said that it was very late, monsieur."

"You are right, madame; it is time to leave this function, which, in truth, offers little in the way of recreation."

The marquis took Valentine away; and Léodgard, as soon as he was certain that they had left the party, made haste to follow their example.

But Valentine knew that he loved her, and the words that she had let fall were not calculated to discourage him, even if they had not been accompanied by a soft glance.

A few days later, a ball was given by one of the king's favorites. Léodgard did not fail to attend, but in vain did he wander through the salons looking for her whom he burned to see again. The Marquis de Santoval and his wife did not appear; they had been invited, however; for the noble duke who gave the fête expressed more than once his disappointment that the lovely marchioness was not among his guests.

Several parties, several large receptions followed, and Léodgard did not miss one; but she whom he always hoped to meet did not appear.

The time passed; and love, which is intensified by separation, so long as it has not been rewarded, became every day more violent in Léodgard's heart.

It was evident that the Marquis de Santoval was jealous, that he had noticed the impassioned glances which the Comte de Marvejols had bestowed on his wife and, above all, a certain expression of satisfaction, of triumph, that shone in Valentine's eyes while Léodgard made himself drunk with love by gazing at her.

To prevent a repetition of that pantomime, the husband could devise no better means than to cease taking his wife into society.

But Léodgard said to himself that Valentine was not the woman to allow herself to be sequestered, to live without the pleasures suited to her years. In that case, it must be she herself who did not choose to be thrown with him again. Was it because she detested him? Was it not rather because she was afraid that she might love him?

"Her efforts will be vain; I will see her!" thought Léodgard; "I will find a way to approach her; indeed, her soft glances seemed to say that that would not displease her."

Several more weeks passed. At last Léodgard, who continued to go into society, found himself one evening in the same room with the Marquis de Santoval and his wife. There was a melancholy, melting expression on Valentine's features, which was not habitual to them; but her beauty was far from being diminished by the soft languor that dimmed the brilliancy of her eyes; on the contrary, their power was increased thereby.

Léodgard did not dissemble his sensations when he saw the marchioness again. She looked at him only an instant, but in the glance that she gave him there was the wherewithal to overturn the reason of the most virtuous man; and Léodgard was mad with love already.

But the Marquis de Santoval did not leave his wife for an instant; it was impossible for the most enterprising lover to say a word to her in secret, for there was no crowd there to facilitate a private interview.

The Comte de Marvejols was obliged, therefore, to allow the marchioness to go away without exchanging a single word with her. But he no longer doubted that she was alive to his passion, and he determined to resort to other methods of seeing her.

The Hôtel de Santoval was situated on Rue Sainte-Avoie. During the next few days, Léodgard passed and repassed that hôtel, the great gate of which was always closed. He renewed the occupation of seducer, which he had abandoned of late; but the servants who went in and out had one and all a surly air of the sort that does not inspire confidence; they either answered by monosyllables the questions that were put to them, or walked away without answering at all. The concierge, too, who sometimes appeared for a moment in the gateway, had a crabbed look far from encouraging to lovers.

"By hell! I must find a way to send the lovely Valentine a note!" said Léodgard to himself, stamping the ground in vexation.

Then as his eye happened to fall on a wretched little wine shop, within a gunshot of the Hôtel de Santoval, he decided to enter.

Although enveloped in an immense brown cloak, it was easy to recognize a _grand seigneur_ in the individual who entered the dark and smoky common room of the wine shop; so that the proprietor, who was not in the habit of receiving such guests, outdid himself in salutations, and invited Léodgard to walk into a small room behind his shop, where he could be alone, if such were his pleasure.

But Léodgard, preferring not to lose sight of the street and of Valentine's abode, took his seat at a table near the window, saying:

"I am very comfortable here; I will not move."

"What shall I serve monsieur?"

"A bottle of your best wine."

The host bowed again; for in those days wine served in bottles was not common, and was correspondingly dear. Only noblemen or rich merchants indulged in that luxury at wine shops.

The room in which Léodgard was seated contained but few drinkers at that moment. At the rear, two old soldiers were discussing their campaigns over their wine; there were also three workmen, who were breakfasting very frugally and singing snatches of ballads.

The latter soon left the wine shop, to return to their work. A few moments later, two young men arrived; their attire was very modest, but they talked very loudly.

As they made their entrance into the room, the shorter one exclaimed:

"Ah! ten thousand names of devils! It isn't so brilliant here as at the famous tavern of the Loup de Mer--eh, Plumard? This place is a regular hole!"

"It's large enough for what we have to spend!" muttered the second clerk, removing his cap to scratch the bit of plaster which was still attached to his scalp, and which, by dint of patience and by working with his nails, he had succeeded in reducing to about the size of a crown piece.

Bahuchet--the reader will ere this have recognized the two Basochians--approached the table next to Léodgard's, saying:

"Let us sit here, my dear boy; we shall be very comfortable here; we shall be able to see a little something--that is, if our proximity does not annoy his lordship?"

These last words were addressed to the count, who, having pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes, simply moved his head; whereupon the two clerks took their seats at the next table.

"What shall I serve you, gentlemen?" the host asked the new-comers.

"He calls us _gentlemen_!" muttered Plumard.

"The shrewd knave flatters us, hoping to induce us to spend more; but he will have nothing to show for his compliments and his reverences!--We have no choice--eleven sous between us; that is rather meagre, but we can't go beyond it!"

The host was still waiting. Bahuchet beckoned to him to come nearer.

"Listen carefully, good host, and do not exceed our order; we came here simply to eat a morsel--between our meals. Serve us three sous' worth of bread, six of wine, and two of good meat."

The host made a wry face and replaced his cap on his head.

"What kind of good meat do you expect me to serve for two sous?" he retorted.--"Make it six at least, messieurs, and you shall have a dish."

"We will not add a single denier--we have our reasons for it. Go, cabaretier, and serve it hot."

"Hot! you will have cheese!--I am not in the habit of serving it hot!"

"Ah! poor Bahuchet! where are your days of bluster?" muttered Plumard, digging his nails into his plaster.

"What would you have, Plumard? The days follow, but do not resemble one another!--Your skull is the only thing that persists in not changing; it is infernally obstinate about it."

"Do you remember, Bahuchet, when we regaled ourselves on the costume of my uncle the clothes dealer?--Ha! ha! thirty pistoles--no less; and what a spree we had at Le Roule, for two or three days!"

"I should say so; they had to take you to the hospital; you nearly died of indigestion.--Those were the good times!"

"To be sure, that great idiot of a Gascon chevalier was the cause of our having a scene with my uncle afterward!"

"Yes, but your uncle could never make us give back the money.--Ah! here comes our banquet. Fichtre! the good meat they are bringing can be smelt a long way off!"