Part 17

The chevalier returned softly to the count's room. Hearing some movement in the bed, he left Blanche hidden by the curtains, and approached the invalid, who had opened his eyes and was gazing about the room as if he were trying to collect his thoughts, to marshal his recollections.

At sight of Jarnonville, Léodgard, more amazed than ever, faltered:

"What! is it you, Jarnonville? For heaven's sake, explain! What has happened?"

"You were very dangerously wounded. I found you lying on the ground, under an arcade on Place Royale."

"Oh, yes! yes! I remember--my duel--with the Marquis de Santoval.--And you had me brought here? But I recognize this chamber--it used to be mine; I am at the Hôtel de Marvejols."

"To carry you farther would have been impossible; you would have died on the way; and besides, where else would you have found the devoted, incessant care and attention with which you have been surrounded here for three weeks past?"

Léodgard made no reply; he let his head fall back on the pillow; but his expression had become sad, his brow was clouded.

Thereupon Jarnonville beckoned to Blanche, who had remained behind the curtains, afraid to stir. The little girl came forward, climbed the bed steps beside the bed, then suddenly showed her sweet face to Léodgard, saying:

"I see the gentleman!"

An abrupt change took place in Léodgard's whole expression; at first he started in surprise, but almost instantly a sentiment of well-being, like the calm after a storm, found its way into the invalid's heart.

He smiled at Blanche and tried to hold out his hand to her. But he was still too weak to use his arm, and could only say:

"Is it you, dear child?--Ah! it is very good of you to come to see me. You must come often."

Then his eyes closed--the emotion had exhausted his strength; but the weakness that he felt was in no wise dangerous, and it was soon succeeded by a refreshing sleep.

"We have succeeded!" said Jarnonville, leading the child back to her mother; "the sight of the child instantly dissipated the clouds that darkened your husband's brow. Now, madame, you may be sure that Blanche will complete her father's cure."

Bathilde lovingly embraced her daughter; then she took advantage of Léodgard's slumber to go to his side and gaze at him at her ease.

By the sick man's movements they could always determine the moment when he would wake; thereupon Ambroisine and Bathilde hastened from the room, leaving Jarnonville there alone; or if the chevalier was absent, his place was taken by a servant.

When Léodgard next opened his eyes, they wandered about the room, as if in search of someone.

Jarnonville approached the bed and asked if he desired anything.

"Yes," whispered the count, trying to smile, "yes--I would like to see--the little girl."

"He is not willing yet to say 'my daughter,' but that will come in time," thought the chevalier, as he went to fetch Blanche, whom he soon led to her father's bedside.

The little one ascended the bed steps without aid, and showed her pretty face, her chestnut hair, and her winning smile.

"Bonjour, my friend!" she said.

Bathilde had instructed Blanche to address her father thus. Before giving him a sweeter name, she wished that Léodgard himself should authorize it.

The invalid succeeded in putting out his hand as far as the child, whose hair, already thick and silky, he patted gently, saying:

"You are very good to come to see me; but perhaps you will get tired of it. Will you come every day?"

"Yes, my friend."

"In the morning, and then again in the afternoon?"

"Yes--if mamma will let me!"

Léodgard became pensive, and was silent for a long while, still toying with the child's hair. After a few minutes, Blanche cried:

"I prayed to the good Lord, I did, with mamma, to make my friend not be sick any more!"

"Dear child, how kind you are! Do you love me a little?"

"Oh, yes! with all my heart!"

Léodgard made a movement; it was plain that he desired to kiss Blanche; but he could not raise himself so as to put his face to hers. Jarnonville, who was watching him out of the corner of his eye, saw all this; he made no sign, however, but remained where he was, pretending to be engrossed by his book.

At last, unable to reach the child's face, Léodgard decided to say to her:

"Give me your hand--a little farther--against my lips; that is right."

And he covered his daughter's little hand with kisses, while she exclaimed with delight:

"Oh! monsieur friend! he kiss Blanche's hand!"

Concealed behind the folds of a portière, Bathilde saw it all, and tears of joy escaped from her eyes.

The count kept the child with him a long while, but at last made up his mind to send her away.

"I do not wish to deprive her any longer of the pleasures, the amusements suited to her years," he said to Jarnonville; "her pretty color will fade beside a sickbed.--Take her away, chevalier.--Au revoir, little one--until to-morrow! I shall wait impatiently for you to come to pass a few moments with me."

Twelve days passed. Léodgard continued to improve and began to recover a little strength; but it was not possible as yet for him to leave his bed, the severity of the wound he had received demanding extreme precautions. To beguile his ennui, to make the hours seem less long, he often had Blanche with him, and each day he tried to keep her longer.

When his daughter was not by his side, Léodgard was silent, and his mind seemed always to be engrossed by gloomy thoughts. He would hardly answer Jarnonville when he tried to divert him, and sometimes passed whole hours without opening his lips, without emerging from the torpor in which he was plunged. But when Blanche's little steps pattered along the floor, when her sweet voice made itself heard in the room, it was as if a fairy had touched the Comte de Marvejols with her magic wand: his brow instantly cleared, he raised his eyes, a bright smile changed the whole expression of his countenance, and, being stronger now, he would hold out his arms to Blanche, draw her to him, and make her sit on his bed, where he could kiss her lovely face at his ease.

Then he would lead the child on to talk; he loved to hear her, to listen to her childish answers, wherein sensibility and intelligence were already apparent. These are natural gifts, which education and years do not give; when they do not manifest themselves early in life, be sure that you will look in vain for them later.

But Léodgard had not yet called Blanche his daughter; and when she spoke of her mother, he very soon found a way to change the subject.

Bathilde continued to keep out of her husband's sight, and he had not once inquired about her. But she did not complain; she was happy because she had been able to nurse him, and even happier for the affection which he displayed for his daughter.

Ambroisine thought it her duty as well to abstain from showing herself to the sick man; the mere sight of her had seemed so unpleasant to the count when she met him on Place Royale, holding Blanche in his arms, that she did not care to cause him a repetition of that sensation.

So that Léodgard saw nobody save the surgeon, who continued to visit him morning and evening; Jarnonville, who often came to bear him company, and to whom he had confided the fact that he had fought a duel with the Marquis de Santoval, but without disclosing the cause of their quarrel; the servants, who came to him when he rang; and the child, who had lately embellished the invalid's bed with divers toys, so that she might remain longer with her friend.

One evening, the two ladies questioned the chevalier on the subject of Léodgard's wound.

"Has he told you how it happened?" asked Bathilde; "how he was attacked by Giovanni? For it was that brigand who wounded him, was it not?"

Jarnonville seemed to reflect before he replied:

"Madame, your husband is very uncommunicative; and since he has begun to improve, he talks no more than before. Your daughter alone has the power to make him talk. When I attempted to question him concerning this adventure, he answered only by monosyllables, which led me to think that my questions were displeasing to him; so that I thought that I should not persist."

"Oh! you were quite right, chevalier; let monsieur le comte conceal from us the cause of his accident, if that is his wish; the essential point is that it should have no fatal consequences."

"Still," said Ambroisine, "I do not understand why he should make a mystery of having been attacked by a robber! But if he had fought a duel----"

"That is impossible," rejoined Bathilde; "remember that in his delirium he talked constantly of this Giovanni."

Thus the two friends were still uncertain with respect to the cause of the wound which had nearly caused the count's death; and Jarnonville, who knew what it was and might have told them, pretended to share their ignorance.

One morning, on awaking, Léodgard, who was accustomed to see Blanche at the foot of his bed, or somewhere in the room, looked in vain for the child, who was nowhere in sight. After waiting for some time for his daughter to be brought to him, he rang for a servant.

"Why do they not send the child to me this morning, as usual?" he asked the valet who answered the bell.

"I believe that I heard someone say, monsieur le comte, that mademoiselle was not very well in the night; that is probably the reason why she does not come to you."

"Ah! that makes a difference! And the physician--have they sent for the physician?"

"Yes, monsieur le comte."

"Has the Sire de Jarnonville not yet come?"

"No, monseigneur."

"Very well; as soon as the physician has seen the child, send him to me."

The valet left the room; but in a few moments the count rang again, and asked that the child's nurse be sent to him.

Marie appeared, and the count was glad to see the nurse who was taking his daughter to walk on Place Royale when he first met her there. He motioned to her to come forward.

"Blanche is ill--what is the matter?"

"Oh! it will be nothing, monsieur le comte; mademoiselle coughed a little in the night, and this morning she has a little fever; but it will not amount to anything; children fall sick very quickly, but they get well as quickly."

"Is she in pain?"

"No, monseigneur; she has already asked to get up, and to come to see you."

"What! does she really think of me?"

"Oh! since she has been coming here, you are her first thought, after she has kissed her mother."

"Dear child!"

"But as mademoiselle is feverish, it would be imprudent to allow her to rise."

"Yes, it must not be. And her--her mother is with her, I presume?"

"Madame does not leave mademoiselle for an instant; especially as when she is ill mademoiselle is not always very good about taking her medicine. But when her mamma says to her: 'You must take this, my child!' then she obeys instantly."

"It is well; go; let them send the doctor to me when he has seen Blanche."

The time seemed very long to Léodgard, who had become accustomed to the pleasure of seeing his daughter. We do not fully realize the value of things until we are deprived of them. Until that moment, the count had thought perhaps that his daughter's presence was simply an agreeable diversion; now, he felt that it had become an imperative need.

At last the doctor came, and Léodgard questioned him eagerly concerning Blanche's condition.

The doctor began by allaying his fears, and continued:

"Even if this indisposition should prove to be one of the diseases common to children, we would cure her."

"A disease! What disease do you suspect, doctor?"

"Why, it is what used to be called _Pusula_--the _feu ardent_, _feu sauvage_, Saint Anthony's fire."[B]

[B] Erysipelas.

"You terrify me, doctor!"

"But in those days they were very ignorant! It is simply the measles--what we doctors call _Boa_; a skin disease, very light in children, unless they are not properly cared for--unless there is imprudence. There is no danger of that in this case.--But how are you, monsieur le comte?"

"I am doing well, and I wish that I might be allowed to rise."

"Wait a few more days. If your wound should reopen, you would be kept in bed for a long, long time. Be reasonable, monsieur le comte; it is really a miracle that you have recovered."

"Thanks, doctor; but henceforth give all your attention to the child."

The doctor went away, but Jarnonville soon came to stay with the count. On this occasion he did not find him taciturn and pensive as usual. The count asked him with much eagerness if he had seen his daughter, questioned him about her condition, and told him what he had learned from the doctor. And as the chevalier never tired of talking about Blanche, those two men, whose aspect was sometimes so stern and forbidding, passed a large part of the day talking about a child.

The next day, the doctor declared that his opinion was confirmed, and that the child had the measles--a disease attended with no danger, if not complicated by other circumstances.

Léodgard did not allow five minutes to pass without ringing and sending servants to inquire for his daughter. He no longer hesitated to give her that title when he spoke of her; and Jarnonville could not conceal his joy when the count at last uttered that word.

On the third day, after inquiring for Blanche, he exclaimed:

"Oh! how fortunate her mother is! She is with her, she can see her, if nothing more; and I--who had become so accustomed to seeing her every day--how long the time seems to me now!"

On the following day, the servants' faces were more downcast, and Jarnonville himself, although he said that the disease was following its regular course, seemed more anxious, less cheerful, concerning Blanche's safety.

After scrutinizing the faces of all those about him, Léodgard summoned a valet and ordered him to help him to dress.

"What! you intend to rise?" cried Jarnonville; "that is most imprudent; the doctor still forbids it."

"The doctor does not know how much I suffer from not seeing my daughter; the sight of her will be more beneficial to me than all his prescriptions. Moreover, to-day everyone seems to be more anxious about Blanche's health, and I wish to satisfy myself with my own eyes concerning her condition. You will give me your arm, chevalier, and take me to my daughter."

The tone in which the count spoke showed that all objections would be fruitless.

Enveloped in a voluminous robe de chambre, Léodgard took Jarnonville's arm, and left his apartment at last, to go to the wing occupied by Bathilde and her child.

But, despite all his resolution, the convalescent, whose legs shook and wavered, could go only very slowly, and a servant hastened before him to announce to the countess her husband's coming.

When she learned that Léodgard had insisted upon coming to see his daughter, Bathilde could not restrain a joyful cry; and she lovingly embraced the little invalid, saying to her:

"It is on your account that he comes, dear child, it is you who bring him back to me!--Oh! I am well aware that it is not I whom he wishes to see, but I shall not go away, for I never leave you; from the instant that you are suffering, my place is with you! And your father must needs endure my presence, if he wishes to have a share in nursing you."

As for Ambroisine, who also was beside the child's cradle, she went at once into another room; for in that first interview between the husband and wife a witness would have been in the way.

Slow and heavy steps announced the count's arrival. Bathilde seated herself at some little distance from her daughter's cradle; but when Léodgard entered the room, leaning on Jarnonville's arm, she could not refrain from looking at him, and she was painfully impressed by the tremendous change in his whole appearance. Considerably thinner than of old, extremely pale, and with naught reminiscent of his large eyes save a feverish and sombre fire, the Comte de Marvejols was no more than the shadow of his former self. But in Bathilde's eyes he was still the man whom she adored, the father of her child; and she was obliged to make a mighty effort to keep from rushing to him and throwing herself into his arms.

Léodgard simply bent his head to his wife. His eyes sought his daughter's cradle, and when he espied it he dropped the chevalier's arm, went forward alone, put aside the curtains that covered it, and sat down beside it. Blanche was at the point of waking; her sweet face was purple and swollen as a result of her disease; but she smiled when she woke, and on recognizing Léodgard she cried:

"Oh! my friend! my friend! he not sick too! he come to see Blanche!"

The count leaned over the cradle and covered the child with kisses. Bathilde turned her head away to hide her tears; but they were not unpleasant, and she did not try to restrain them.

"Does the doctor still say that there is no danger?" asked Léodgard, addressing Jarnonville; but he pretended not to hear, in order to compel the count to address his wife.

Seeing that the chevalier persisted in not replying, Léodgard made up his mind to turn to Bathilde; whereupon the young woman murmured, without looking at her husband:

"My daughter has now reached the point where her disease is at its height; but to-night, about midnight, the doctor says that the fever should begin to abate; he has assured me that Blanche is in no danger."

"But this extreme redness----"

"Is characteristic of this fever. It worried me too, but the doctor declares that it is better that it should be so.--But you, monsieur le comte--I thought that you were not allowed to leave your bed yet; is it not imprudent?"

"Your husband would not listen to reason, madame," said Jarnonville; "his desire to see his daughter was stronger than any words of mine!"

Léodgard looked up at the chevalier and smiled slightly.

"Ah!" he murmured; "you seem to be talking now, Jarnonville!"

Then, turning again toward his daughter, he said:

"Little darling! I am terribly bored, being deprived of your visits!--Get well very soon; but meanwhile it is my turn to come to see you, and I will come."

"Every day?" whispered Blanche.

"Oh, yes! every day! Au revoir, my child, au revoir!"

And the count rose, bowed to Bathilde, took the chevalier's arm, and returned to his apartment.

But the next day it was impossible for Léodgard to rise; the exertion of the preceding day had reopened his wound. The doctor scolded him roundly for his imprudence, and the count was fain to be content with hearing from his daughter every instant of the day. Luckily, the reports were excellent; the malady was abating, and the recovery would be rapid. Blanche should be brought to him as soon as it could be done without danger to her.

Four days more had elapsed, when, on waking one morning, Léodgard found Blanche on his bed. He threw his arms about her and covered her with kisses.

"Friend still sick?" asked the little girl, smiling at her father. But he gazed fondly at her, saying:

"You must not say _friend_, dear love; after this, call me _father_--do you understand?--father; for you are my daughter, and I am proud of you.--Oh! why did I not know this happiness sooner--this inward satisfaction which a man feels in pressing his child in his arms!--But I did not believe in it until I possessed you. I was still blind, and I denied the light!"

Joys of the heart are always the best remedy for all ills. As soon as he saw his daughter once more, Léodgard rapidly improved; he was soon well enough to rise and walk about his room; but to make him perfectly comfortable, Blanche must be with him. He seemed to become more attached to her every day. Albeit vastly surprised by the power which the child exerted over his heart, he did not try to combat it; on the contrary, he abandoned himself to it with delight, for he realized that the unfamiliar sensation that he felt was the only one which causes us to enjoy true happiness.

Sometimes, however, as he held his daughter on his knee, with his eyes resting on her lovely eyes, Léodgard would suddenly become depressed and thoughtful, and a livid pallor would overspread his features. Then, putting Blanche on the floor, he would walk hurriedly away from her, hiding his face in his hands, and muttering:

"Poor child! Suppose that some day she should learn--that somebody should tell her that her father---- She would curse me, perhaps!--Oh! the mere thought is terrible! it is my most cruel punishment!"

And Léodgard would remain as if crushed by his thoughts; but Blanche, unable to understand why her father had suddenly turned his back on her, would run to him and take his hand, saying in her sweet voice:

"Papa, don't you love Blanche any more?"

The little angel's tones very soon made their way to her father's heart, and, like a ray of sunshine, dissipated the storm that had gathered there.

XLIX

WOMAN CHANGES

"Woman's moods are light as air; Foolish he who trusts the fair!"

After his duel with Léodgard, the Marquis de Santoval returned to his hôtel and went at once to his wife, who was anxiously awaiting the result of the meeting, which she herself had brought about, between the count and her husband.

When the marquis appeared with a triumphant air, Valentine was conscious of a thrill of horror which went to her heart.

"You are avenged, madame, completely avenged!" said Monsieur de Santoval, as he saluted his wife.

"Ah! I was very anxious, monsieur!"

"I thank you for your anxiety. But with me you need have had no fear!"

"Did you--meet--the Comte de Marvejols?"

"Yes, madame; you may be sure that he would not fail to accept your amiable invitation. One has not such a charming rendezvous every evening!--And that fellow is so conceited! he could not fail to fall into the trap!"

"And how did it come about?"

"As naturally as possible. The count was rather surprised to see me; however, he tried to throw dust in my eyes. But as I was in haste to have done, I told him frankly the whole truth."

"Ah! you told him----"

"That you had made a fool of him, that you were very glad to give him a lesson, without which your vengeance would have been incomplete!--Ah! if you knew how frantic the handsome seducer became at that!"

"I can well believe it, monsieur."

"We instantly drew our swords.--He fights well, but his anger blinded him."

"And you wounded him?"

"Wounded him!--Oh! I did better than that--I killed him, madame. A superb thrust, which ran him through. If he recovers, it will surprise me greatly.--But what is the matter, madame? You turn pale!"

"Yes, monsieur; in truth, I do not feel well--the anxiety I have suffered to-night, and---- But a night's rest will restore me. Be good enough to send Miretta here."

"On the instant.--Really, I am deeply touched by your interest in me; but, as you see, I did not receive the slightest scratch."

"Yes, monsieur, yes; that sets my mind at rest. And--that unhappy man--whom you killed--what has become of him?"

"Whatever God wills should become of him.--For myself, my dear love, you will understand that the best thing for me to do was to come away at once! The law concerning duels is very severe!--But Joseph alone was our witness, and I am sure of that fellow's fidelity.--Come, marchioness, be reassured; take some rest; no more anxiety. I will send Miretta to you."

The marquis left the room. Valentine sat perfectly still, as if she were overwhelmed. Her brow was blanched, her eyes shone with a sombre fire; it was evident that a cruel thought absorbed all her senses. It was in this condition that Miretta found her when she entered the room.

"Did madame send for me? Madame seems to be suffering," said the girl, as she observed her mistress. "But monsieur le marquis has returned--so that he must have been the victor, and madame is avenged!"

Valentine raised her head and flashed a terrible glance at her confidante, crying: