Part 2

"Do as you think best; you are a good girl, and I have confidence in you."

"Oh! thanks, father! And now, won't you come with me and say a word of consolation to poor Bathilde, who will not stir from my room and dares not show herself to you?--Come, father, and see her, I beg you; if you do not, she will think that you are angry because I made her welcome; that will add to her grief, and she has quite enough now."

Hugonnet allowed his daughter to take his hand and lead him to her room, where she softly opened the door.

At sight of Ambroisine's father, Bathilde fell on her knees and hid her face in her hands. But when Hugonnet's eyes fell on the poor girl, whose sufferings had already made inroads on her beauty, he forgot her fault and remembered only her misfortune.

He ran to her, lifted her up, and kissed her, saying:

"I am not your judge, I am your friend, as I used to be your father's. Would you like me to go to see him, and entreat him to be kind to his daughter?"

"Oh! you are too kind, monsieur. But I am afraid that you would do no good; perhaps, indeed, the anger of my parents would be redoubled if they should learn that you know of my wrongdoing."

"But suppose that I should go to see Landry and pretend to know nothing about it?"

"That would be better, father," said Ambroisine; "you can see how they receive you, and whether they mention their daughter."

"They will not mention her!" said Bathilde, sadly shaking her head. "When they turned me out of the house, they said to me: 'Never show your face here again; we shall not recognize you, for hereafter we have no daughter!'--So, you see, they will not mention me."

"Courage, my child, courage! It is impossible that their anger will not die away finally. Meanwhile, this house is yours, my daughter will be your sister, and I will try to replace those who have withdrawn their affection from you."

Bathilde kissed Hugonnet's hands; and Ambroisine threw her arms about her father's neck, crying:

"Ah! if I didn't love you already with all my heart, I believe that I should love you more than ever at this moment!"

Left alone with Ambroisine, Bathilde, who had but one thought, one hope, hastily scribbled this note to Léodgard:

"My parents have found out everything, and they have turned me out of their house. Ambroisine has taken me in; she is like a sister to me. But without you, Léodgard, I cannot hope for pardon. I must tell you what I dared not tell you before, something that makes me glad and miserable at once: I am a mother! Oh! my dear, remember your oaths, and come, come quickly, to give your child a father."

* * * * *

She handed her letter to her friend and said:

"It's on Place Royale; you will find the place, won't you?"

"Never fear," Ambroisine replied, placing the paper in her bosom. "Place Royale is not very hard to find; I passed through it not so long ago, on my way home from Vincennes, where I had been to see my godmother; she gave me a message for somebody who lives on Place Royale.--Ah! I shall never forget that day; for on the road that I took---- But, great heaven! here I am telling you things that don't interest you; and I read in your eyes that you wish that I had started before this with your letter. That is natural enough, since what you have written is sure to interest the count so deeply.--Come, be calm, I am going--I am going at once!"

"Dear Ambroisine! what torment, what trouble I cause you!"

"Will you be kind enough not to say that? I tell you once more that your not being in your father's house now is my fault. If it had not been for that infernal idea of mine of taking you to see the Fire of Saint-Jean, you would still be on Rue Dauphine, working by your mother's side. As I am the prime cause of the trouble, the least that I can do is to try to repair it."

Ambroisine left the house, walked very fast, did not stop on the way, and reached Place Royale in less than half an hour. She asked at a shop where the Hôtel de Marvejols was; it was pointed out to her, and in a moment the girl saw the heavy gate leading into the courtyard swing open before her.

"What do you want?" cried the concierge, in a rough voice, and without leaving the large armchair in which he sat at the back of his lodge.

"I would like to speak to Monsieur le Comte Léodgard de Marvejols."

"He is not in."

"Will you have the kindness to tell me at what hour I can find him?"

"Never!"

"What! never?"

"No; monsieur le comte no longer lives here, he doesn't sleep in monsieur le marquis his father's house, and he never comes here; so, you see, you will never find him here."

"Then, monsieur le concierge, will you kindly tell me where monsieur le comte lives now, and I will go there."

"I don't know where monsieur le comte lives; besides, it is none of my business to give his address!"

"But, monsieur, I must speak with monsieur le comte; it is absolutely necessary!"

"That is none of my business."

And the concierge closed the door of his lodge with a most unamiable air.

Ambroisine remained in the courtyard, in despair at the unsuccess of the step she had taken, and unable to make up her mind to go away. At that moment old Hector, the marquis's valet, came from a porch at the rear and crossed the courtyard. He saw Ambroisine, and as beauty always exerts a charm, even over old men, he approached the comely girl and said, observing her distressed look:

"What is the matter, my pretty maid? Do you wish something here?"

"Yes, monsieur; I hoped to find someone, and I am told that he is no longer here."

"Whom do you seek, my child?"

"I desire to see the young gentleman of the house, monsieur--Comte Léodgard."

"My master's son!" rejoined old Hector, with a profound sigh. "Ah! this is no longer the place to look for him; Monsieur le Comte de Marvejols is no longer to be found under his father's roof. Nearly a month ago he ceased entirely to come to the house; and monsieur le marquis, although he tries not to show it, is deeply grieved, I can see."

"But, monsieur, if monsieur le comte no longer lives here, he must live somewhere, unless--mon Dieu!--unless he has left Paris--France?"

"No, no, my child, don't be alarmed!" replied the old servant, compressing his lips with an expression in which there was a faint suggestion of cunning; "monsieur le marquis's son has not left Paris. Oh! he leads too merry a life here to have any idea of going away!--And are you so very anxious to see him, my pretty maid?"

"Yes, monsieur, it is so important! A certain person's repose, her happiness, is at stake. I have a letter to give to Monsieur Léodgard; and your concierge will not tell me where I can find him."

"But I do not believe that he knows. Since monsieur le comte ceased to live with his father, monsieur le marquis never speaks of his son, and he will never hear his name mentioned. But I, who, without making any pretence, know what goes on in my master's heart, have made inquiries without saying anything to him about it; I talked with the valet of one of Monsieur Léodgard's friends, and I learned from him that monsieur le comte occupies a very pretty, elegant house a long way from here--in Rue de Bretonvilliers. It is close by Ile Saint-Louis--a new street recently laid out, in a very deserted quarter. But it seems that that does not prevent monsieur le comte from enjoying himself immensely in his new abode, where he gives fêtes, or rather orgies! for our young gentlemen do not know how to amuse themselves in any other way. Probably fortune, which used to treat Monsieur Léodgard so ill, has ceased to be adverse to him. Well, well! card playing has its chances; there are times when luck favors you as much as it has been against you. If monsieur le comte is lucky now, so much the better; for his father would never pay his debts again.--But I stand chattering here, and my master may need my services."

"Rue de Bretonvilliers, you said? Thanks, thanks, monsieur!"

"I don't know the number, but there are very few houses on that street as yet, and it will be easy for you to find it."

"Oh! yes, monsieur, yes, I will find it; thanks for your kindness."

"Go, my child; I hope that you will not make a useless journey!"

Ambroisine left the Hôtel de Marvejols and started off again; but she reflected on what the old servant had just told her. If the young count, since he had ceased to live with his father, led a more dissipated life than ever, of course he had entirely forgotten poor Bathilde.

That thought weighed heavily on Ambroisine's heart; she had never had any confidence in the oaths which the count had sworn to her friend; but it shook neither her resolution nor her courage.

Rue de Bretonvilliers, begun in 1615, contained as yet very few houses; the new buildings were, in many instances, separated by walls enclosing gardens or unimproved land. The _belle baigneuse_ observed one house of a refined but curious style of architecture, consisting of three wings, two of which were on the street, while the third, which was much smaller, was at the rear of an immense courtyard.

Something told Ambroisine that that was Léodgard's residence, and she did not hesitate to knock there.

"Monsieur le Comte de Marvejols?" she inquired of an old woman whom she saw in the courtyard. The old woman nodded, then took a trumpet from her pocket and put it to her ear.

Ambroisine repeated her question, speaking very loud.

"Monsieur le comte is not in!" replied the deaf old concierge; "what do you want of him?"

"I have a letter for him."

"Give it to me."

"But I would like an answer."

"You can come again."

"When must I come to find the count?"

"No one ever knows; he doesn't say."

"But you will hand him this letter to-day?"

"Yes, if I see him."

"Do you not see him every day?"

"No; he is at liberty not to come home!"

"What sort of a life is he leading?" thought Ambroisine.--"At all events, you will give him this letter as soon as he returns?"

"Yes, if I see him."

"What! you do not see him when he returns?--you, the concierge?"

"Bless me! he has his own key; and he doesn't always knock."

"Well! try to see him as soon as possible!"

Ambroisine went home, far from satisfied with what she had learned.

Bathilde was impatiently awaiting her; she told her all that she had done, all that the marquis's old valet had told her concerning the young count. But Bathilde, far from being dismayed, was persuaded that her lover had left his father's house only to be more free to offer a home to his future wife.

"He will have my letter soon!" she cried, taking her friend's hand; "he will know my plight, all that I have had to suffer for him; in a word, he will know that I am a mother.--Ah! you will see, Ambroisine, that he will come at once to comfort me."

Ambroisine made no reply; but she did not share her friend's hope.

Master Hugonnet came again in the evening to see the poor girl, and said to her with a disappointed air:

"I went to Master Landry's to-day."

"You have seen my father!" cried Bathilde; "well?"

"He received me very coolly, very shortly, in fact; he answered only a few curt words to what I said. His face was dark and careworn."

"Oh! my poor father! it is I who am the cause of his unhappiness!"

"But he did not say a word about you.--As for your mother, when she saw me, she turned her back and disappeared; perhaps she was afraid that I should read her grief in her eyes."

"Oh, no! monsieur, she was afraid that you would mention her daughter's name."

And Bathilde turned away to weep, thinking how sad it was to be an object of shame and misery to those whose existence it was her duty to make glad.

Two days passed, and Bathilde received no news of Léodgard. Each hour, each minute that went seemed a century to the poor girl, whose eyes expressed the anxiety and suffering that were devouring her heart.

When the second day had gone, Ambroisine, realizing her friend's tortures, said to her in the morning, after kissing her:

"While my father is busy with his customers, I will run to Rue de Bretonvilliers."

"Oh, yes! do go, Ambroisine; it is not possible that Léodgard has received my letter and has not taken the slightest step toward consoling me. If he will simply come and tell me that he still loves me, that will give me strength to endure my suffering. Either the concierge has not seen him or she has forgotten to hand him my note."

"That is what I propose to find out."

"If he is at home, try to see him, to speak to him, to obtain an answer from him, so that I may at least know what my child's fate will be!"

"I know all that I am to say to him."

"But do not reproach him. You know how impatient, how quick-tempered he is! Avoid irritating him."

"I shall think of you, and, like you, I will be indulgent."

Ambroisine left the house. Bathilde hardly breathed all the time that she was absent. At last her friend returned, but her face did not announce cheerful news, and her voice trembled as she said to Bathilde:

"The concierge swore that she gave the letter to her master the day before yesterday, before night; she knows nothing more."

"And you did not see him?"

"'Monsieur le comte is absent,'--that is what she told me.

"'But at what time must I return in order to see him?' I asked the woman.

"'I don't know, myself; monsieur le comte goes in and out without saying anything to me, and he won't even allow me to ask him if he will return at night. "That does not concern you!" he told me once, and with such an angry, threatening look, that I vowed I would never ask him another question.'

"That, my poor girl, is what that woman told me."

"He received my letter two days ago!" murmured Bathilde, weeping; "and he has not been here, he has sent me no answer!--Mon Dieu! can it be that what you told me of Comte Léodgard is the truth? Was I simply one of those victims to whom a man does not become attached, only a caprice, only one seduction more?--Oh! if that is true, if I am no longer loved by the man for whom I ruined myself, if he has abandoned me forever--Ambroisine, I shall not have the courage to endure my misery!"

"Yes, you will have that courage," said Ambroisine; "heaven will give it to you; indeed, you will derive it from your very situation. When you think that you are a mother, you will remember what you owe your child--that child whom you love already, although you do not know it yet; but who will make you forget all your troubles, when its little arms try to embrace you, when its mouth calls you by the sweet name of mother, when the sounds of its voice reach your heart."

Bathilde wiped her tears away and looked up at her friend, saying:

"Oh! you are right! one cannot desire death when one is a mother.--I will be brave; for my child's sake, I will try to think only of it."

"But do you think that you must abandon all hope?--No, indeed! I am not easily rebuffed, I tell you! I did not find the count to-day; well, I will go there ten times, a hundred times; and, if necessary, I will pass whole days and nights in front of his house, until I am able to see him and speak to him; and unless he goes in and out like a ghost, or has the power to make himself invisible, I shall end by meeting him. Meanwhile, I say again, patience and courage, and think of your child!"

XXXI

THE HOUSE IN RUE DE BRETONVILLIERS

The small hôtel, or rather _maison de plaisance_, occupied by the young Comte de Marvejols, in Rue de Bretonvilliers, had been built by a farmer-general, who had given his architect special instructions.

That wealthy functionary had purposely bought a lot of land in a quarter distant from the centre of the city and almost deserted. When building there a _petite maison_, where he could at his ease receive his mistresses, entertain his friends, and give fêtes which generally degenerated into orgies, our farmer-general, who nevertheless affected to lead a more regular life than many of his confrères, had not forgotten to arrange a means whereby he could always avoid scandal, and even be able at need to deny his presence at his little house in Rue de Bretonvilliers.

To that end, the architect had, in accordance with his instructions, divided the house into three parts, or rather three wings; one, the largest and most sumptuous, on the right of the courtyard, was the general rendezvous of the guests; there they supped and gambled and indulged in the most unbridled dissipation.

The left wing contained the kitchen, the offices, and the servants' quarters.

Lastly, at the rear of the courtyard, was a smaller building, never occupied except by the master of the house and those of his most intimate friends whom he allowed to have access to it. It was rumored that in that part of the house there were secret doors opening into underground passages which had their issue in deserted lanes or in the unimproved lands on the other side of Rue de Bretonvilliers, and that by means of those secret exits the proprietor could, when he chose, disappear from his house, and even deny his presence there, where it was always impossible to take him unawares.

Despite all his precautions, our farmer-general was surprised one day by someone whom it was impossible to avoid, and against whom it is fruitless to resort to secret exits and secret doors: Death had struck him down at the apogee of his prosperity, at the very moment when that man, always fortunate theretofore, was cudgelling his brains to devise some new desire to be gratified.

But Death often seizes his victims at such times; as an ancient philosopher has told us: excess of good fortune is almost as much to be dreaded as adversity.

The farmer-general left none but collateral relations, who had offered the house in Rue de Bretonvilliers for sale. But time passed and no purchaser appeared. The roués of those days preferred to have their _petites maisons_ in the faubourgs, or in the country--altogether outside the city. So it had been decided to offer the house for hire, and there the Comte de Marvejols had taken up his abode when he ceased to live in his father's house.

Within a few weeks, Léodgard's situation had totally changed. The young noble whom we saw near the Pont-aux-Choux staking his cloak because he no longer had a denier to stake now cut a brilliant figure; he had repaid the sums that he owed his friends, and it was said that he had squared accounts with the old usurer to whom he had had recourse so often; his dress now was in the extreme of fashion, rich jewels gleamed in his sword hilt and in the clasps of his ribbons; the courtesans to whom he addressed his homage received sumptuous gifts from him and praised his generosity incessantly; lastly, he often gave entertainments to his friends and their mistresses, in his new residence, and at those festivities nothing was lacking: the daintiest dishes, the most exquisite wines, were supplied lavishly, in an apartment where the brilliant glare of chandeliers and candles was reflected on all sides by the lovely Venetian mirrors with which the walls were covered.

It was two o'clock in the morning.

The right wing of the _petite maison_ in Rue de Bretonvilliers was brilliantly illuminated; from the courtyard one could hear the bursts of laughter of the guests who were still in the banquet hall, seated, or rather half reclining, like the Greeks, around a table laden with flowers, decanters full and empty, and the débris of a supper, the remnants of which would have made a royal feast for more than one family.

In an adjoining room, the portières of which were drawn aside, were card tables, surrounded by numerous lovers of games of chance. Some women were among them, and seemed not the least eager in the pursuit of luck and in contending against it.

Lastly, in the less brilliantly lighted rooms of the suite, away from the intrepid gamblers and banqueters, divers couples were seated on sofas, talking, if not of their love affairs, of their amorous adventures. Some fair ones sought, by dint of eloquent glances, to subdue hearts which had thus far resisted their charms, but which would naturally be more submissive after a sumptuous supper, and in an assemblage where pleasure was the only law that anyone chose to recognize.

The Marquis de Sénange, the Sire de Beausseilly, and the Chevalier de Monclair had remained undauntedly at table, talking and drinking, while their friends played cards or made love to the ladies.

"Do you know, messieurs, that this little house is a most delicious spot!" said Sénange, as he glanced about the banquet hall. "Nothing is lacking here; everything is refined, convenient, and decorated with perfect taste!"

"What I admire above all is the way in which the cellar is supplied. Vertudieu! messieurs, judging from our entertainment, there must be a profusion of everything here!"

"Just try, Monclair, not to get into such a state as on that night that we lay on the grass near the Pont-aux-Choux! Do you remember?"

"Yes, indeed--about two months ago.--Give me some of that malaga, Sénange.--Well, messeigneurs, just see what changes may take place in two months! Do you remember poor Léodgard's destitute plight at that time?"

"Pardieu! of course I remember it, as we played for his cloak, which I won from him!--But he has paid me more than its value since!"

"Who would have told us then that a few weeks later this same Léodgard would give us delicious suppers, in a charming house built for a farmer-general; that he would display as much elegance and splendor as his predecessor!"

"Mon Dieu! I see nothing so surprising in that! Fortune is capricious! She treated Léodgard harshly, and now he is her favorite. Instead of losing all the time at cards, he wins--that is the whole story!"

"Not to-night, however, for the charming Herminie has just won a hundred rose crowns from him at lansquenet; she was sitting by me just now, counting them."

"Give me some cyprus, my masters; it is my favorite wine, and this is simply perfect."

"I' faith! if Léodgard is losing, he doesn't show it," said the fair Camilla, a young courtesan with almond-shaped eyes, who had returned to the banqueting room to take some sweetmeats from the table. "He is throwing his gold and silver about to-night with the indifference of a nabob. He is an accomplished cavalier now."

"It must be that his father, the old marquis, has decided to make a sacrifice, to loosen his purse strings; for his winnings at the card table could not have changed Léodgard's position so quickly."

"That is very probable; but when anyone questions him on the subject, that devil of a Léodgard loses his temper; he says that it is nobody's business."

"He is not fond of talking about his affairs; generally speaking, he is not expansive."

"Oh! we must not say that before the fair Camilla! Surely she knows the secrets of her most submissive adorer; a _cavalier servant_ has no secrets from the lady of his thoughts.--Is not that true, adorable Camilla?"

"Mon Dieu! seigneurs, I am less inquisitive than you are! So long as Léodgard gives me everything that I want, what more would you have me ask him for?"

"Well answered!--Ah! my bucks, that will teach you to question a woman!"

"For my own part," said the Sire de Beausseilly, "there is something that surprises me more than the present magnificence of the Comte de Marvejols."

"What is that?" asked Monclair, after tossing off another glass of Cyprus.

"Well, messieurs, it is the strange expression that has characterized our host for some time past; the sad or gloomy look that is always in his eyes, even among us, in the midst of our merrymaking, and when he hears nothing but joyous words and songs all around him!"

"Well, upon my word! that is delicious!--You are mad, Beausseilly!--He would like to make us believe now that Léodgard is sad when he gives us a fête! Why, he sang at the table only a moment ago!"