Part 3

"He did sing, I admit it; but his expression was no more hilarious, for all that; he tried to appear so--that may be; but there is a long distance between real gayety and bursts of forced laughter!"

"Nonsense, Beausseilly! no more of that; I fancy, my dear fellow, that the fumes of this Spanish wine are beginning to go to your head!"

"No, messieurs, I am quite sober, I am in full possession of my senses. I will not agree to retain them all night, by the way, for there are some lovely eyes here quite capable of depriving me of them!--But to return to Léodgard. Come, I will leave it to his mistress; ask Camilla if she does not think that his manner is less cheerful, less frank, less open, than it used to be.--Answer, O terrestrial divinity!"

The beautiful courtesan took a bunch of flowers from a vase and threw it in Beausseilly's face, saying:

"You do not know what you are talking about; Léodgard is charming; try to be as gallant as he, and all the ladies will adore you.--Do you want to see a serious cavalier, who never laughs, and who does not even look at the ladies?--Well, I will show you one now--there is no need to seek far. See--that man all in black at yonder card table; if you have seen him smile once to-night, I will give you my chin to kiss!"

"She means Jarnonville," said Sénange, laughing.

"Jarnonville, yes, that is what they call him," said Camilla; "but tell me, my noble friends, why that funereal face comes to a joyous party like this?"

"Did you not see him at table? He drank for four!"

"Then he must carry his wine well; for he looks no more cheerful with it all!"

"He's a brave fellow--he fights as well as he drinks!"

"That does not make him any more attractive.--Ah! by the way, Flavia, that madcap Flavia, has bet that she will make a conquest of that dark-browed knight. I am sure that she will have nothing to show for her ogling and her sighs! I must go and watch."

The fascinating Camilla left the banquet hall and returned to the card room.

The playing was very animated; the young nobles, excited by wine, risked large sums on a card or the fall of the dice.

Léodgard was banker at a lansquenet table. Luck, which had been unfavorable to him at first, had changed; he won on every deal, and the gold lay in piles before him. He raked in his adversaries' money with the utmost sang-froid. He was in no wise excited by his good fortune; from time to time he glanced about with a vague expression and seemed to give little thought to the pastime in which he was indulging.

"Evidently, it is hopeless to play against the Comte de Marvejols to-night," said the Chevalier de la Valteline, leaving the card table in a pet; "I believe he has sold himself to the devil; he has a familiar demon who favors him!"

"Nonsense!" said Montrevert; "we must not find fault with his good luck; he lost steadily for a long enough time; he was even reduced once to staking his cloak.--Do you remember that night, Léodgard?"

"Yes, yes, I remember it.--Messieurs, the bets are not all made."

"For my part, I shall not forget it!" continued Montrevert; "for it was the same night that I was attacked and robbed by Giovanni."

"Come, messieurs, make your bets!" cried Léodgard, frowning darkly, while all his features contracted as if in a nervous spasm.

"Léodgard must remember it, too," added La Valteline, "for it was that same night that he insisted on pursuing that famous robber, to kill him; and, although he did not kill him, he had the honor of wounding him at all events, for he came back covered with blood."

"Well, comte, what are you doing? You are taking up the money, although you lost!" said Jarnonville to Léodgard, whose face had suddenly become ghastly pale.

"Oh, yes! to be sure; I beg pardon. I did lose, did I not?--Well! let someone else take the bank."

"All the same, I would be very glad to have had the honor of fighting with that Giovanni!"

"Is he still performing his doughty deeds, the villain?"

"I should say so! He is more audacious than ever, so it seems. Not four days ago, the Vicomte de Monferrant, on his way home from a party where there had been some high play, was attacked on Rue Saint-Paul and robbed by that bedevilled Italian!"

"Did Monferrant defend himself?"

"He says so, but I don't believe it; he is too much of a coward for that."

"In that case, how did he happen to be going home alone?"

"He was not alone--his servant was in front with a lantern; but at his master's first outcry, the rascal, instead of running to his assistance, fled, it seems, without so much as looking back."

"And a few days earlier, the old Baronne de Graveline was going home one evening in a _brouette_; Giovanni drove away the man who wheeled the _brouette_, then relieved the baroness of her money, diamonds, and jewels; she had some very fine ones on that night."

"It is worthy of remark that this infernal villain has extraordinary luck; he always stumbles on a rich victim!"

"Do you call that luck, Montrevert? For my part, I am persuaded that Giovanni attacks only where he is sure of his ground. I mean by that that he must have confederates, who probably inform him as to the profitable strokes that may be made on a certain evening."

"In that case, Giovanni's confederates must be received in the best society, and even at court, to be so thoroughly posted concerning what is going on, and to know what road such and such a person is likely to take to return home."

"Ha! ha! that is not an unlikely supposition, on my word! There is no safety anywhere, messieurs!--I say, Comte de Marvejols, are you quite certain that you have had no thieves at your party to-night?--Léodgard!--Where in the devil is he?"

Léodgard had left the card room and had gone to the table where the indomitable drinkers were still at work; he had swallowed several glasses of maraschino, then had gone out into the courtyard, only to return in a moment to the dining hall.

"Have you the fidgets in your legs to-night, comte?" murmured young Monclair; "you do not seem to stay a second in one place."

"You are mistaken; I stayed a very long time at the lansquenet table," rejoined Léodgard, curtly.

"I' faith! my dear fellow, it is a delightful affair," said Sénange; "it is impossible to do things more handsomely or to entertain one's guests with more magnificence."

"I am very glad if you have had an enjoyable evening," said Léodgard; and his brow lost a few of its wrinkles.

"Vive Dieu! we should be most exacting if we did not think this supper perfectly exquisite; you did well to hire this little house, on my word! it seems to have been built expressly for parties of this sort."

"But you have never shown us the whole of your house. If I am not mistaken, there is another wing at the rear of the courtyard; does no one go there?"

"That is where I live," replied Léodgard, becoming serious once more; "but it is not arranged for the reception of company."

"Moreover, it is the mysterious wing!" cried Camilla, laughingly. "If I wish to be allowed to go there, I must notify monsieur le comte a long while beforehand."

"Hush, Camilla! a truce to your foolery!" said Léodgard, with a stern glance at the courtesan.

"Upon my word, you are gallant to-night!--Don't expect me to take your part another time when people say that you no longer seem cheerful!"

"Who said that?"

"Never mind! I am going to enter the lists with Flavia to make the conquest of the Black Chevalier."

Jarnonville had left the card table and had taken a seat in a less brilliantly lighted part of the room; but Mademoiselle Flavia, a young madcap with very eloquent eyes, bright and languorous in turn, soon seated herself beside him, and said:

"What are you doing in this corner? you look as if you were sulking, and that is not what people come here for. Come, say something to me. Do you know that you are not at all gallant--you have not said a single word to one of these ladies to-night!"

"As you see that I pay no attention to the ladies, why do you pay any attention to me?" retorted Jarnonville, meeting with absolute indifference the fire of the blonde Flavia's glances.

"Why?--Why, my dear man, do you know nothing of women?--For the very reason that you pay no attention to us, that you seem to scorn to win our favors, I long to make your conquest--from a spirit of contradiction! We always desire what is not offered us.--What is the meaning of this mania for playing the bear at your time of life? Come, tell me your troubles."

"You would not understand them!"

"What a boor!--Mon Dieu! I can guess them: you have been betrayed by your wife or your mistress--it is always that that makes you men misanthropic."

"I was sure that you would not understand me," said Jarnonville, rising; and he was about to turn away, when the dark-haired Camilla planted herself in front of him, with a smile on her face.

"How now, Sire de Jarnonville," she said; "can it be that you think of going already? Why, it is not daylight yet! We are going to sing, and dance chaconnes; will you not be my partner?"

"Such pleasures have not appealed to me for many years. Excuse me, fair Camilla; you are unfortunate in your choice."

"Oh! my dear, you will waste your glances and your smiles, as I have done!" cried the blonde Flavia, showing the double row of pearls with which her mouth was embellished. "Your sweetest tones will slide over that steel cuirass. This gentleman has a heart of granite--or, rather, he has no heart at all!--See, he is not listening to us, he is going away!"

"Oh! not yet!" rejoined Camilla, laying her pretty hand on Jarnonville's arm.--"Tell me, chevalier, why do you insist on going away? Do you find yourself so very wretched with us?--Look at us--are we so unpleasant to the eye that you cannot even endure the sight of us?"

The young courtesan uttered these words in such a cajoling, suppliant tone, that the Black Chevalier glanced at her in spite of himself, and for the first time his expression lost something of its sternness.

"Good, it is decided!" exclaimed the fascinating brunette, overjoyed by this first success; "I propose to keep you; and why should you leave us so early? for you are your own master, you have neither wife nor child."

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Jarnonville pushed the two courtesans roughly aside and left the card room, muttering in a hollow voice:

"No child! no child! Ah, no! I have no child! I have lost my most cherished treasure, my joy in the present, my hope for the future. That angel, a single glance from whose eyes banished all my cares, whose voice opened my heart to a felicity so pure that I lived in a veritable heaven on earth!--I have her no longer--death struck her down! In God's name, what had she done that she should die, O inexorable fate!"

Speaking thus to himself, Jarnonville left the house, crossed the courtyard, motioned to the concierge to open the gate, and passed out into the street. But he had not walked twenty yards from the gate when a person rushed to meet him and almost threw herself at his feet, crying:

"In pity's name, seigneur, listen to me! do not, I implore you, spurn a woman who seeks your help!"

"A woman!" rejoined Jarnonville, harshly, thinking that it was still another courtesan who accosted him; "what does it matter to me that you are a woman? Seek protection from the young popinjays within, but do not detain me, let me pass."

"Sire de Jarnonville!" exclaimed she who had stopped the Black Chevalier. "Ah! Providence befriends me.--You will not spurn me, seigneur, you will come to my assistance. I am no courtesan; I am not one of the women who frequent this house from which you have just come. I am an honest girl, and I can hold up my head before you without fear! Perhaps you would recognize me if the daylight were not still so faint. My name is Ambroisine--I am the daughter of Master Hugonnet, the bath keeper on Rue Saint-Jacques; and you have often been to my father's place."

Jarnonville gazed at the _belle baigneuse_ for some seconds, then said:

"And what is Hugonnet's daughter doing, alone, in the middle of the night, in this lonely quarter, so far from her father's house?"

"She is here, chevalier, in the hope of restoring peace of mind and happiness to a friend who is now in the lowest depths of despair.--Oh! this is not the first time that I have passed the whole night near this house, watching for Comte Léodgard to go in or out. There has been scarcely an evening for a month past that I have not stolen secretly from our house to come to this place to do sentry duty. My father does not know it; he thinks that I am in bed; he would be anxious if he knew that his daughter exposed herself to danger, alone, at night, in this horrible neighborhood! And yet, he could not be angry with me, for I am doing it all to save my friend."

"I do not understand you."

"I have no reason to conceal the truth, least of all from you, whom I know to be less hard-hearted than you choose to appear.--Comte Léodgard has seduced, dragged down into the depths of despair, a poor girl who had been, until she fell in with him, as pure as the angels. He promised her, swore on his honor, that she should be his wife. She believed in the sincerity of his love and his oaths.--Bathilde's parents discovered her sin, and drove her from their house without pity. I took her in, and my father did not blame me--far from it!--But the author of all Bathilde's sufferings, the man who lives here, Comte Léodgard---- Can you believe, seigneur, that he has utterly deserted the girl he seduced?--Bathilde wrote to him that her parents had turned her out of doors; and he has not come to see her, he has not even deigned to answer her letter. He received it, however, for I myself gave it to his concierge. In the last month, I have come here twenty times, to see him, to speak to him--it is impossible to find him! He has refused to admit me!--And that man gives grand parties in his fine house! He passes his nights in dissipation, while his poor victim weeps in despair and appeals to him in vain for a word of comfort!--Ah! it is frightful!--But I vowed that I would see this Léodgard, this unworthy nobleman, who dishonors the name he bears--that I would see him and speak to him. I am only a woman, but I am brave and determined.--To-day, Providence has permitted me to meet you, and I am deeply grateful. I cannot doubt that, with your help, I shall be able to speak with the count."

Jarnonville listened attentively to what Ambroisine said; for a moment he seemed moved, but almost instantly, as if he regretted that he had allowed his heart to be touched, he pushed the girl away and would have walked on.

"A mere love story!" he said; "a woman seduced! What have I to do with all that? Comte Léodgard's intrigues do not concern me!"

"But a poor girl who is on the point of becoming a mother, and whose child, spurned by its father, will have no name, nothing to eat--that concerns you, for you are compassionate to children, I know!"

Jarnonville stopped; he passed his hand across his forehead, heaved a profound sigh, and returned to Ambroisine, saying:

"Come with me!"

The chevalier retraced his steps to Léodgard's house and knocked; the gate swung open and he bade Ambroisine enter with him.

Seeing the girl in the courtyard, the concierge, who recognized her, cried:

"What are you doing here? Monsieur le comte will not receive you, as you know quite well! I have orders to send you away whenever you come here, so----"

"This young woman is with me," said Jarnonville, in a tone that imposed silence on the concierge. "Hold your peace!"

And taking Ambroisine's hand, he led her through the vestibule at the right into a room preceding the banquet hall, and said:

"Remain here. I will find Léodgard and send him to you, without telling him who it is that wishes to see him."

"Oh! thanks! thanks a thousand times, seigneur!--I knew that you would help me!"

Jarnonville left the room; and Ambroisine, undismayed, awaited Léodgard's appearance. She was not embarrassed at finding herself in that sumptuous abode. Grandeur loses all its prestige when it loses its power to inspire respect.

Hardly five minutes had passed when Léodgard entered the room in which Ambroisine awaited him.

"A lady to see me?" he exclaimed; "why does she not come to the salons where my guests are assembled?"

"Because that is not her place, monsieur le comte, and because, no doubt, you would not be pleased to see her there," said Ambroisine, stepping forward with a resolute air.

As he recognized Hugonnet's daughter, Léodgard could not restrain an angry gesture. He glanced at her disdainfully and muttered:

"What! is it you? By hell! you are persistent! You have been to my house too often already; you must have understood that I did not choose to receive you. You have no right to violate a person's domicile thus!--Understand, my dear, that this is not your father's bathing establishment, where anyone who pleases has a right to enter."

"Oh! I know quite well that I am not in my father's house, monsieur le comte; there is no possibility of mistake on that score. For Master Hugonnet's house is the house of an honorable man, from which those who come to demand justice are not turned away."

"On my soul, I believe that she presumes to be impertinent!--Begone! I have nothing to say to you!"

"And I did not come here to talk, monsieur, but to demand an answer to the letter you have received."

"What letter?"

"The letter from Bathilde--that poor girl whom you have deceived and seduced, and who bears within her the result of her fault. When she implores you in her child's name, can you be deaf to her prayer? What shall I say to Bathilde, monsieur le comte?"

"Nothing! I do not answer such letters! Upon my word, these girls are mad! We do them the honor to think them pretty, to make love to them, and they expect that sort of thing to last forever!--Your friend will be consoled.--Adieu!"

"Monsieur le comte," said Ambroisine, falling at Léodgard's knees, "for the love of heaven, have some pity for Bathilde, who believed your oaths!--Give her back her honor; remember that her parents have cast her out!--Excuse me for not addressing you with more respect. Treat me as harshly as you will, but be moved by Bathilde's suffering, I implore you!"

"Enough! enough! let me hear no more of all this! And above all, girl, never put your foot in my house again, for I shall not always be so patient!"

As he spoke, Léodgard roughly extricated himself from Ambroisine's hands, and hurried from the room.

"The villain!" said the girl, as she rose. "Ah! poor Bathilde, who will take care of your child?"

"I will!" said Jarnonville, who had returned to Ambroisine; and he made haste to escort her from the hôtel in Rue de Bretonvilliers.

XXXII

PASSEDIX PUTS ON A NEW SKIN

One fine winter's day, the Chevalier Passedix, who had left his lodgings in the morning shivering with cold, being but poorly protected by his threadbare and scanty cloak, returned to the Hôtel du Sanglier with a radiant face and with his head in the air, throwing the doors open like a man who is not afraid of being rebuked for making too much noise.

Instead of going upstairs to his lodgings, the chevalier entered the room on the ground floor with which we are already acquainted, wherein Dame Cadichard, the mistress of the establishment, was wont to sit and take her meals.

Passedix appeared in the room at the moment that his hostess was about to attack some panada which her old servant, Popelinette, had just placed before her. He threw himself into a venerable easy-chair opposite Dame Cadichard and stretched out his legs, crying:

"Sandis! what a beastly chair! May God damn me if it isn't stuffed with nutshells!"

Widow Cadichard cried out in amazement, almost in anger, when she saw the lack of ceremony with which her fifth-floor tenant presumed to make himself at home before her, and carried his impertinence to the point of criticising her easy-chair.

"What is the meaning of this tone, these manners, Monsieur de Passedix?" she demanded at last, pausing over her panada. "Since when has it been the fashion to enter a room where there is a lady without even putting your hand to your hat? And why do you stretch yourself out in that chair, if you don't find it soft enough for you?"

"Enough, sweet Cadichard, enough, I beg! Put a curb on your tongue, whose intemperance begins to annoy me. I have been patient with your nonsense long enough, and I am disposed to be so no longer.--Put that in your pocket, Dame Cadichard!--That panada you are eating has a very sorry look. For shame! I will bet that there's no sugar in it! I desire a breakfast somewhat more substantial than that.--Where is Popelinette, that I may send her to the nearest wine shop?--Holà! Popelinette!"

"My servant is not at your orders, monsieur le chevalier; she does housework for the tenants who pay me. When you do that, she will work for you too."

Without a word in reply, the Gascon took from his belt a stout purse full of gold pieces, and threw it on the table at which his hostess was seated. Then he said to her:

"Well! _belle dame_, there is enough money to pay more than I owe you. Be good enough to make up my account, so that we may become good friends once more! For I have learned to appreciate the truth of the proverb: 'Short reckonings make long friends!'--That is very melancholy for the human race! It proves that the human race is damnably selfish! But I do not undertake to correct it; I take it as I find it.--Make up your account, Dame Cadichard, and pay yourself from this all that I owe you to this day."

The hostess was struck dumb by the sight of that well-lined purse, which had almost fallen into her soup; for the gold which it contained shone with the brilliancy of good alloy. In the joy and amazement caused by her tenant's action, she tried to say something; but she could only stammer a few incoherent words, ending with a sneeze, whose ramifications extended to her panada. So she confined herself to stirring that compound, until, recovering her speech at last, she cried, with the most gracious of smiles:

"Mon Dieu! what in the world has happened to you, chevalier? What change has taken place in your position since yesterday? for only yesterday you could not give me anything on account of my rent!"

"What has happened to me, my dear hostess? Why, one of those very simple events which happen every day to people who have rich relations.--One of my uncles has deceased; _mortuus est!_ And that uncle, who could not endure me, who was never willing to see me on his birthday, or on New Year's Day, thought better of it when he was on his deathbed, and made me his only heir, to the exclusion of certain cousins who fawned on him and wheedled him from morning till night!"

"Ah! that is fine, monsieur le chevalier!--Believe that I share with you in your joy at what has happened."

"I do not doubt it! And first of all, you will share with me by taking your dues from this purse.--Well, this morning, I met a friend who was coming to bring me the good news!--He threw his arms about my neck and embraced me until he nearly strangled me.--I was about to ask him the reason, when he cried:

"'Your uncle Flic-Flac, of Pézenas, has closed his shop--in other words, put out his lantern--in other words, broken his pipe; in short, he has started on the long journey, and has left you all his property--about two thousand crowns a year!'"

"Two thousand crowns a year! why, that's a very pretty income, Monsieur de Passedix! It's the same as six thousand livres."