Part 5

"We shall have the honor to serve you as valets de chambre, monsieur le chevalier."

"You are too obliging! Drink, I say, young clerks!"

Passedix, who was as impatient as a child over the prospect of putting on a new garment, hastily finished his dinner, then proceeded to his toilet. With the assistance of the two clerks, he speedily donned short-clothes, doublet, girdle, and cloak. Then he strode about the room, looked at himself in the great mirror that adorned the mantelpiece, and seemed not to tire of viewing himself both before and behind.

"How do you find me?" he asked the young men; "tell me, without flattery."

Every part of the costume was much too large for the Gascon, whose thin, lank body danced about in his new clothes. But Bahuchet assumed an expression of admiration as he gazed at him, and exclaimed:

"It suits you magnificently, seigneur chevalier! One would swear that the costume was made for you; it makes you stouter.--Egad! how handsome you are now!"

"The short-clothes are perhaps a little full, are they not?"

"That will be all right; you are superb!"

"In truth, I believe that I am not to be despised in this garb; and if the little one should see me now, it is probable that she would be less surly; but she shall see me--I must meet her somewhere. I propose to exhibit myself to the whole city."

"You will find no cruel fair, seigneur."

"He is very agreeable, this little clerk!--It's a pity that your friend has that plaster on his head--it makes him look too much like a poodle; if I were in his place, I would rather sneeze than wear that.--By the way, messieurs, I forgot the most essential article--the price of these clothes."

"Thirty pistoles for the whole outfit," said Plumard, curtly, for he was not pleased to be thought to resemble a poodle.

"Thirty pistoles it is! we will draw on the little bag. Money is made to keep moving, sandis!"

While Passedix counted out the thirty pistoles to Plumard, for a costume which his uncle the second-hand dealer had said that he would sell for fifteen, Popelinette returned with a basket containing divers bottles.

The old servant was dumfounded at sight of Passedix, whom she did not recognize.

"Who in the world is this person?" she murmured.

"This person, Popelinette, is your tenant, whom you have never seen in such gorgeous attire, and whom you did not deem capable of becoming so charming, I fear; there are so many people who notice only the clothes, and do not choose to take the trouble to look deeper! I was as handsome a man this morning, but I did not wear this magnificent costume, so that I was less admired!"

"I am inclined to think that he was not admired at all!" said Plumard to his comrade.

"Oh! monsieur le chevalier--why, you look like an orange now!" replied the old servant.

"So much the better, my dear, so much the better! The orange is a distinguished and sweet-smelling fruit. I will go to some perfumer's shop this evening, and cause myself to be sprinkled from head to foot, so that people may smell me five minutes before they see me.--But let us drink, my dear clerks, let us taste these bottles--let us empty them, cadédis!--and no heeltaps!--Come, young plaster! Cheer up, and take off that shocking blister, which makes you look like a spaniel."

Plumard made a wry face, but he drank; Bahuchet laughed at his companion's expression, and emptied his glass, which Passedix refilled.

The two clerks were soon more than hilarious, and began to make remarks which might have compromised them in Passedix's eyes, if he had been in a condition to notice them; but, being engrossed by his new costume and his newly acquired wealth, and being passably excited himself by his frequent libations, the chevalier did not hear what the two clerks said; especially as the wine had loosened the tongues of all three, so that they all talked at once.

"Six thousand francs a year! O fortune!--How becoming this color is to me!"

"I like this wine rather well."

"Plumard, we must go into the old clothes business; it pays."

"Why does he call me _spaniel_ and _poodle_? I get tired of that, in the end.--Let's take a drink!"

"Your health, boys!--Ah! when she sees me thus, as brilliant as the sun, I shall be one too many for her four-faced lover!"

"Bahuchet's infernal pomade is responsible for my wearing this round thing on my head!"

"Your health, O my infanta!"

"Thirty pistoles! I make a profit of a hundred per cent, and I am tempted not to give my uncle anything."

"O Miretta! I will lay my little hoard at thy feet, and myself as well!"

"The devil take Maître Bourdinard's office! I propose to enjoy myself; I work no more!"

In the midst of this hubbub, the bottles being empty, Passedix paid no further heed to the two clerks, but left the hotel, to display himself to an admiring Paris and to seek Miretta.

Bahuchet and his friend followed him to Place aux Chats. There they stopped, looked at each other, and began to laugh. They linked arms, each thinking that he was supporting the other, and Bahuchet stammered:

"We have thirty pistoles to spend; for I don't suppose, dear boy, that you will be foolish enough to give half of it to your uncle the old clothes man?"

"I never had any such intention. My uncle can afford to make me that little gift."

"If he loses his temper, you can tell him that somebody stole the bundle, the clothes."

"That is true. I'll say that the famous Giovanni stripped me."

"Bravo! the very thing; let us charge the accident to Giovanni's account. Par la sambleu! the fellow is stout enough to take a lot of robberies on his shoulders."

"Now, we will have some sport. We must make the thirty pistoles dance.--Look out, my dear boy, steady!"

"Where shall we go to spend it?"

"We must go out of Paris, or we might meet some of our comrades, and then we should have to treat them too."

"No such fools!"

"Let us go to the village of Le Roule."

"Where is that village?"

"Le Roule?--It's a pretty village, just after you leave Paris by Porte Saint-Honoré.--There's a leper's hospital there."

"A leper's hospital! Thanks! What an attraction! Do you propose that we go for diversion to a leper's hospital?"

"Why, no; you don't let me finish. I said that to show you that I know the locality. There is also a certain _pêcheur-rotisseur_, who serves stewed rabbit and fried fish. We shall be very comfortable there, and we can regale ourselves at our ease."

"So be it! let us go there; lead the way."

"Try not to waver so on your legs."

"Isn't he delicious!--when it is he who stumbles at every step."

The two clerks, each supporting the other, and sometimes describing zigzags which terrified the passers-by, set out for Le Roule, which was then only a village, although destined to become one of the great faubourgs of Paris.

XXXIV

A BOLD STEP

Since Bathilde had learned the result of Ambroisine's visit to Léodgard, since she had learned in what way he had treated the person who went to implore him in her behalf, a profound melancholy, a gloomy resignation, had succeeded the impatience, the anxiety, the hope, which had divided the empire of her mind at first.

It has often been said, and justly, that anxiety is worse than misfortune itself.

Bathilde, when she found that she had nothing to hope from Léodgard save contempt and disdain, turned all her thoughts upon the child to which she was to give life. It was for it that she resolved to live; it was for it that she derived courage and resignation from the very excess of her suffering.

But one thought still tormented the poor child: she was afraid that her presence was a burden, not to Ambroisine, but to her father; she was afraid that her prolonged sojourn in Master Hugonnet's house was an embarrassment, an inconvenience, which, from kindness of heart, he was careful to conceal from her.

But in her plight, without money or resources of any sort, whither should she go if Ambroisine's father sent her away?

Bathilde was wrong to conceive such fears; Master Hugonnet did not do good for ostentation's sake; he simply followed the biddings of his heart, and he was happy himself when he could render a service; it never occurred to him to plume himself upon it. The thought of sending the poor girl away who had come to him for shelter would never have entered his mind, and it was not necessary that she should be Ambroisine's friend to induce him to be kind and charitable toward her; kind hearts do not require to be stimulated; they who need a great number of witnesses in order to do a good deed are not truly generous.

But Ambroisine read her friend's heart; she divined her thoughts, her anxieties, her fears; she did her utmost to banish them, impressing upon Bathilde that her presence, far from being the slightest embarrassment, was very advantageous to them; that by her skill with her needle she assisted them materially; that her company made her, Ambroisine's, retreat delightful; and that, in fine, it was to Bathilde that gratitude was due.

Friendship is ingenious when it seeks to dissemble its kindly acts.

Bathilde smiled at her friend and pressed her hand; but tears fell from her eyes, despite her efforts.

"Weeping again!" said Ambroisine, one day. "You are not reasonable. You have no further reason to tremble for your child's future. Did I not tell you that the Sire de Jarnonville had promised to be a father to it? And he will not break his word! I judged him rightly when I thought that beneath that savage, yes, terrifying manner, the Black Chevalier concealed a heart accessible to pity. How could he fail to be moved by the sufferings of others, he who had suffered so terribly himself in the loss of his child?--He has been here several times since the day that I met him in Rue de Bretonvilliers. He comes to me when I am alone, and asks in an undertone: 'How is your friend? Does she need anything? Do not forget that I propose to be a father to her child.'"

"A father!" rejoined Bathilde, bitterly. "What! Can it be that the child of Comte Léodgard de Marvejols needs that a stranger should be a father to it--when its own father exists?--Alas! I do what I can to be brave, Ambroisine. But, in spite of myself, I suffer when I think that shame is the only inheritance that I shall bequeath to my child."

On the day following this conversation, Ambroisine was alone in her father's shop, just at nightfall, when the Black Chevalier crossed the street, halted in front of her, and said in a curt tone which ill dissembled what was taking place in his heart:

"That poor girl--your friend--can I do anything for her yet?"

Ambroisine looked up at Jarnonville, and, as if struck by a sudden idea, cried:

"Pardon me, seigneur; you can assist me to restore her honor, perhaps.--For I see plainly that my poor Bathilde cannot console herself for the abandonment of her lover and the curses of her mother. Since yesterday an idea, a hope, has come into my mind. Heaven, doubtless, suggested it to me.--Sire de Jarnonville, Comte Léodgard's father is still living, is he not?"

"To be sure--the Marquis de Marvejols."

"What sort of man is he?"

"The old Seigneur de Marvejols is an upright, just man, who is sensitive to the last degree in the matter of honor. Proud of the name that his ancestors have handed down to him, he is no less proud of having no unjust act for which to reproach himself in the whole course of his life. Stern in his speech, he has nevertheless a sensitive and generous heart; the evil-minded may tremble before him; the unfortunate never."

"What you tell me, seigneur, confirms me in my plan."

"What is it?"

"To go to Comte Léodgard's father, to lay before him the whole story of his son's behavior toward Bathilde, and the events that have resulted from it, and to demand justice for the victim of a shameful seduction."

And seeing that Jarnonville kept silence, Ambroisine continued:

"Do you disapprove of my project, seigneur chevalier? What have I to fear, after all? My poor Bathilde cannot possibly be more unhappy! Her seducer cannot treat her any more cruelly!--Yes! I am determined to attempt this method of restoring my friend's honor! This old marquis, who is such a just man, will perhaps insist upon his son's keeping the promises, the oaths, he made to Bathilde."

"But how will you prove to Léodgard's father that his son did really make your friend a solemn promise! He will tell you that all men who seek to seduce a woman use the same language, and that it is her place not to listen to words whose value she should know."

"How will I prove it! Oh! luckily enough, I have kept a letter written to Bathilde by the count when he had not succeeded in his projects. It is the first and, I believe, the only letter he ever wrote to her. The poor child gave it to me at the time, to be rid of the temptation to read it all day long. For the eloquent oaths of love which it contained were beginning even then to turn her head. Writing is something more than mere words."

"Yes, you are right; and if you have that letter----"

"I have always kept it carefully; something told me that it might be of use to Bathilde some day; she thinks, no doubt, that I burned it long ago."

"In that case, carry out your plan. But I do not see in what way I can be of use to you in all this, and why you claim my assistance?"

"To help me to gain access to the old Seigneur de Marvejols--that is why I appealed to you."

"Do you know where the Hôtel de Marvejols is?"

"Yes, chevalier; it is on Place Royale. I went there once, expecting to find Monsieur Léodgard there."

"Well! go there now; ask for monsieur le marquis; say that it is a poor girl who desires to speak with him, to obtain justice, and you will speedily be admitted to the old nobleman's presence. To obtain access to the upright man who reckons duty superior to birth and fortune, one needs no influence; it is enough to be oppressed and to claim his support. Therefore, a sponsor would be of no use to you; on the contrary, it would offend the old marquis, by showing him that you confounded him with those powerful men who are insensible to the laments of the unfortunate."

"Oh! thanks, Sire de Jarnonville, thanks! To-morrow I will go to the Hôtel de Marvejols."

"Does your friend know of your plan?"

"No, indeed! I should not think of mentioning it to her. In the first place, I am sure that she would forbid me to go to her seducer's father; she would be afraid of drawing upon herself that _honorable_ young man's wrath; but he was not ashamed, by presuming upon a poor girl's innocence, to look on while she was cursed and cast out by her parents!--Oh, no! Bathilde shall know nothing about it, seigneur chevalier! If I fail in my undertaking, at all events she will not have this fresh humiliation to add to her grief; if the old marquis listens to me kindly, then it will be time enough to give her heart a little hope."

"Go, brave girl, and may you succeed in your noble purpose!"

The next day, about noon, Léodgard's father was alone in his study. The old nobleman's countenance had seemed sterner than ever of late, because it had become more melancholy.

The desertion of his son, who had entirely ceased to visit the old Hôtel de Marvejols, was the probable cause of the grief which the marquis concealed beneath a prouder and more gloomy expression. But upon that noble brow, furrowed by age, there was something else than sternness to be read.

The marquis was seated in his great easy-chair; a book lay open before him on a table; but he was not reading; his head was resting on his hand, and he seemed absorbed in profound meditation. From time to time he glanced at certain papers that lay scattered over the table, and murmured:

"All his debts are paid; he has contracted no others; and yet he passes his time in fêtes, in orgies, entertaining his friends and their mistresses. The most princely magnificence reigns in that house that he occupies in Rue de Bretonvilliers! Where, in heaven's name, does he obtain this money which he seems to squander so lavishly? Doubtless chance has become favorable to him, but chance cannot be always on one side; and not long ago he lost quite a large sum at the Duc de Soubiran's. Where does he find enough money to meet his insane expenditures? Can it be true, as rumor has it, that some foreign courtesan has given him immense wealth in exchange for his love; and that Léodgard has agreed to that shameful bargain?--Ah! I do not propose to seek any further to learn the source of his fortune; for something tells me that the discovery of that secret would bring the flush of shame to my brow!--And his marriage to Mademoiselle de Mongarcin--I must think no more of that; it will never take place. That nobly born heiress would refuse now to marry a man whose conduct is a constant scandal.--Ah! Léodgard did thoroughly everything that was necessary to prevent that union from being arranged!"

The old man had relapsed into meditation, when the door of his study opened, and old Hector discreetly showed his face before the rest of his body.

"What do you want, Hector?" inquired the marquis, raising his head; "I did not ring for you."

"That is true, monsieur le marquis; and I should not have ventured to disturb you without a reason, a motive; someone----"

"What is it, pray? Speak, explain yourself, Hector. Does someone wish to speak with me? Is it my son, or someone from him?"

"No, monsieur," replied the valet sadly, turning his eyes upon the floor; "no, it is not Monsieur Léodgard who sends--although the person probably knows him, for she came here to ask for him several months ago."

"The person--who is this person?"

"It is a young girl; she asks to be allowed the favor of speaking with monseigneur--in private."

"A young girl--and an acquaintance of Comte Léodgard--I can have nothing in common with such a person! Send the girl away, Hector!"

"I have the honor to assure monsieur le marquis that the person in question appears to be no less virtuous than respectable. She implores monseigneur to consent to hear her; she demands justice and says that she has no hope of obtaining it except through him."

"Justice!" muttered the marquis. "In that case, Hector, do not keep this girl waiting--admit her at once."

The old valet left the room, but he very soon returned with Ambroisine, who, when she reached the doorway, turned pale and began to tremble, and dared not go forward, for the marquis's aspect was stern and imposing. The old man fastened his eyes upon her, and they inspired as much fear as respect in the person who faced them for the first time.

Hector gently pushed the lovely girl into the room, whispering to her:

"Don't be afraid! Monsieur le marquis is not so terrible as he looks."

Then, at a sign from his master, the valet bowed and disappeared, leaving Ambroisine alone with Léodgard's father, who motioned for her to come forward, saying:

"Come nearer, take a chair, and tell me what you desire from me, young woman."

"Justice, monsieur le marquis," replied Ambroisine, raising her head; for the old man's deep voice, instead of frightening her, seemed to restore her courage by reminding her of the motive that brought her thither.

"Justice? Has someone wronged you? have you reason to complain of someone?"

"I am not the one who has been wronged, seigneur; and it is not for myself that I have come to implore your assistance; it is for a friend, who is very unhappy, greatly to be pitied, but who would never have dared to come herself to tell you of her trials; and yet----"

"Explain yourself more clearly, my girl, and, above all things, be careful to tell nothing but the truth!"

"Ah! monseigneur, could anyone dare to lie before you? But I beg you to excuse me if I cannot express myself very well."

"A person always expresses herself well when falsehood and calumny do not sully her lips, and when she has faith in God's justice.--Speak, my child, I am listening."

"Bathilde--that is my friend's name--is not yet eighteen years old; her father, now the keeper of a bathing establishment on Rue Dauphine, is an old soldier, who served under Henri IV; he is a man of great courage, and the soul of honor. Bathilde was brought up very strictly in her parents' house; her mother never allowed her to go out, or to have any pleasure whatever.--Excuse me, monsieur le marquis, for going into all these details; I do it because the poor girl who knows nothing is in much greater danger of allowing herself to be deceived than one who is warned by experience. Unfortunately, Bathilde's mother went on a journey, and during her absence her daughter had more liberty. A young man noticed her at the Fire of Saint-Jean, to which I had the unfortunate idea of taking her.--You see, Bathilde is so pretty! there is so much candor and innocence in her beauty that it was easy for a seducer to divine that he could readily deceive her and triumph over her. Well, this young man constantly appeared before my friend's windows; then he sent her, by way of the window, a letter in which he made her the most loving promises; he swore that she should be his wife; he called God to witness the sanctity of his oath.--Ah! monseigneur, poor Bathilde would have considered that she insulted the man she loved if she had not had confidence in such an oath. She was weak, she was guilty! But judge of her despair when her mother returned and discovered her sin! Poor Bathilde was cast out pitilessly, turned into the street at midnight.--Luckily she remembered that I was her friend.--We did not spurn her! we gave her shelter; my father forgave her fault when he saw how miserably unhappy she was.--But Bathilde still hoped that her seducer would keep his promises; she wrote to him, she informed him that she bore within her a pledge of their love; and I undertook to deliver her letter, to see the man in whom her only hope lay.--Ah! monsieur le marquis, he who was the cause of all the harm rejected my petition; he was unmoved by the sufferings of the poor girl whom he had shamefully abused; he ordered me to be turned out of his house, and forbade me ever to appear there again.--Is not that infamous behavior, seigneur? Is it not true that when one has dishonored a poor girl who was as pure and virtuous as she was beautiful, he has no right to be deaf to her prayers and to deny his child?"

The old man listened to Ambroisine with interest, and without interrupting her; while she was speaking, he sat with his head resting on his hand, seemingly weighing every word. When she finished, he looked at her with a kindly expression and said:

"You are a sincere and devoted friend--that is well; this that you are doing, one might ask in vain of the young men who press one another's hands with endless protestations of friendship. But, alas! my poor girl, what has happened to your friend is one of those misfortunes which have become too common in our day. Moreover, what is there to prove that this young Bathilde did not herself invite seduction, that her coquetry did not cause her ruin?--Lastly, why do you apply to me rather than to another, to obtain justice from this seducer? Am I his kinsman or his connection? have I any rights, any power, over him?"

Ambroisine, without replying, took from her breast the letter written to Bathilde by Léodgard, and with a trembling hand presented it to the old man; he had no sooner cast his eye on the paper than he recognized his son's hand. Thereupon his expression changed, a cloud darkened his brow; he controlled his emotion, however, and read the document that he held in his hands. As he read on, his expression became more severe, and when he had finished he let his head fall forward on his breast and seemed utterly crushed by that fresh blow.

Ambroisine, hopeful and afraid by turns, sat perfectly still, not daring to break the silence, and prayed under her breath that heaven would move the old man's heart to pity for poor Bathilde.