Part 8

"No, mademoiselle; for he will not tell where he lives, he does not wish me to go to see him.--Mon Dieu! what have I done to him that he should forget me, avoid me thus? He knows very well that I came to this country only because he was here! I only asked to be allowed to see him now and then, at long intervals; was I so unreasonable? And yet, the last time that I saw him, he was so far from being cold to me that one would have said that he loved me more than ever. He came with me to this door, he pressed my hands lovingly, he looked at me as one looks with the heart; and can he have ceased to love me? No, it is impossible! Oh! there are times when I should believe that he was dead, if I did not know that he has been seen, in Paris, within the fortnight."

"Look you, Miretta, you are childish to be alarmed, to distress yourself; you have no real reason for it; your fears are as vague as your suspicions; whereas I--I feel that I must have revenge for the affront put upon me. But to whom shall I look for my revenge? Not to my aunt; she was considerably moved, I admit, when she learned of this monstrous marriage; but in a moment she went to sleep, in order to forget all about it. So that I must depend on myself alone for my vengeance, yes, on myself! But a young girl does not count in the world; she can do nothing. It is better--yes, she must be able to maintain her rank, to show herself, to make a sensation, and perhaps----"

Valentine's features became animated, her thought seemed to embrace the whole future. She remained for a long while buried in meditation, then said to Miretta:

"You must have seen here all the noblemen who aspire to my hand. I wish you to tell me what you think of them; what you may have heard about them. Pages and esquires are never dumb when their masters are mentioned. Answer me frankly. You cannot hurt me, for I love none of these gentlemen.--The Sire de Vergy?"

"He is a very handsome cavalier, perhaps a little too much in love with himself; he thinks of nothing but his dress, he adores perfumery----"

"Let us pass to another;--the Comte de Brillancourt?"

"He is a very fine-looking man; he is most anxious to be considered a roué, a seducer, a man who makes conquests every day; but his servants declare that he boasts of more than he makes, and that he never finds anybody at the rendezvous which he claims to have received."

"He must be a fool! he would be a very depressing companion.--The Sire de Montaubry?"

"He is considered an agreeable gentleman, who adores pleasure and passes his life in merrymaking. He is generous to prodigality; he rewards his esquire when he has invented some pleasant occupation for his time. Cards, dancing, music, the table, horses--these are what he must have every day."

"The man must be insufferable with his high spirits!--The Baron d'Arcelle?"

"He is no longer young, but he is enormously rich! He is a great stickler for etiquette; he dismissed his coachman one day because he allowed the carriage of a farmer of the salt tax to pass him."

"They who ascribe so much importance to little things are incapable of great things!--The Marquis de Santoval?"

"Oh! there is a man in whose glance there is something that inspires fear! He has a handsome face; but such a black beard, and eyes that shine with a smoldering fire, and heavy eyebrows that almost join. His servants say that he is very just to them, but that he punishes inexorably the slightest fault. He is a widower; his first wife was very pretty, and Monsieur de Santoval is terribly jealous; they say that he did not make her happy. He adores the chase, and passes a large part of the year on his estates, hunting wolves."

"Enough, enough! my choice is made!--Go, Miretta, see if my aunt has finished her siesta."

Miretta returned and informed her mistress that Madame de Ravenelle was quite ready to listen to her. So Valentine left her apartment and went to her aunt. After saluting her with great gravity, she said:

"Madame, I have decided at last to take a husband; it is time for me to occupy my rightful place in society."

"Ah! you have decided, niece? Very good! Mon Dieu! what a multitude of events for a single day!--Well, Valentine, it only remains to make a choice among all the noble suitors who have asked for your hand."

"My choice is made, aunt."

"Indeed! it is extraordinary how rapidly everything happens to-day!"

"My choice has fallen on the Marquis de Santoval. I accept him for my husband."

"The Marquis de Santoval!"

And the old lady uttered another exclamation of surprise, then fell back on her couch, saying:

"Everybody seems determined to kill me to-day by exciting me beyond endurance!"

XXXVII

BATHILDE'S CHILD

The magnificent Hôtel de Marvejols had changed masters. In the place of the old marquis, Bathilde, Comte Léodgard's lawful wife, was installed in the vast apartments, and gave orders to the numerous servants whom the marquis had left with her as a nucleus of her household.

An abrupt change seemed to have taken place in the young woman's mind, manners, and bearing. Nature, seconding her newly acquired fortune, lavished upon her a multitude of gifts, which, previously to that time at least, had been hidden by her timidity and the retirement in which she had lived.

On receiving a name and a title which raised her in her own esteem, the modest and trembling girl had become an excellent woman, humane and beneficent to all those about her.

She wore without embarrassment, even with dignity, the richer garb which her lofty position demanded. Far from being awkward and ill at ease in the rich attire of a noble dame, Bathilde displayed new graces; her refined and fascinating features seemed made to go with silk fabrics and velvet cloaks.

Nothing offended the eye, nothing seemed out of place, in the young woman suddenly transported from a modest little chamber to a luxurious mansion; and no one, seeing her in her salon, dressed as a wealthy countess should be dressed, would have suspected that he had before his eyes the daughter of a bath keeper.

When Bathilde, on leaving the chapel, saw Léodgard hasten away without bestowing a glance upon her or addressing her a single word, her heart felt a cruel pang; but she succeeded in dissembling her pain; she said to herself that, after the honor that she had received, and now that her child had a name, and that she could look her father in the face without blushing, to abandon herself to her disappointment in love would be pure weakness, and that it behooved her thenceforth to show that she was worthy of the rank to which she had been raised. She said to herself, too, that the seduced girl, the mistress, must disappear before the legitimate wife; and she found strength in her soul to force back her suffering, and to show to those about her a tranquil brow, a self-possessed glance, and a pleasant smile.

Perhaps, in the depths of her heart, Bathilde hoped that her spouse would not always bear her ill will, that he would some day desire to see her to whom he had given his name.

But when weeks and months passed without a sight of Léodgard, she understood that his mind was definitely made up; that he had married her to satisfy his father's wishes, but that he proposed, by living apart from her, to prove to her that he had not contracted the marriage of his free will.

After installing Bathilde in the noble mansion on Place Royale, after handing her the documents which assured to her, and to her unborn child as well, an independent fortune, the old marquis had imprinted a kiss on the brow of his new daughter, and had left Paris for his estate in the country, taking with him old Hector and several of his oldest servants; the others had remained in the young countess's service.

As for Landry, his daughter's new position in the world satisfied his honor without dazzling his mind. But his good sense told him that the father of the Comtesse de Marvejols ought not to carry on a bathing establishment, and he lost no time in selling it.

On the day following her marriage, Bathilde went to her mother to ask her pardon and to entreat a renewal of her affection. But Dame Ragonde could not forgive even her own child. After listening coldly to her daughter's entreaties, she replied in a harsh, dry tone:

"I congratulate you on having become a countess; but I trust that it will not encourage other girls to imitate you!"

With that, she turned her back on Bathilde, who was fain to be content with her father's warm embrace.

Soon after, the old soldier and his wife started for Normandie.

Although Bathilde had had to renounce the hope of recovering her mother's favor,--in truth, her mother had never manifested the least real affection for her,--by way of compensation there were some persons whom her new fortune made very happy, and who did not attempt to conceal the joy and satisfaction which that unhoped-for event caused them.

Is it necessary to name Ambroisine and her father?

But Ambroisine especially was overjoyed, because, as she contemplated Bathilde in her fine clothes, and in that superb mansion which had become hers, she could justly say to herself:

"This is my work; she owes it to me that she is in this place, that she has a name and a handsome fortune!"

The sweet-natured Bathilde did not show herself ungrateful. Her first care when she found that she was the mistress of large means was to beg Ambroisine and her father to share her wealth with her. At first, she asked them to live in her house; then she insisted upon enriching Master Hugonnet, and begged him to accept as a token of her friendship a handsome sum which would assure his well-being for life, so that he need work no more.

But Ambroisine and her father refused everything.

"Keep your wealth, my dear young lady," said Hugonnet, pressing Bathilde's hand in his; "I have no use for it! I am well to do, my trade is prosperous, all goes well! I have no idea of ceasing to work. My health is good, and I am not too old. Besides, I should die of ennui, if I had nothing to do; and to avoid being bored to death, I should probably get tipsy every day, which would be too often!--So you see that I must refuse this money that you offer me--for I do not believe that you mean to pay me for the pleasure it gave me to be of use to you, to offer you a shelter under my roof; such things are not to be paid for, and you know it!--Oh! if I were unfortunate, if some unlucky accident should happen to me, I would come without a blush to ask your assistance, and I should consider that I insulted you if I applied first to others. But I flatter myself that that won't happen.--Meanwhile, continue your friendship for us; look upon us still as your best friends. That is the way to make us as happy as yourself.--As for my daughter, you offer to keep her with you; but it would cost me too much to part with her. Ten thousand hogsheads! I am fond of my daughter, you see! and I hope that she cares a little bit for me!"

"Oh, yes! my dear, good father!" cried Ambroisine, throwing herself into Hugonnet's arms. "Never fear, I will not leave you! I will come to see Bathilde--madame la comtesse--often, very often----"

"But you will never call me anything but Bathilde, your friend, your sister, who owes everything to you! If you do, I shall think that you no longer love me!"

"As you please, as you please, dear Bathilde!"

"Look you, my dear young lady," continued Hugonnet, "I will tell you all that I can do for you. In the first place, I promise that Ambroisine shall do no more shaving; no, that is all over! for when one visits a countess one must keep to one's place!"

"But I have not shaved anybody for a long while, father."

"Hum! now and then. In the second place, she will no longer look after the details of the shop; indeed, she need never enter it at all, if she prefers not to. I can do without her, and she will have more time to come to you."

Ambroisine kissed her father once more; and that was all the share that those excellent people consented to accept of the handsome fortune of the girl whom they had made welcome, entertained, and comforted when she was without a home and without food.

But a new being was destined ere long, on receiving life, to revivify, to enliven, and to embellish all its surroundings.

Bathilde brought into the world a daughter, who bade fair to be as lovely as her mother. When she heard her child's first cry, and gave her the first kiss, the young mother felt as if she had been transported to Paradise.

Ambroisine was with her friend when, by the young countess's orders, a messenger was sent to Comte Léodgard to announce the birth of his daughter and to receive his commands with respect to her baptism.

The steward to whom that commission was intrusted soon returned to the Hôtel de Marvejols. Bathilde sent for him and bade him deliver his report to her in person.

"Did you see monsieur le comte?" she asked, taking her eyes for a moment from her child, who lay beside her on the bed.

"Yes, madame; I requested to be allowed that honor, as one who had something of great importance to say to monsieur le comte, and I was ushered into his presence."

"And you told him----?"

"That madame had brought into the world a daughter, as beautiful as the day."

Bathilde smiled, and glanced at the child with an expression that seemed to say:

"He told the truth, my child! there is nothing on earth more beautiful than thou art!"

Then she motioned to the messenger to continue.

"I had the honor to say to monsieur le comte that madame la comtesse desired to receive his commands relative to the ceremony of baptism."

"Well! what was monsieur le comte's reply?"

"Monseigneur first asked me what persons were with madame la comtesse at this moment?"

"And you told him that no one was with me save my loyal friend Ambroisine and my servants?"

"Yes, madame; and then monsieur le comte remained for a long time absorbed in thought, so that he probably forgot that I was there; for he suddenly looked up and said to me: 'What are you doing here?'

"'Monseigneur,' I replied, 'I am waiting to know what I am to say to madame la comtesse.'

"'Tell her,' said monsieur le comte, 'that she may do as she pleases, that I leave her entirely at liberty, that I have no orders to give.'

"And monseigneur dismissed me with a wave of his hand."

"That will do," said Bathilde, heaving a sigh, which died away over her child's cradle; and she motioned to the servant to leave the room.

When he had gone, she glanced sadly at Ambroisine.

"He will not come here," she said, "even to see his daughter!"

"Console yourself! he will come some day, and when he has once seen this little angel you will no longer need to send messages to him!"

"You are right!" said the young mother, letting her eyes rest once more on her child. "Yes, I must place all my confidence, all my hope, on this little darling; and, in truth, when heaven has sent me such a treasure, it is no time for me to indulge in lamentations. But still, Ambroisine, who will hold my daughter over the baptismal font?"

"Does not the grandfather always act as sponsor for the firstborn?--Send a courier to Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols, at Champfleury; it is near Chartres--about forty leagues from here, I believe. You will receive a reply within a week."

"You are right, Ambroisine; yes, it is my duty to turn now for guidance to that venerable man who has been so kind to me. But I am still too weak. Act for me, give the necessary orders, see that the courier is despatched."

Ambroisine made haste to carry out the young countess's commands. By her direction, an intelligent man was sent to the old marquis, and he promised to bring back an answer as soon as possible.

But in those days promptitude was very slow. Post routes were not established until the reign of Louis XI, and then only for the king's service. Not until the reign of Louis XIII, in the year 1630, did the service assume some regularity, with the inauguration of the system of relays, and the appointment of inspectors to superintend the service. But, for all that, as couriers intrusted with despatches by private individuals were still very rare on the highroads, the roads were, for that reason, in very bad repair; and the relay stations often had in their stables only a few gaunt nags, or donkeys masquerading as horses.

However, the time did not seem long to Bathilde, for she had her daughter--her daughter whom she nursed herself, unable to conceive that a mother could intrust that duty to a stranger when nature had not denied her the means to perform it herself. Thus the hours passed like minutes, and the days flew by with surprising rapidity in the eyes of that young wife, who took such intense delight in nursing and rocking and caressing her child.

After several days the courier returned; he was the bearer of a letter which the old Marquis de Marvejols had delivered to him for the countess.

She hastily broke the seal; and as she knew how to read,--a rare accomplishment at that period among the daughters of the common people,--she soon knew the contents of the letter, which was thus conceived:

"MY DEAR BATHILDE:

"It gives me great pleasure to say that I will be sponsor to the daughter whom God has given to you. But, my dear child, it is impossible for me to come to you at this moment, for the gout holds me fast to my easy-chair; and when it once has its grip upon me, it does not readily relax it.

"Obtain a substitute for me, then, for that solemn ceremony, which should never be long delayed. Let some worthy gentleman hold the child in my name, and let her receive the name of Blanche; it was my wife's. To me it will be a memory and a source of hope.

"As for the godmother, I believe that I shall anticipate your wishes by urging you to select for that agreeable post the excellent young girl who displays such loyal and devoted friendship for you.

"Adieu, my dear daughter. May heaven grant you long life to watch over the little angel, who, I doubt not, will cause you to forget all your past sufferings!

"MARQUIS DE MARVEJOLS."

The young countess put her lips to the letter written by her husband's father, saying:

"It shall be as you deign to permit, O venerable man, who read my heart so well.--Blanche! Blanche! that is your name, my darling, it is the name your grandfather gives you. Ah! how sweet it is to pronounce! How well it suits the purity of your soul!--Blanche! one would say that she understands me already, and that she thanks me for giving her that name!"

Ambroisine rarely passed a day without going to see Bathilde, especially since her friend had become a mother.

As soon as she reached the house, the young countess gave her the marquis's letter, saying:

"Read this; it concerns you too."

Ambroisine read the letter eagerly; her cheeks instantly flushed with joy and pleasure, and she threw her arms about her friend, crying:

"I shall be her godmother! he permits me to be your daughter's godmother!--What a noble old man!--Ah, yes! he knew right well that he would make us both happy by suggesting that!--And he gives her the name of Blanche--Blanche!"

Ambroisine stopped as if she had suddenly remembered something.

"What is it?" said Bathilde; "one would say that that name recalled some memory."

"No, no; I was reflecting."

"About whom I shall accord the honor of taking Monsieur de Marvejols's place, eh?--Mon Dieu! I confess that that embarrasses me considerably; for I do not know any nobleman. Nobody comes here but you."

"Oh! do not be embarrassed, do not think any more, for I have already thought of someone."

"You have? Of whom, pray?"

"Have you forgotten, dear Bathilde, that generous gentleman, who, when you were still at my father's house, authorized me to offer you his assistance, and promised to take care of your child--the Sire de Jarnonville?"

"Ah, yes! you are right, Ambroisine; I ought not to have forgotten him; forgive me. But, you see, I think of nothing but my daughter now!--Do you see him sometimes?"

"Yes, quite often, in fact; he comes to my father's, not to joke and talk nonsense with all those idle young noblemen who rendezvous there, but to ask me about you and your child. Ah! he was heartily glad of your good fortune."

"And do you think that he will be willing to hold my child over the font, in monsieur le marquis's place?"

"Oh! I am sure that he will accept the post with great pleasure--he is so fond of children! For he is a widower, and he once had a little girl whom he adored, and her name was Blanche, like your child's.--That was what came into my mind just now."

"And what you dared not tell me, because he lost his daughter!--Oh! don't be alarmed, dear Ambroisine, I am very far from seeing in that an omen of disaster for my Blanche. No, heaven has sent her to us to allay all our suffering. She has given me so much happiness, that I am sure that she will soften the Sire de Jarnonville's regrets in some degree. He will transfer to her the love that he had for his own child."

That same evening the Black Chevalier stopped in front of the barber's house, and, as always, looked through the window to see if Ambroisine was there.

The girl's frank and sprightly conversation had insensibly lightened the Sire de Jarnonville's sombre humor; and often, without a previously formed intention, he walked in the direction of Rue Saint-Jacques, to obtain that distraction which became more necessary to him every day, and which he had begun to prefer to the debauches and combats that had formerly been an essential part of his life.

That evening Ambroisine was on the watch for the chevalier; for she was eager to tell him what Bathilde expected from him.

She very soon told him the tenor of the old marquis's response, and added, lowering her eyes, that she had made bold to say that the Sire de Jarnonville would consent to take his place and to represent him.

"You were quite right to give that assurance," replied the chevalier, gently pressing Ambroisine's hand. "It will be an honor and a pleasure to me to act as godfather to the countess's child. Moreover, the Marquis de Marvejols is very old, and I am still young and strong. If the first godfather should die, it is only right that there should be one left to succeed him and to watch over the child, whose father seems determined to close his arms to her."

"The old marquis wishes the little girl to be named Blanche," said Ambroisine, hesitatingly.

"Blanche! Blanche!" murmured Jarnonville, letting his head droop on his breast. "Ah! that was the name of an angel!"

"Well! this is another angel, as you will see. You will be her protector, her second father. The little darling--she will love you dearly. She will not cause you to forget the other, but she will ask you to give her a little of the affection which you feel for all children, in memory of the child you have lost."

Jarnonville was too deeply moved to reply. He took leave of Ambroisine, saying:

"To-morrow I will go to pay my respects to madame la comtesse, and to receive her orders for the ceremony."

Two days after this conversation, the daughter of Léodgard and Bathilde was presented for baptism by the Sire de Jarnonville and Ambroisine.

An old gentleman who was a friend of the chevalier, Master Hugonnet, and a few faithful old retainers of the marquis, were the only witnesses of the ceremony, which Bathilde was too weak to attend.

When he carried little Blanche back to her mother and placed her in her arms, Jarnonville kissed the child's forehead. His emotion was most intense, for the little girl's features recalled the cherished darling whom he had lost. He could hardly articulate the words:

"Will you allow me, madame, to come occasionally to present my respects to you and to embrace this child?"