"Well," said Marguerite, "here's one who dares go no farther at present. Come, master boy, when you were a girl you didn't thus remain standing motionless and mute at the door; and my poor Blanche, who is afraid to raise her eyes and is trembling like a leaf. My darling, it isn't necessary to blush like that when one has done nothing wrong. You see, I am obliged to encourage you."
However, Urbain gently approached Blanche, bent his knees to the floor and murmured,—
"If you no longer feel friendly to me, if this costume has made you lose confidence in me—I will resume that of Ursule."
The sweet girl timidly raised her head, and bending on Urbain a look of the tenderest love, she said, blushing deeper than before,—
"Oh, it isn't that. Excuse me, I don't know what is the matter with me."
She turned her head to hide her face in Marguerite's bosom, and said in a low tone to the latter,—
"Dear nurse, is it love that makes me feel so shy?"
"I remember scarcely anything about love now," answered the old woman, shaking her head; "however, yes, I believe in my young days it did evince itself somewhat in that fashion."
Blanche turned to Urbain and said to him, with a charming smile,—
"Don't be angry with me; if I am awkward and embarrassed it is because I love you."
Delighted at the candor of the young girl, Urbain took her hand and pressed it against his heart, then, seating himself near her, he renewed the vows with which love for her inspired him. Confidence was soon reëstablished between them; when two hearts beat in accord, constraint is soon banished. Blanche resumed her gayety, her ingenuousness, and allowed her lover to read all her feelings, and the latter perceived that he had a treasure of innocence and kindness.
Marguerite joined in the conversation of the young people; Urbain, by his amiability and the deference he showed for the old servant's advice, entirely won her friendship. The young bachelor praised the situation of his little property, which in the midst of a charming country offered delightful walks and all the pleasures of a rural existence. He promised the old woman to give her a room impervious to every enchantment, and to tell her in the long winter evenings some of the gruesome stories which gave her both fear and pleasure.
While chatting with Marguerite, the tender glances, pressings of the hand and sweet smiles of the two lovers established between them that sympathy of mind which gives the first, and perhaps the sweetest, taste of love.
The time passed rapidly, nine o'clock struck,the hour which the barber had fixed for Urbain's departure, and they knew they must obey his commands if they wished him to keep his promises.
"Must I leave you already?" said Urbain.
"I'm sorry you must go," answered Blanche, sighing tenderly.
"You will see each other again tomorrow, my children," said Marguerite, "and the day will soon come when you will no longer have to part. Monsieur Dorgeville, have you begun the necessary preparations for your marriage?"
"Mon Dieu!" said Urbain, "I was so unsettled today that I could think of nothing but the happiness that I should enjoy this evening; and I have done nothing yet."
"If you are as heedless every day, your marriage will never take place," said Marguerite.
"Oh, tomorrow I will begin to put matters in train. I am anxious for the time when I shan't have to leave Blanche; but I haven't seen Monsieur Touquet this evening. Ought I not to go and say good evening to him?"
"No, it is needless; my master is unlike other men; he has no use for ceremony. He said to me, very positively, 'The young man will come at seven o'clock; you will conduct him to Blanche's room, where you will remain with them, and at nine o'clock he will go. When I wish to speak with him I will seek him, but it is needless for him to endeavor to see me.'"
"What a singular man!" said Urbain; "but I ought to bless him, for he has made me happy, and I accused him. I had a suspicion that he wished to guard this treasure for himself by hiding her from everyone."
"For himself," cried Blanche, "how could that be possible?"
"Forgive me, dear Blanche, love makes one jealous; I see well that I was unjust."
"Yes, yes," said Marguerite, "but hasten to get your documents drawn and marry this dear child."
The bachelor left at last, but Blanche's looks followed him and he could not doubt his happiness; he possessed the heart of an amiable girl who did not seek to hide from him the sentiments with which he inspired her. The next day Urbain took the preliminary steps to hasten his marriage; he had also to sell the little furniture he possessed, for it was very necessary to obtain some money for the journey; and, in regard to that, the bachelor soon saw that Monsieur Touquet evinced no generosity of disposition. But a lover who is about to marry his sweetheart always believes himself rich enough, and, besides, Blanche having been reared in retirement had no extravagant desires in regard to household expenses, dress or ornaments; she would be economical and simple in her tastes, which qualities are often of more value than the bride's dowry.
Evening again brought Urbain to his sweetheart; on this occasion the embarrassment had disappeared, and they gave themselves up entirely to the pleasure they experienced in seeing each other again. The time they passed together rolled on as rapidly as before, but they consoled themselves by remembering that the day would soon come when they would be united forever. On the fourth evening that Urbain passed with Blanche the door opened, and the barber made his appearance.
He slightly inclined his head to Urbain and said to him, in his ordinary brief tone,—
"Are you making preparations for your marriage?"
"Yes, monsieur," said Urbain, rising and going up to Touquet, "but you know employers never share one's impatience. However, within six days, or a little later, I should have all my papers. I have seen the priest who is to unite us and have made all my preparations for departure."
"That's well."
The barber made no further remark and left the young people, who were for a moment astonished at his conduct; but after all they were not sorry to be able to give themselves up to the pleasure of lovers' conversation with no other witnesses than old Marguerite, who sometimes went to sleep while Urbain and Blanche were silently pressing each other's hands. The time passesquickly when one is happy, and if the days were long for the two lovers, by way of revenge each evening seemed shorter than the last. The more they saw of each other the closer love drew his meshes about their hearts, which seemed formed for adoration, and now they could not conceive the possibility of an existence apart.
But the day of their wedding approached. Only five days and they would pledge their vows at the altar; then they would leave the great city and in a peaceful retreat would enjoy pure happiness undisturbed by the storm and stress of life. This at least was the future they hoped for.
Chaudoreille, urged by a desire to receive the recompense the barber had promised him, had already presented himself three times at the latter's house, saying,—
"Has the marriage taken place?"
"Not yet," answered Touquet.
Then Chaudoreille departed, muttering,—
"I wish they'd hurry now. What the deuce! I need some money. Why, in twelve days I'd have married a dozen women."
CHAUDOREILLE, who had not yet received the two pieces of gold which the barber had promised him found himself in his usual penniless condition as he went one fine morning down the Rue des Petits Carreaux. He was just coming from the Saint-Germain fair, where he had not on this occasion found anybody disposed to receive a lesson in skittles, and he was going towards the Saint-Laurent fair, hoping that fortune would be somewhat more favorable to him in the latter haunt.
Following his custom, Chaudoreille walked with his nose in the air, ogling from one side to the other; his left hand on his hip, and his right hand caressing his mustache. As he approached the boulevards he felt somebody pull gently at his mantle. The pusillanimous fellow started with fright, but on turning his head he perceived an old servant maid, and seeing he had nothing to fear he put his hand on his sword, and cried loudly,—
"By jingo! I thought it was a man and I was going to demand his reason for touching me.What do you want with me? Don't pull my mantle so hard, it's a little decayed."
The old woman put her finger on her mouth, and with a mysterious air, said,—
"My mistress wishes to speak with you."
"Your mistress," cried Chaudoreille, his features becoming cheerful, for he did not doubt that he had made a conquest, "oh, that's it, my good woman, I understand you. But is she young? is she rich? is she?—Never mind, it's all the same, lead me to her."
"No, she can't receive you today, but be here tomorrow at dusk. I will come and look for you and will introduce you."
"It's enough! I'll be here, I'll not fail, whether it rains or shines. One word, if you please, messenger of love. Can you not tell me where your mistress has seen me?"
"In the street, I presume, since she was at her window. Tomorrow evening, monsieur; I can't stop any longer."
"Go, Flore! go back to Cytherée," said Chaudoreille, as the old woman went off, then he continued on his way, saying,—
"It's an amorous adventure, I know;—this mystery and a rendezvous at dusk. She has seen me through the window. By jingo! I do well to look my best; a pretty man should always carry himself as if everybody was looking at him." He then walked along, looking so much in the airthat he ran against a water-carrier who was advancing quietly with his two buckets full, and threw himself so heavily upon him that one of the buckets escaped from his hand.
"Cursed idiot," cried the Auvergnat. "Wait, take that to teach you to look before you!" Saying these words the water-carrier calmly emptied his other bucket over Chaudoreille. The chevalier was drenched. In his fury he drew Rolande from the scabbard and advanced on the Auvergnat; but the water-carrier, without appearing at all dismayed by the falchion which his adversary flashed as he capered and jumped about like one possessed, took one of his buckets in each hand and tranquilly awaited the expected onset of the doughty knight, shouting in an aggravatingly jeering tone,—
"Come on, you baked apple! come on stupid, that turnspit you term a sword doesn't frighten me in the least."
Chaudoreille put Rolande in his scabbard again and then escaped by the boulevard, crying, "Watch," and followed by all the idlers, and these were not a few, of the neighborhood. The chevalier did not pause in his flight until he was positively sure there was no longer anybody behind him. He was then quite near the Fossés Jaunes, which were excavated in the reign of Charles the Ninth, and which extended from the Porte Saint-Denis nearly to the Porte Saint-Honoré. Thesehad been made to still further enlarge Paris. A new wall was built along the Fossés Jaunes, and also two new gates; one, Rue Montmartre, near the Rue des Jeûneurs, replaced the old Porte Montmartre, demolished in 1633; the other, Rue Saint-Honoré, between the boulevard and the Rue Royale, replaced the one situated between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue Saint-Honoré, which was erected in 1631. On the terrace within this new wall they presently laid out the Rues de Cléry, du Mail, des Fossés-Montmartre, de Victoires, des Petits-Champs, etc. However, in the midst of these new constructions the hill of Saint-Roch still preserved its picturesque form and its windmills.
Chaudoreille was trembling, he was very cold; and he could not change at his house, for a reason that one may easily divine. Fortunately the weather was fine and the sun, while it gave little heat, shone on the promenade, established then along the wall of Paris. The chevalier saw no other means of drying himself than that of running for two or three hours in the sun, and he gave himself immediately to that exercise, looking much less in the air than formerly, and only answering some of his acquaintances, who asked him why he ran so quickly, by these words,—
"It's a wager, don't stop me. I have put up a hundred pistoles that I would sweat some great drops."
The chevalier's garments commenced to have more consistence and he stopped to take breath.
"You have missed your vocation, my friend; you should have been a runner for some prince," said a man, who had stopped with two others, and seemed to take much pleasure in looking at Chaudoreille, while one of his companions, of an extraordinarily stout build, laughed at the top of his voice, and the third making comical gestures and extraordinary grimaces seemed to be trying to copy the features and the figure of the runner.
"What do you say, monsieur," said the son of Gascony to the three individuals, who had stopped before him, "can't one run if he wants to, capededious!"
"Oh, his accent renders him even more comical," said the fat man. "Look at him well, comrade, it's necessary to reproduce that face for us this evening. It will be worth its weight in gold."
"I have it," responded the third. "Hang it! may I stifle if I don't copy it this evening, feature for feature."
"Have you looked at me long enough," said Chaudoreille, ogling them from the back, because he did not feel enough courage to look them in the face. "What do you take me to be?"
"Oh, hang it!" said Turlupin, to himself, for it was he who was walking with his two companions, Gros-Guillaume and Gautier-Garguille. "Wemust try to make the little man angry. That can't fail to amuse us."
Approaching Chaudoreille, who was reflecting on the grimace he should make, he commenced by striking Rolande's scabbard with the stick which he held in his hand, saying,—
"What the devil do you call that, seigneur chevalier?"
The chevalier became at one moment pale, red, and yellow.
"These men are desirous of seeking a quarrel with me," said he to himself, looking around him to see if he could make his retreat. But already some passers-by had stopped and formed a circle; for, having recognized the three comedians who had been drawing crowds at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, they did not doubt they were going to play some farce with the personage whom they were surrounding. The sight of all these people calmed Chaudoreille's fear a little.
"It is unlikely," said he to himself, "that they will let these three men kill me without rescuing me." He then endeavored to put a good face on the matter. Glancing at the crowd with what he meant to be a look of assurance, he exclaimed,—
"I don't understand why these gentlemen molest me. I take everybody to witness that I have not insulted them."
A general laugh was the only answer Chaudoreille received, which had the effect of increasinghis ill-humor; he angrily drew down his little hat in such a way that the gold-colored rosette almost touched the tip of his nose, and tried to make his way through the crowd, but they drew closer to him on every side, and he found himself face to face with Turlupin, who put himself on guard with his stick; Chaudoreille turned another way and was confronted by Gautier-Garguille, who had placed his hat precisely in the same manner as Chaudoreille's, and imitated exactly his piteous grimaces; finally, Gros-Guillaume barred the chevalier's passage with his enormous corpulence.
Chaudoreille was exasperated, he could bear no more and he drew Rolande. Turlupin advanced to the combat with his cane, and the chevalier, having eyed his adversary's weapon out of the corner of his eye, put himself on guard, crying,—
"Look to it, guard yourself carefully; I ply a very strong blade."
At the end of the third bout Turlupin feigned to be wounded; he fell, uttering a horrible groan, and making a frightful contortion. Gros-Guillaume threw himself down beside him, exclaiming,—
"He is dead!"
Chaudoreille was stunned and bewildered; he still held his sword in his hand and looked at everyone as if distracted. Gautier-Garguille took him by the arm and led him away, saying,—
"Save yourself; you have killed the son of the King of Cochin-China."
Chaudoreille listened no further; he went on his way, left Paris and darted across the fields and the marshes; the three hours he had spent in running in the sun had not strained his legs, he felt no fatigue; fear lent him wings, and he did not stop until he believed that he had escaped the pursuit of which he imagined himself to be the object. It may seem astonishing, perhaps, that the chevalier had not recognized, in the three men who had stopped him on the boulevard, the three comedians whose performances were then in great vogue, and who permitted themselves a thousand licenses that the Parisians authorized, and which delighted even the great noblemen. But when Chaudoreille had any money he passed the greater part of his time in gambling houses, and had been but rarely to the theatre called the Hôtel de Bourgogne; besides, Turlupin and Gautier-Garguille were so adept in the art of changing their physiognomies that it was difficult to recognize them unless one had often witnessed their performances.
The fugitive had stopped to breathe for a moment, he looked timidly about him and recognized the locality; he was at the end of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, near the Vallée de Fécamp, and he perceived about three hundred paces from him the Marquis de Villebelle's little house.
Chaudoreille had fasted since the evening before, he was overcome with fatigue and believed himself menaced by the greatest dangers. In suchcircumstances he forgot that the barber had forbidden him to go there and decided to ring at the little house and seek refuge.
Collecting his strength he turned towards the dwelling; he rang the bell, and Marcel opened the door almost immediately.
"What, is it you?" said he in astonishment. "Did the marquis or M. Touquet send you here?"
Before answering, Chaudoreille entered the garden, and closed the door after him.
"But what the devil is the matter with you?" said Marcel. "What are you doing here?—and your face is in such a state, all in a cold sweat; one would believe, on my word, that you'd all the sergeants of Paris at your heels."
"And you wouldn't be mistaken," said Chaudoreille, in a scarcely audible voice.
"Why, what are you saying?"
"That I'm pursued, or at least I shall be. That the greatest danger threatens me."
"My God! What have you done?"
"I've killed the son of the King of Cochin-China."
"The son of Cochin-China?"
"Why, yes, just now, not more than a few minutes ago, against the Fosses-Jaunes—near the Porte Saint-Denis—but it was in honorable combat, a duel with equal weapons; and Rolande laid him at my feet. Heavens, what a cry he utteredas he fell—it still rings in my ears. I slaughtered him like a bullock."
Marcel listened with his habitual good-humor; however, Chaudoreille's story appeared so extraordinary that he could not refrain from exclaiming,—
"But, truly, can all that be possible?"
"What, by jingo, you question its possibility,—my dear Marcel, it's absolutely true. You know me; you know that I'm a hot-headed fellow, a rake of honor. It's a habit I've formed, and what can you expect. I can't reform myself. But this time, at all events, it was not my fault. I was walking quietly along by the city wall; all of a sudden three men came before me and uttered some jokes which were very much out of place and offended me; I politely asked them to allow me to pass, but they still obstructed my way. I immediately drew my sword, the crowd surrounded us, one of my adversaries put himself on guard. I immediately rushed on him; the combat was terrible. My enemy fought desperately; but soon he fell at my feet, making frightful grimaces, and one of his companions told me I had killed the heir to the throne of Cochin-China."
"And what the devil was the Prince of Cochin-China doing on the boulevards with two idiots who allowed him to fight with you?"
"Faith, I didn't have time to get any informationon that point; he had no doubt come to Paris to take some exercise—the poor fellow. But you can imagine that this adventure will become notorious; they'll send out a description of me; they'll put all the squads in Paris in pursuit of me; my dear Marcel, it's necessary that you should hide me for several days."
"I'm very sorry to say that I can't do it; I thought you'd been sent here by my master with orders for me; since that's not the case you must go, for he has expressly forbidden me to receive anybody here except those that are sent to me. M. de Villebelle will discharge me if, on arriving suddenly with some of his friends, he should find a stranger in the place."
"Zounds! I'm not a stranger, since I've already served your master in his love affairs. My dear Marcel, you don't wish my death."
"No, but I don't wish to lose my place."
"You are alone here?"
"Of course I am; but monseigneur may come when one is least expecting him."
"He won't come today."
"You don't know anything about it."
"I beg your pardon; I know that his presence is commanded at court. I only ask shelter of you until tomorrow—but, Marcel, my life is in your hands."
"Come, your fright is very ill-timed."
"The Cochin-Chinas will be leagued against me."
"Let them league themselves."
"I've eaten nothing since yesterday."
"I'm not to blame for that."
"Marcel, will nothing move you; do you want me to throw myself at your feet? Well, behold me there. You are softening, you yield; I see tears in your eyes."
"Well, only just till tomorrow; but hang it, if monseigneur should arrive this evening?"
"I promise you I'll jump over the wall."
Chaudoreille breathed more freely; and directed his steps towards the house.
"Oh, delightful purlieus, how has my destiny changed since I quitted you," said the chevalier, drawing out his little silk handkerchief to dry his eyes. But on reaching the dining-room, which he recognized, his sadness appeared somewhat lessened. He was the first to seat himself at the table; he invited Marcel to go to the cellar, and did not give him a moment's rest until the supper was served; for it was then five o'clock, and in those days everybody dined at midday.
"I'm not hungry yet," said Marcel, as he seated himself, "ordinarily I don't sup until eight o'clock."
"Oh, never mind that, I can eat for both of us, and it needn't prevent our supping at eight o'clock; for I do not wish to make any change in your usual habits. O my friend, what a day's work; if you knew all that had happened to me.At first it began very well; an amorous rendezvous given to me by a lady who fell in love with me through seeing me from her window."
"Pshaw!"
"Give me a wing of that fowl. Yes, my friend, a passion I inspired while watching the flight of some swallows—but—I am used to that. Pour me out something to drink. I'm sure she's a woman of high rank. She sent to me by one of her slaves, I think it was a mulatto, or she must take a devil of a lot of snuff, for her nose was the color of terra-cotta."
"And when are you to meet?"
"Tomorrow evening. But at present, can I think of it? This unfortunate duel has spoiled all my plans. They'll perhaps put me in the Bastile for five or six years."
"Well, you are a fool."
"Oh, do you think that anyone may kill the Prince of Cochin-China like a little shopkeeper of the Marais. My situation is alarming. Give me some pasty, I beg of you."
"Did you satisfy yourself that your man was dead?"
"If you had heard the cry he uttered as he fell, you would not doubt it yourself. It's a cursed day's work; that thief of a water-carrier brought this ill luck upon me!"
"A water-carrier?"
"Yes, one with whom I fought this morning."
"Are you always fighting?"
"Well, by jingo, I can't take twenty steps without fighting; the government should give me a pension to remain at home. What, another stroke of ill luck? Good God! it seems to me I hear a great deal of noise outside."
"What does it matter to us, it's only some pages, lackeys, or students who are amusing themselves by fighting; oh, I'm accustomed to all that."
"It's more likely they're coming to arrest me."
"Nothing of the kind, I tell you."
"Well, Marcel, you're very fortunate in not being a man of the sword."
"A stick serves just as well to defend me; but I don't seek a quarrel with anyone."
"You're very right; I envy your gentle urbanity. But I believe I hear nothing more. Give me something to drink. I feel calmer."
"Have you done eating?"
"Yes, I can now wait till supper. Marcel, it was here we wagered on the flies."
"I remember it."
"Will you take part in a game to pass the time?"
"Much obliged; but I didn't like the game."
"Oh, it wasn't that one I was about to propose; but I believe I happen to have some cards in my pocket. Come, a hand at piquet?"
"No, I don't care to play."
"Why, by jingo! it's only to pass a few hours; we shan't ruin ourselves; I haven't more than two pieces of gold about me; and when I shall have lost that, to the devil with me if I continue."
Marcel yielded to Chaudoreille's solicitations, who immediately set out the table and drew a pack of cards from his pocket, looking at them tenderly as he placed them between himself and Marcel, saying,—
"We'll play for a crown on each side."
"It's too much."
"Pooh! one lost, another gained; it's only between the pair of us."
"Yes, but if one wins all."
"Nonsense, we are equally good players."
"But you haven't laid your money down."
"I've told you I've nothing but gold, I'll change it when I've lost some hundreds."
They commenced to play. Chaudoreille's face was animated, his eyes were shining, and seemed as if they would leave their orbits to look at his adversary's play.
"These cards are not new," said Marcel, "they are all stained or marked."
"That's because they've been so much used apparently. I leave it to you," said Chaudoreille, looking carefully at the backs of the cards which were at the bottom of the pack.
"Hang it! you've made me a pretty present; there, these are the seven and the eight."
Chaudoreille won the first game, then a second and a third, because, thanks to the marks he had made on the back of each card, he knew them as well by their backs as by their faces.
"It's singular," said Marcel, "that I never win anything; you always have the best cards."
"What would you have? It's chance, luck; but it will probably turn."
The luck did not turn and Marcel's crowns passed into Chaudoreille's pocket. The chevalier was scarlet, trembling, and the veins on his forehead were swollen by the ardor of his play, when the bell at the garden gate rang violently.
"Oh, the deuce! there's somebody," said Marcel.
"I am lost!" cried Chaudoreille jumping on his chair, "it is somebody come to arrest me."
He immediately rose and ran around the room, went through the first door he saw and disappeared, without listening to Marcel, who called to him,—
"It's monseigneur; it's M. de Villebelle; keep still and I'll let you out without his seeing you."
But Chaudoreille had disappeared and the bell continued to ring. Marcel was obliged to open the gate without knowing what had become of his guest.
"And pray why did you make us wait so long, clown?" said the marquis angrily to Marcel, as he entered the garden with three men, two of whom were enveloped in their cloaks, while the third had no hat and nothing to cover his velvet doublet, which was stained in many places with mud; this, however, did not prevent its owner from bursting into shouts of laughter as he looked at himself, as though he still enjoyed some frolic in which he had participated.
"Follow me, my friends," said the marquis.
"Oh, I know the way to your little nest of the Faubourg," said one, "it's not the first time I've come here."
"Nor me."
"That's all very well; as for me, messieurs, I make my first appearance here today and in a brilliant costume I hope. Ha! Ha! What the devil! if anybody should happen to divine that I ought to be present this evening at the petit coucher, 'twould be deuced awkward for me!"
"Come, Marcel, show us a light," said the marquis, pushing the valet before him, while thelatter, anxious and uneasy, was constantly glancing around him.
"You've been sleeping already, rascal, for you look stupefied."
"Yes, monseigneur, that's true, I have been asleep."
"He lives the life of a canon here. He does nothing but eat and sleep."
While speaking they had reached the house. Happily for Marcel the marquis never went into the lower room, where the card table was still standing. They went up into the apartment on the first floor. Marcel lighted many candles, while the marquis' friends threw themselves into armchairs, and Villebelle took off his mantle, saying,—
"Come, hasten yourself, and serve us supper of all that you can get together; there are always provisions here. You have a poultry yard, a pigeon house; put some fowls quickly on the spit. We'll play while waiting for them to be served. Prepare the card table. Open that drawer, there are some cards and dice in it. Gentlemen, you will perhaps have meagre fare. I did not expect the pleasure of entertaining you this evening, but at least you shall have some good wine. The cellar is well furnished and we shall not lack champagne."
"Hang it! that's the principal thing," said a big, pale young man whose features were regular, but who was disfigured by the scar of a sword-cut across his left cheek.
"I, too, am of the vicomte's opinion," said his neighbor, who appeared to be some years older, and whose stoutness and high color contrasted with the physique of the first speaker.
"Champagne before everything."
"Oh, I recognize there that drunkard De Montgéran," said the young man with disordered costume. "As for me I am not displeased when the entertainment consists of wine. But let's play, gentlemen, let's play; it's necessary that I should recoup a hat and a cloak."
"You might even add a doublet; for I don't think that you can present yourself anywhere in that one."
"Those cursed shopkeepers, how they did resist this evening. That's all right, I had flogged three of them."
"Yes, but except for the marquis and I you would have been in a very bad position."
"Well! what the devil brought the quarrel about? for I don't know yet why I fought."
"A trifling thing, a mere bagatelle; because I was carrying off with me a little bookkeeper's wife, the impertinent husband permitted himself to shout! The idiot, I should have sent his wife back at the end of two days. Hang it! I'd no desire to keep her."
"Perhaps that's why he was angry."
"I said a couple of words for him to the superintendent; before long our clerk will be destitute."
"That's as it should be, it's necessary to teach these plebeians manners, who persuade themselves that they only take a wife for themselves."
"In your place I should have asked for a lettre-de-cachet."
"We shall see; that might still be done."
During this conversation Marcel had prepared everything; he went down to the groundfloor and, while making his preparations for supper, called his comrade in a low tone, and looked in every corner of the room, but he had disappeared.
"Where the devil has he hidden himself," said Marcel, who then looked in all the other rooms and went down to the cellar, where he called Chaudoreille again without receiving any answer. "He has apparently escaped into the garden and from there he will have jumped over the walls, as he said he would do. However, that astonishes me, for he would hardly care to leave the house."
The marquis and his companions sat down to play, and while waiting for the supper they cracked several bottles of champagne to put themselves in good spirits; that is to say, to arouse in them the desire to commit new follies. The most extravagant bets were proposed and accepted, and while playing, drinking, singing, each one related his good fortune, his gallant adventures, drew his mistress' portrait, and passed in review the women of fashion, sparing the honest women no more than the courtesans.
At last Marcel came to announce that supper was served in a neighboring room and the gentlemen left their play to go to the table. The room in which the supper was served equalled by its elegance the other rooms of this delightful retreat; while it served habitually for banquets, the beauty and the taste of its frescoes, the statues which decorated it, the sofas which furnished it, the lustres which lighted it, recalled the salons of ancient Rome where Horace, Propertius and Tibulus, surrounded by their friends and their competitors, sang of love and the charms of their mistresses while passing amphoræ filled with falernian, or carrying to their lips cups where sparkled cæcubum or massicum; and while crowned with myrtle and acanthus, in order to resemble their deities, proving only too well that they had all the weaknesses of mortals.
Sybarites of a later time, the young men assembled at Villebelle's drank deep draughts of the generous wine with which the table was so amply provided; the marquis furnishing them an example by his avidity in emptying the flasks. Decorum and etiquette were banished from the repast, where liberty often degenerated into license. The convives had drawn the sofas to the table, and each one, half lying down like a pasha, held a glass of champagne which he emptied, shouting with laughter at the follies of which he heard or at those which he had himself committed.
The young man who had come without a hat, and who was called the Chevalier de Chavagnac, was seated opposite a beautiful statue representing Psyche, to which he often raised his eyes. All of a sudden he interrupted the fat Montgéran, who was singing, by exclaiming,—
"May the thunder crush me, if this Psyche didn't move!"
"What the devil are you saying now?" asked the marquis.
"I'm saying, I'm saying your Psyche has come to life, or I must be blind."
"Oh, hang it, how delightful it would be if that pretty woman could come and take her place amongst us."
"Gentlemen, it was no doubt Montgéran's voice which worked this miracle. A new Pygmalion, he softens marble."
"You needn't make fun of my voice, gentlemen, it is held in no small estimation. It must rather have been your cynical conversation which made poor Psyche blush. But let me sing instead of listening to De Chavagnac's stupidity, who can't see clearly because he has drunk so much."
"Yes, assuredly, I have been drinking, but I can still see. I've been looking at that statue for a long while, and several times it appeared to me as if it moved."
"Marquis, are there any ghosts in your little house?"
"I have never seen any here, but it would be very amiable of them to come and pay us a visit while we are at table. We would make them hob-nob with us."
"Come sing, Montgéran, we will listen to you; but be a trifle less artificial. I prefer the natural method."
"Yes, gentlemen, I will then give you; 'The shepherd in order to admire the charms of his shepherdess took the first'—"
"Now, I shall know what it is," said De Chavagnac, rising precipitately and running towards the statue. As he neared it the Psyche made so lively a movement that she would have fallen from her pedestal on to the floor, if the young man had not received her in his arms, and placed her on the ground. All the convives had their eyes fixed on De Chavagnac, who, after placing the Psyche in safety, reapproached the pedestal, which was about three feet high and one and one half in circumference.
"There is something inside it," cried the young man, who perceived that the pedestal was hollow, and had an opening in the side which was turned towards the wall.
"Someone inside it?" repeated the others, half rising. At the same moment a thin, trembling voice, which seemed to come out of the earth, uttered these words,—
"No violence, gentlemen, I will yield withoutresistance," and, in a moment, Chaudoreille's little head peeped from behind the pedestal and showed itself to the gentlemen, who burst into a shout of laughter, exclaiming,—
"What a handsome face!"
However, De Chavagnac, who had remained near the niche of the statue, took Chaudoreille by the mustache and forced him to emerge from his hiding place. Then, having examined the personage whose piteous face rendered him still more comic, he went laughingly to take his place at the table, while the poor devil whom he had dislodged threw himself on his knees before them and without daring to raise his eyes murmured, clasping his hands,—
"Gentlemen if I have killed the Prince of Cochin-China it was against my will and because he had provoked me, but I swear to you that I will not try it again; I will not even carry Rolande, if they exact it of me."
"What the devil is he saying?"
"Do you understand any of it, marquis?"
"My faith, no! He is speaking about the Prince of Cochin-China."
"He's a fool!"
"Hang it! we must amuse ourselves with him."
"One moment; it is necessary that I should learn how this clown penetrated here. Hello! Marcel, Marcel."
While Marcel was coming upstairs Chaudoreille's terror became somewhat lessened. While he had been immured in the pedestal a murmuring sound only penetrated to his ears, and he believed that the room was filled with armed men who were looking for him. Now the words which he caught, the name of the marquis which he heard pronounced, taught him the truth. Reassured that his life was in no danger, he began to glance pleadingly at the persons who surrounded the table, and meeting nothing but laughing faces he entirely recovered his spirits.
Marcel entered and, at the sight of Chaudoreille, remained stunned and confused before his master.
"Who is this man, Marcel?" said the marquis. "Is he a thief? is it he or you whom we ought to hang? Come, speak, clown, and tell us the truth, or you shall be chastised in good fashion."
Marcel, trembling, did not know how to excuse himself for having received someone despite the commands of the marquis, and muttered,—
"Monseigneur, I couldn't help it, I did not wish to, I refused him at first."
"Monseigneur," exclaimed Chaudoreille, rising and standing on his tiptoes, "if you will permit me I will relate to your excellency how all this happened, for I see that Marcel will find it difficult to come to an end."
"The trembler has recovered his speech," said the big Montgéran, who could not take his eyes from Chaudoreille.
"Come, marquis, let him speak."
"Yes, yes, he will make us laugh," cried the others.
"Very well, gentlemen, since you desire it. Come, speak, you little cur; and you, Marcel, remain there to give him the lie if he attempts to deceive us."
Though the sobriquet, little cur, made Chaudoreille knit his brow, permission to speak before noblemen of high rank caused him so much pleasure that he immediately assumed a smiling expression, and commenced his speech,—
"Messeigneurs, your excellencies behold in me Loustic-Goliath de Chaudoreille, Knight of the Round Table; descended on the male side from the famous Milo of Crotona, and on the female side from the celebrated Delilah, who, sacrificing herself for her country, had the courage to cut from Samson, her lover, that which made his strength."
Shouts of laughter here interrupted the orator. "It's delightful! he's charming! He's worth his weight in gold!"
"Hang it!" said Chaudoreille, "I was sure that I only had to speak."
"In fact, descendant of Delilah," said the marquis, "what is your business?"
Chaudoreille appeared embarrassed for the moment, then he exclaimed volubly,—
"Defender and protector of beauty—and ofgambling houses; understanding how to bear arms and to play at piquet; teaching music, and the way to turn the king or ace at will; succoring young men of family and girls who have been seduced; bearer of love letters; master of the sitar; duellist and messenger,—and all at a very moderate price."
"But what a treasure we have in this man!"
"Finally, who led you here?"
"Your excellencies have heard me speak of my duel this morning. I killed the Prince of Cochin-China near the Porte Saint-Denis."
"The Prince of Cochin-China, and where the devil did you find such a prince as that?"
"By the side of the Fosses-Jaunes. I was walking quietly along, he came up and assaulted me, and I fought him. Isn't that true, Marcel?"
"Yes, it's very true that he told me all that, monseigneur. He arrived here wild with fright, and exhausted; he told me that he was pursued, and though I did not understand all his history of the prince, I saw that he trembled, so I consented to allow him to come in for a moment. We were having supper when you came in, monseigneur, and immediately he fled, seeing and hearing nothing."
"Yes, monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, "I believed that the archers and the sergeants were coming to arrest me, and I hid in the first place that I could see."
"Do you think, clown, that I believe the story you told Marcel in order to get some supper?"
"Monseigneur, I swear to you!"
"Peace!"
"There were witnesses to the duel."
"Silence, I tell you! To come to this house to seek Marcel, you must have known that he lived here. Who taught you the way to this dwelling? Did you know that it belonged to me? and if you knew it belonged to me, who gave you the audacity to present yourself here."
Chaudoreille, who perceived that the marquis was no longer joking, answered with less assurance,—
"Monseigneur, I've already had the honor of visiting here in your lordship's service."
"To serve me, rascal?"
"Yes, monseigneur; I served you indirectly in a certain matter with a young Italian, an elopement on the Pont de Latournelle. It was I whom Touquet charged to keep watch."
"O marquis," said the three guests, smiling, "this is clear enough. The chevalier of the Round Table has ministered to your love."
"I've had that honor, monseigneurs," answered Chaudoreille, bowing, and twisting his mustaches.
"Hang it! I don't remember it," cried the marquis, looking hard at Chaudoreille. "What, Touquet, so clever, so inventive, could he beserved by such a marionette. Come, that is not possible."
"Monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, compressing his lips, "if you knew the talents of the one you call marionette, you would, perhaps, speak differently. Touquet himself is only a beginner beside me."
"Oh, as to that, clown, it is necessary that you should justify your boasting or that you should perish beneath the stick. For some days I have been suffering from ennui; I don't find anyone, at the court or in the town, who deserves my homage. My Italian, even, has commenced to tire me. I wish—I don't know—I would give all the world for the capacity of falling truly in love; find me a woman who is capable of inspiring me with this feeling. I will give you twenty-four hours to discover this treasure for me. A hundred pistoles for you if you gratify my wishes, a hundred strokes of the stick if you are not successful."
"That's it! That's it," shouted Villebelle's guests, "if he is successful in what you have given him to do, tell us and we will employ him in turn."
"O capededious," said Chaudoreille to himself, "a hundred pistoles if I render him amorous. Zounds! my fortune will be made. But a hundred blows of the stick if I am not successful. How can I render a man amorous who is tired of everything, and that in twenty-four hours. O mygenius inspire me! Ah, if my portress resembled this Psyche."
"Wait, drink that," said Montgéran, presenting Chaudoreille with a large glass full of madeira. "That will help you, perhaps, to find what Villebelle wants."
Chaudoreille emptied the glass at a draught, after humbly bowing to the company; then he struck his forehead sharply, made a leap forward, and exclaimed,—
"I have found her!"
"The wine has already operated," said De Chavagnac.
"Come, speak," cried the marquis, "what have you found?"
"Monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, bowing with respect, "deign to permit me to speak to you without witnesses."
"The clown is right," said the marquis rising from the table. "If he should speak before you each one would wish to assure himself of the truth of his recital, and we should become rivals. Marcel carry a light into the next room. Come, my Chaudoreille, I will give you an audience. Have patience, gentlemen, I shall not be long."
Saying these words, the marquis went into the next room, and Chaudoreille followed him with an air so important and mysterious that it greatly amused the three persons who remained at the table.
When Chaudoreille found himself alone with the marquis, he examined the doors to see if they were shut, and stooped to look under the table, but the marquis pulled him by the ear, saying,—
"What signifies all this ceremony?"
"Monseigneur, it is that I'm about to speak of something mysterious, a secret, and I don't wish that anybody should know it. I shall expose myself to great danger in speaking; they will perhaps want to take my life."
"You'll expose yourself to a great deal more by not speaking," said the marquis impatiently, seizing the fire shovel.
"I'm about to do so, monseigneur. I wager you've never seen Touquet's daughter."
"Touquet's daughter. Has he a daughter?"
"Not exactly, monseigneur; she's only a child that he adopted about ten years ago."
"Touquet adopted a child? Hang it! that surprises me."
"I was very sure, monseigneur, that you were ignorant of the circumstance."
"There's something mysterious about it."
"Very extraordinary. No one would guard a girl so closely unless he were keeping her for himself."
"What is this girl like?"
"She's an angel, monseigneur, divinely beautiful, an enchantress; hardly sixteen years of age, with the figure of a nymph, and Touquet spreadsit abroad that she is ugly and ill-made, that there is nothing pleasing about her. He has even ordered me to tell it all about. If I have seen young Blanche it's only because the barber, wishing to have her taught music, was obliged to introduce me into her room, which she never leaves."
"This is all very singular," said the marquis, "and you pique my curiosity."
"Good! I shall have a hundred pistoles," said Chaudoreille to himself, "that's much better than the two golden crowns which the barber promised me, to say nothing of the honor of acting as the Marquis of Villebelle's business man."
"And you say it's not because he is in love with her himself that he hides this young girl," resumed the marquis, after a moment.
"No, monseigneur, for a few days from now he is about to marry her."
"To marry her?"
"Yes, monseigneur, to a young man whom the beautiful Blanche did not know, I am sure; for no one ever went near her except your humble servant. I bet that Touquet has sacrificed her, and that the poor little thing hates her future husband."
Here Chaudoreille said what he did not think, but he imagined it more prudent to present the matter in that aspect.
The marquis reflected for some moments, then he said,—
"Tell me quickly all that you know about the adoption of that young girl."
"Yes, monseigneur. About ten years ago, Touquet, who then had not a sou, took lodgers in addition to his business as a barber and bath-keeper. One evening a gentleman went to his house, with a little girl five or six years old, and requested a bed. Touquet received him. The traveller went out the same evening, leaving his little girl with Touquet, and that night he was murdered in the Rue Saint-Honoré near the Barrière des Sergents."
"Were the murderers discovered," said the marquis, looking attentively at Chaudoreille.
"Oh, no, monseigneur," responded the latter, smiling almost imperceptibly, "but—sometime afterwards Touquet was possessed of enough to buy the house which he had rented."
The marquis made a sudden movement, like that of a man who is about to step on a snake. A long silence succeeded, during which Chaudoreille kept his eyes bent on the ground, not daring to seek to read those of the marquis.
"And it is the daughter of that man whom he adopted," said Villebelle, breaking the silence.
"Yes, monseigneur, it is she."
"What was her father's name?"
"Moranval, at least, so I believe. Nothing was found upon him but an insignificant letter, which gave no information in regard to his family."
"And his daughter is beautiful?"
"As far as I am competent to judge, monseigneur, and if you should see her—"
"Yes, I shall see her."
"Monseigneur, I have the honor to inform you that Touquet has expressly forbidden me to speak of young Blanche and of her coming marriage. In order to be agreeable to your lordship I have sacrificed myself; but the barber is wicked, very wicked. I beg of you, monseigneur, not to tell him that you learned all this from me."
"Be easy about that."
"In any case I beg to be allowed to claim the protection of monseigneur in regard to my duel with the Prince of Cochin-China, which is not a falsehood as monseigneur appears to believe."
The marquis was reflecting deeply; finally he rose, saying to Chaudoreille,—
"Follow me, and not a word of all this. In twenty-four hours you will return here, and if you have not deceived me you will receive the recompense which I have promised you."
Chaudoreille bowed nearly to the ground and followed the marquis. They returned to the banquet hall, where his guests awaited with impatience Villebelle's return.
"Well," said De Chavagnac, as he entered, "was it worth the trouble of leaving the table?"
"I think so," answered the marquis; "but as to that I shall be better able to tell you aftertomorrow. Chaudoreille, go down with Marcel and make him give you some supper before you leave." The latter did not wait for this order to be repeated. He went down to look for Marcel and, already assuming a patronizing air, made the valet serve him with all that he thought best, while saying to his old friend,—
"I am in great favor with your master, treat me well and I can say two words for you. Above all never refuse to play a game of piquet with me, or I'll cause you to lose favor with monseigneur."
Poor Marcel, who understood nothing of all this, allowed his intimate friend to beat him at six games. Finally, day appeared, and Chaudoreille left the house saying,—
"I shall come back this evening at ten o'clock. The marquis has made an appointment with me." Then he ventured into the Faubourg, stopping whenever he saw from afar two men together, and with a mysterious air inquiring of some shopkeepers if they had heard anyone speak of the death of Cochin-China. As nobody understood what he said, he finally persuaded himself that his prince was dead, but that nobody knew who he was, and more tranquil as to the result of the affair he at length ventured to reënter Paris.
After the secret interview of the marquis and Chaudoreille, the four profligates returned to their play; but the party was no longer gay. Villebelle was preoccupied and took little part in the conversation;the vicomte was sleepy; fat Montgéran no longer sang, and Chavagnac was tired of losing. At six o'clock in the morning these gentlemen separated, each one returning to his dwelling in the city and the marquis reëntered his hotel, reflecting on all that Chaudoreille had told him.
"Only two days more and I shall be your husband, my Blanche," said Urbain, pressing the young girl's hands in a tender transport.
"Oh, my dearest, how very happy we shall be, when we no longer have to part, even for a few hours," answered Blanche, smiling at her lover, "how much I shall like living in the country! I shall breathe more freely there in the pure air, I am sure, than in this close room. We shall play and run on the grass, shall we not, dear?"
"Yes, and we will work in our own garden."
"How delightful! We shall have flowers then, and I am so passionately fond of them."
"We shall have some cows also, I hope," said Marguerite.
"Oh, yes, dear nurse, and some pigeons, and rabbits and fowls—it will all be so delightful. It seems to me that when I was a very little child I lived in the country, in a house where they had all those things."
"Poor Blanche! and is that all you remember of your infancy?"
"I still remember a lady who was always with me, who often kissed me; no doubt she was my mother."
"Poor woman!" said Marguerite; "perhaps she is still living; and to think that no one knows. But away with sad thoughts!"
"Then you'll not regret Paris, my dear Blanche," said Urbain.
"Would you wish me to regret it, dear, when you are with me?"
"Those dear children!" said the old servant rising from her chair; "it is Providence which has brought them together, for they are made for one another. But it's nine o'clock, Monsieur Urbain, you must go."
"Nine o'clock already! The time is approaching when we need part no more, but the days seem very long now, because I spend them away from you."
"It's the same with me, dear; it seems to me that evening will never come."
"I haven't seen M. Touquet for some days."
"And you'll not see him this evening," said Marguerite; "he received a letter after dinner. It was no doubt some pressing matter of business, for he left immediately and has not yet returned."
"Good-by, then, dear Blanche."
"Good-by, my dear."
"Two days more. It seems a long time to wait."
"You have managed to live through a fortnight," said Marguerite.
"Yes, I don't know why, but these last few days seem to me as if they would be eternal."
Urbain could not tear himself away from Blanche; his heart was oppressed; the eyes of both the young lovers were filled with tears; the young girl extended her hand to her friend and he pressed it to his heart.
"I don't know what's the matter with me," said Blanche, "but your going makes me sadder than usual."
"What childishness!" said Marguerite; "no one would suppose that you were going to meet within two days. Isn't M. Urbain coming tomorrow evening? Come, come, it's time to go to bed."
The lovers again said good-by, sighing deeply, and Urbain finally followed Marguerite, who shut the street door on him and then went upstairs to Blanche and scolded her for her sadness. But she could not restore her gayety, for the dictates of reason may persuade the mind, but cannot allay the fears of the heart.
Not more than a quarter of an hour after Urbain's departure some one rapped loudly at the street door.
"That's Urbain, no doubt," said Blanche; "he saw that I was sad and has come back to console me."
"That's very improbable," said Marguerite; "it's more likely M. Touquet who has returned. However, I am astonished that he should knock, for I thought he had taken his master key."
"Go and see who it is, dear nurse."
"Yes, yes, mademoiselle; but if it should not be monsieur? It is late—we are alone in the house, and I don't know if I ought to open to any one."
"Do you want me to look out of the window, dear nurse, I shall very soon see if it's Urbain."
"Yes, do so; that seems to me more prudent."
Blanche had already opened the window, and she looked down into the street; the night was dark, but love renders the sight clear, and the young girl soon saw that it was not Urbain.
"Who is there," demanded Marguerite, thrusting out her head.
A deep voice answered, "I come from Master Touquet, he has charged me with a commission to his adopted daughter, Mademoiselle Blanche."
"How very singular," said Marguerite to Blanche. "What! monsieur, who has hidden you from everybody's sight, sends a stranger to us at this hour?"
"But, dear nurse, since he has sent him, it is necessary to open to this gentleman. Perhaps something has happened to my protector."
"Is the man alone, my child?"
"Yes, dear nurse, I see nobody but him."
"Why don't you open the door," cried the man in the street, "my message is urgent."
"Wait one moment, somebody will be there.—Remain here, my child."
Marguerite went down, holding her lamp in her hand. She was not reassured, but opened the door, and a man wrapped in a large cloak, his head covered with a plumed hat, appeared before her.
"You've been very slow, my good woman," said he, smiling, "however, I'll indemnify you for the trouble I have caused you."
While saying these words, he slipped several pieces of gold into Marguerite's hand. The old woman did not know if she ought to accept them, but said to herself, "His manners are not those of a robber."
The stranger quickly entered the alleyway and the old woman as she looked at him said to herself, "This is not the first time that I have seen that figure, and I remember his voice. Yes, I believe that that's the friend my master was waiting for so late some time ago."
Marguerite was not deceived, it was in fact the marquis who had introduced himself into the house, having first sent the barber a letter in which he gave him a rendezvous outside, and ordered him to wait there until ten o'clock in the evening.
"Monsieur has been here before, I believe,"said Marguerite, reassured on recognizing one whom she believed to be her master's friend.
"Yes, yes, my good mother, I have often been here; but hasten to lead me to your young mistress. It is absolutely necessary that I should see her."
"Is my master ill?—has he been involved in some quarrel? Many accidents happen in this city."
"Don't be uneasy, there's nothing of that kind."
The marquis followed Marguerite, who led him to Blanche's chamber, and opened the door, saying,—
"Mademoiselle, here is a gentleman who brings you a message from M. Touquet."
Blanche took some steps forward to meet the stranger; the marquis had entered abruptly, but on perceiving the young girl he paused, and for some moments remained motionless, occupied in contemplating her. There was something in the aspect of the marquis which compelled respect, and while at that moment there was nothing severe in his expression, the astonishment and admiration depicted on his features lent additional animation to his naturally proud and noble look. Blanche involuntarily lowered her eyes, for she could not meet the fixed gaze with which the marquis seemed to examine her person, and Marguerite dared not utter a word, because the stranger intimidated her also.
"This is truly beyond all that I could have imagined," said the marquis, as if he were speaking to himself.
"Monsieur," said Blanche, with embarrassment, "my nurse informs me that you have something to say to me, some message from my benefactor; has anything happened to him, monsieur?"
"No, lovely Blanche, no; your benefactor, since you deign to so call him, has run into no danger, but I would brave a thousand if by that means I could make you take the same interest in me."
Blanche glanced timidly at the marquis as if she were waiting for him to explain himself better; the latter, in hastening to lead her to a chair, dropped a corner of his mantle, allowing his rich attire to be seen, and Marguerite said under her breath to the young girl,—
"Mon Dieu, my child, look at those precious stones, that lace, this is at least a great nobleman."
"Oh, yes," answered Blanche, in the same tone, "it is superb, but I like Urbain's costume much better."
Villebelle, who had not taken his eyes from Blanche, remained silent.
"Why did you come here then," said she, seeing that he was contented with looking at her.
"Yes," said Marguerite, who sought to resume her ordinary assurance, "for you must have come for something."
"And I have found more than I had believed possible," said the marquis, smiling. Then, without appearing to notice the embarrassment which his presence caused, he approached Blanche, took her hand, and cried,—
"You in this retreat! you hidden from all eyes!—when you should be the ornament of the world and receive the homage of the whole universe."
"Forgive me, monsieur," said Blanche, "but I don't understand you."
"I don't understand you either," murmured Marguerite, fixing her small eyes on the marquis.
"Better still, adorable girl," responded the marquis to Blanche, without paying the least attention to Marguerite. "They did not deceive me, this is innocence itself, the most perfect ingenuousness united to the most seductive grace and beauty."
"But, monsieur, was that what M. Touquet told you to say to me?"
"No, lovely child, not at all," said the marquis laughing, and still retaining Blanche's hand, which she vainly tried to disengage.
"It's necessary however that you should explain yourself," said Marguerite in a dry tone, "you have been here for a quarter of an hour and you have not yet said why you came. It is very late and we are accustomed to go to bed early."
"Oh, well, old woman, go to your bed; I will remain with this lovely child until the return of Master Touquet."
"Do you think I will leave you alone with my dear Blanche," cried Marguerite, rendered still more suspicious by the word old, "no, monsieur, no, I take better care of her than that. Your laces, your jewelry, and your fine appearance do not inspire me with much confidence. Wait! take back your pieces of gold, I don't wish them, for I begin to believe that your intentions are not good, and Marguerite will never second the plans of a seducer, whether duke or prince, even should he offer her the mines of Peru."
The marquis replied only by shrugging his shoulders without turning towards Marguerite, then he seated himself near Blanche and took off his hat and mantle, establishing himself in the room like one who is not disposed to go.
Blanche was trembling, confused; she looked at Marguerite as if to implore her not to abandon her, and the old woman, whom the conduct of the stranger had filled with new dread, forced herself to appear calm, saying in a voice whose faltering accents betrayed her fright,—
"Be easy, my child, I am here, I will not leave you, and while monsieur does not appear to listen to me it is, above all, necessary that he should tell us what he came here to do."
"I have told you, my good woman, I am waitingfor Touquet. I must speak to him this evening; that is very important."
"And just now you said that it was he who had sent you; you were deceiving us, then?"
"Perhaps," said the marquis, laughing.
"Very well, monsieur, if you are really waiting for my master, come into the lower room. I will give you a light, and you will find a fire there."
"No, indeed, my good woman, I like this much better than your lower room; the society of this charming child will make the time seem very short, and surely, adorable Blanche, you will not be cruel enough to refuse to keep me company."
"No, monsieur, if you desire it, if it will amuse you, I must wish it also."
"Yes," said Marguerite, "it seems that it is necessary that we should do monsieur's will, but patience—soon I hope—"
At this moment somebody violently shut the street door. Blanche started joyfully, and Marguerite cried, with a triumphant air,—
"Ah! here is my master! We shall now see whether anyone can establish himself here in spite of us."