"The young girl knows everything, evidently," said the barber to himself.
"For the rest," resumed the marquis, "she doesn't seem to love you much, my dear Touquet; you are in her black books. She says that you are a master knave."
"What, monseigneur?"
"She refuses my presents; she wishes nothing but my love, it's truly superb. Despite that, I am living with her; I did not care for her to remain in the little house, that would have embarrassed me. I believe upon my honor that I love her a little. But I see two very pretty women going into the jewelry shop down there. I must go there in order to see them nearer." While saying these words the marquis departed hastily, and the barber returned home, thinking of Julia and vexed that he had not learned from the marquis where he had lodged his young Italian.
Chaudoreille had left Touquet's house in a very bad humor. An empty stomach is usually accompanied by a melancholy spirit. The Gascon chevalierwhile making philosophical reflections on the egotism of man, the caprice of fortune and the manner in which one could win at piquet while slipping the aces to the bottom of the pack, arrived at the Saint Germain fair. Beside the different spectacles assembled in this place to attract idlers, strangers and young gentlemen came there to play different games of cards, of dice, ninepins and skittles.
Chaudoreille walked among the groups formed around these games and looked with a hungry eye at the pastry exposed before the booths. He stopped near the eating places trying to breathe at least the odor of the cooking, but such delights have no power to fill an empty stomach.
"By jingo!" said Chaudoreille all of a sudden, pulling his hat down over his eyes and pulling his ruff up about his neck. "It shall not be said that I did not dine. A man of genius always has resources, and his wit should furnish him that which his purse refuses."
Immediately the chevalier, walking with a determined step, threaded the crowd and turned towards the neighborhood where some young provincials were playing skittles and drinking white wine. Chaudoreille looked at them out of the corner of his eye then, seizing his moment, he crossed the place where they were playing, in such a manner as to receive a blow upon the legs from a ball which one of the players was rolling.
"Look out! look out!" cried the young man who had hurled the ball; but Chaudoreille pretended not to hear and stopped only when he was struck. He made a horrible grimace on receiving the blow, and fell, murmuring,—
"Zounds! my dinner will cost me dearly."
The two players came up to him and picked him up, offering their excuses although they were not in the wrong. But Chaudoreille was so pale and appeared to suffer so deeply and made such pitiful contortions that the two young men were much moved; first they offered him a glass of wine to restore him. The wounded man accepted and drank three glasses, one after the other; he could not yet walk and they proposed to him to go into the wine merchant's, who would give him something to eat. He did not allow them to repeat the invitation; the two provincials ordered dinner and invited Chaudoreille to be of their party. Our man was therefore installed at a table with them, ate and drank for four, gave them some lessons in skittles, and perceiving that they were novices of an obliging humor, and not quarrelsome, he rose at the conclusion of the dessert and demanded a pistole from them to indemnify him for the stroke of the ball which they had given him.
The young men looked at him in surprise, perceiving that they had been duped and that they had entered into conversation with a gentleman ofvery little delicacy. Chaudoreille held himself very upright, his left hand on his hip and his right hand caressing the handle of his sword, rolling his eyes like the damned, while passing the end of his tongue over his mustaches. The poor provincials, not caring to have a duel with a man who appeared to have decided to split everyone in two if they did not satisfy him, hastened to present the sum demanded by their amiable guest. The latter received it with a gracious smile, then, with the tone of a man delighted with himself, he bowed to them, saying,—
"Good-by, my young friends, try to remember the strokes which I have taught you."
While saying these words the chevalier quickly departed, no longer remembering the blow which he had received. With a full stomach and a pistole in his belt, Chaudoreille was very well pleased with his day's work. The white wine which he had drunk had aroused his enterprise and inclined him to undertake some adventures. He felt especially carried towards love, but if it is the custom of Bacchus to render one enterprising, the odor of wine and the speech of a tipsy man are not auxiliaries favorable to love. It had been dark for some time when Chaudoreille left the fair, ogling all the women whom he met and murmuring between his teeth,—
"By jingo! I must make a conquest this evening. I am beginning to get tired of my portress,who is forty-five years old and has one leg shorter than the other; it is true that she overwhelms me with kindnesses. She bleaches my linen and repairs my ruff; but what does a little infidelity by the way matter, my Venus will know nothing about it."
Chaudoreille had reached the Rue Montmartre when he saw a woman pass by him, dressed like a country woman. She was alone; the chevalier ogled her and turned back to follow her. The carriage of the dame had something very decided about it, which was pleasing to Chaudoreille; but she walked with such long steps that he was obliged to run to follow her. On reaching her side the gallant tried to enter into conversation with her by making one of those pretty propositions in use among those gentlemen who make love in the streets, and seek their conquests by lantern light. She did not answer Chaudoreille, but walked faster. Our man was not at all abashed; he continued to trot by her side doing the amiable, putting his feet in the streams, which he did not see, and splashing his beauty while whispering sweet nothings. However, the person whom he was following had reached the Rue Saint-Honoré, a short distance from the Rue des Bourdonnais. Chaudoreille, receiving no answer, and seeing that nothing was to be gained by his compliments, decided to attempt strong measures. He approached the country woman and pinched her sharply, andreceived in return a slap in the face, so well applied that it sent him up against a stone post four feet away.
Urbain was going according to his custom to visit Blanche, when on the way he made the conquest of Chaudoreille. After disengaging himself in so heroic a manner the young bachelor ran up to the barber's house, entering the passageway, where some one came immediately to open to him, and reached Blanche, still much agitated by the adventure.
"What is the matter with you, my dear Ursule?" said Blanche. "You seem excited."
"Just now in the street two men fighting frightened me."
"Poor child, but didn't you have your talisman?"
"Oh, yes, but in spite of that I was afraid."
"I can well believe it," said Blanche, "to see men fighting must be very unpleasant. Come, sit down, my dear friend."
Blanche's sweet words soon made Urbain forget his adventure. According to his promise, it was necessary that he should recount something singular which had happened to one of his cousins. He had promised to recite it the evening before, and Marguerite was in a hurry to hear it. The old servant needed distraction; she had had a frightful dream in the night and in the morning when she awakened she had seen a bat against herwindow, all of which was very disquieting, and since the morning she had not been easy.
Urbain commenced his story. He was interrupted by the rain, which fell in torrents, and which the wind blew violently against the panes.
"What horrible weather!" said Blanche.
"Yes," said Marguerite, drawing closer to the fire at each gust of wind, "this night will be difficult to pass. I do not know, but it seems to me that something extraordinary is going to happen; that bat that I saw—and in my dream all those people were riding to the sabbath on broomsticks. That surely indicates something."
"Certainly," said Urbain, and the old woman, to reassure herself, rubbed the talisman between her hands.
Urbain's story had lasted for a long time. Marguerite, however, had said nothing, as she was not anxious to go upstairs to bed. Blanche, who never saw Ursule leave without regret, had taken care not to observe that it was getting late and the young bachelor was not the one who would first think of breaking up the party. However, the clock struck, and they counted eleven strokes.
"O heavens! eleven o'clock," cried Blanche.
"O my God!" said Marguerite, trembling, "in an hour it will be midnight."
"But, dear nurse, Ursule cannot go so late and besides by the time she gets there—Wait! do you hear the rain, it is falling in torrents. Howcan she go to the Porte Saint-Antoine in such weather as this? It's impossible."
"It is certain," said Urbain, "that the roads are very bad. There are no lanterns and often one puts one's foot in holes that one does not see."
"Poor Ursule, her talisman will not prevent her from being drenched, will it?"
"It is true it doesn't guarantee one against the effect of rain," responded Urbain, sighing.
"What is to be done?" said Marguerite.
"It's very easy, my dear nurse, Ursule can sleep with me, and tomorrow, as soon as day breaks, she can go without making a noise. Will you, Ursule?"
Urbain was for some moments unable to answer, for these words of Blanche, "She can sleep with me," had so disturbed his whole being that he did not know what he was doing. At last he murmured in a changed voice,—
"If you think well of it, mademoiselle, I think well of it also."
"Most certainly I wish it, do I not dear nurse? We could not let her go out at this time of night. Why don't you answer?"
Marguerite saw no harm in the country woman's sleeping with Blanche, but rather hoped to gain an advantage thereby in keeping all night the precious relic; and, as her mind had been struck with the idea that some misfortune was going to happen to her, the possession of the little scrap ofcloth seemed to her like a benefaction of Providence.
"It's true," said she, at last, "that the weather is frightful, and if Ursule will not forget to go away before daybreak—"
"Oh, yes, dear nurse, and if she is asleep I promise you I will wake her."
"Very well, then I'm willing that she should remain."
"Oh, how delightful," said Blanche, "we shall sleep together, Ursule. I have never slept with anyone. How we shall chat and laugh."
"No, indeed, no, indeed," said Marguerite; "on the contrary you must go to sleep without making any noise that monsieur could hear."
"Very well, we will go to sleep, dear nurse," responded the amiable child, and she added in Urbain's ear, "We will talk very low."
"Well, in that case I will go to bed," said the old servant hesitating to return that which she held in her hand. "My dear Ursule," she said at last, "you have nothing to fear here. If you would permit me to keep your talisman for this night only, because I sleep in a room that is not safe and I can't get that bat out of my head."
"Oh, keep it, Mademoiselle Marguerite," said Urbain, "may it do you much pleasure."
"Yes, keep it, dear nurse," said Blanche, "besides we have mine, that will be enough for us, will it not, Ursule?"
"But—yes, I believe so, mademoiselle."
Marguerite, delighted to possess a safeguard for the whole night, lighted her lamp and turned towards the door, saying,—
"Good night, my children, good night. Mercy, what a gust of wind. Ursule, you must go tomorrow before daybreak."
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Go to bed as quickly as possible, and extinguish your light, that no one may suspect anything."
"Be easy, dear nurse," said Blanche, "we'll soon put it out."
Marguerite took her lamp and left the room. Blanche closed the door after her.
"Shut your door tight," said the old woman.
"Yes, dear nurse," answered the young girl, and she drew the bolt.
WHENone loves ardently, and when one sees that moment approach which heralds the consummation of his dearest wishes, when one is for the first time entirely alone with the beloved of his heart, one experiences an uneasiness, an agitation which one cannot quell, and which one cannot reasonably account for; it is almost as though one feared that one's being would be unable to support the realization of this exquisite happiness, as though one doubted whether hopes so sweet, and which have hitherto been so unattainable, can ever be realized.
It is, above all, when one loves with the candor and good faith of early youth that one yields himself tremblingly to the first interview which sounds a knell to all the cherished past. Why, at the very moment of happiness, should one sigh and fear? Poor mortals, it seems that accustomed to sorrow, we shall always be astonished at being happy. In truth, this astonishment passes with age and experience; then these delightful rendezvous do not cause us the same emotion; we regard them only as distractions, and laugh at the uneasiness, theembarrassment, which accompanied our first intercourse with the ladies. Ungrateful that we are, we mock at the source of our happiness, at those sweet sensations which time has dissipated, with all the other illusions of our youth, after the manner of the fox in the fable.
"How awkward we were at eighteen years of age," we say; "how embarrassed and constrained in a tête-à-tête, trembling like a leaf as we went to the rendezvous; what a difference now, we go to them singing, we reach that which we desire more quickly, we are a hundred times more pleasing." Yes, but our hair is becoming grizzly, our figure has become rotund, and some rather deep lines are imprinted at the corners of our eyes.
If the approach of long-desired happiness causes in love an inexplicable trouble, what should be the state of one who, all of a sudden, without having had even the slightest hope, finds himself in a position where he may obtain the greatest heights. Such was Urbain's situation; he loved Blanche with the delirium, the intoxication, which one experiences at nineteen for his first love, and he found himself at eleven o'clock at night alone with the object of his tenderness in a little chamber, separated from all neighbors, with the lovely child drawing the bolt and beginning to undress herself to go to bed. What lover at such a moment could preserve his reason? Poor Blanche, I tremble for thee! In truth thou hast a talisman, but I haveno great faith in its power; above all, if you allow yourself to remain with Urbain in the situation in which he is placed. The young bachelor tremblingly paused, sighing and saying not a word he remained standing in a corner of the room, while Blanche prepared the bed, coming and going, jumping and laughing, and finally began to undress herself.
"O heavens!" said Urbain to himself, trembling, coloring, and lowering his eyes, but raising them from time to time to look at Blanche. "O my God! what must I do. This is not the moment to declare myself, to make known to her who I am, to implore her pardon, and to confess my love to her; but, yes, it is indeed the moment. However, if that confession should frighten her, if her cries should bring somebody here, or if she should drive me from the room. That will be such a pity when I can, by deceiving her a little longer, share her bed, and—oh, no! that would be very ill done! But how pretty she is! great God, how charming! Ah, I will not look at her." And the rascal looked at her all the time, slyly, it is true, but the more he looked at her the more he felt his resolution imperilled; for each moment Blanche took off some part of her costume, already only a little petticoat covered her seductive form, and the straight corset which had imprisoned her pretty figure was laid upon the bed.
Blanche stopped; however, it was time. Shelooked at Urbain, who was still standing there, motionless and silent.
"Come, Ursule, why don't you undress yourself?" said the young girl, approaching the bachelor.
"Because, mademoiselle, I do not know why, I'm afraid."
"What? you're afraid? Are you afraid with me, Ursule?"
"Afraid, mademoiselle? Yes, I feel that I am very much afraid."
"Why, that's just like Marguerite, and I, who am much younger, am a great deal braver. It is true that the wind blows very hard, but it won't carry us away from here. How she trembles! Why Ursule, how can you go every evening alone as far as the Porte Saint-Antoine and yet you tremble with me in my chamber."
"Ah, that's very different."
"Is it because Marguerite has carried off your talisman? But we still have mine. Wait, do you see when I take off my corsets I fasten it here, inside my chemise, for dear nurse says that it is necessary above all to have it during the night, and that it is when they are in bed that the sorcerers come to torment young girls. Is that true, Ursule? Do they sometimes try to torment you in the night?"
"Yes—no, mademoiselle." Urbain did not know what he was saying, for his eyes, despitehimself, turned towards the perfidious talisman which seemed to be there, like the serpent on the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, to make him succumb to temptation.
"You are shivering with cold, Ursule, we shall be much better in bed; we shall be warmer. Do you want me to help you undress? How you are sighing. Is it because you are in some trouble? You must tell me all about it. It is so pleasant to have some friend, to be able to tell her all that one thinks. Let's see; first, we'll take off this cap which hides all your face. I am sure that mine will become you better, let us try it. But sit down first; you're so big, my dear Ursule, that I can't reach your head."
The young bachelor allowed himself to be led to a chair. He seated himself, and the lovely child, standing before him, began to loosen the pins which held his cap and his big brown curls. Urbain allowed Blanche to take off his headdress. He had decided to make himself known, besides sooner or later she must know the truth, and in order not to frighten her it was better that the metamorphosis should be gently made. The last pin was taken out, Blanche lifted the cap and the young man's brown curls escaped on all sides and fell on his forehead and on his neck. The young girl uttered an exclamation and stopped. Urbain, fearing already that she was about to fly, lightly surrounded her waist with his two arms.
"How funny that is," said Blanche, at last, looking at Urbain with astonishment. "Your hair isn't done at all like that of all the women I ever saw. Is it the fashion to wear it like that in Verberie?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Do you know, Ursule, that the more I look at you the more you look like a man to me."
"Somebody told me that before, mademoiselle."
"But it's really astonishing. Your hair is dressed exactly like that of the men I see passing in the street."
"Do you dislike it so?"
"No—however—it produces a very singular effect on me."
"If I were a man would you be angry?"
"Mercy, yes, I believe I should, for then you couldn't be my friend any more. I couldn't love you as a sister."
"But Blanche, if I were a man I should be your lover. A most tender, a most faithful lover. I could love you to distraction, and love is much stronger than friendship. Then, if you will share my affection, could there exist a mortal happier than I? Dear Blanche, if I could only possess your heart. Is there anything more precious on earth? To obtain it, I would give the last drop of my blood."
While speaking Urbain, engrossed by his love, no longer sought to disguise his voice. His armsstill surrounded Blanche and the young girl, greatly moved, dropped on the knees of the young bachelor, saying in a feeble voice,—
"Mon Dieu, Ursule, don't say such things to me. They make me uneasy. I don't know what's the matter with me. I feel that I wish to cry. What use is it to tell such falsehoods, to speak of love and of loving? Ursule, somebody has told me that it is very wrong to talk about those things. O heavens! since you haven't your cap on, I dare not look at you."
"Blanche! dear Blanche!"
"Well now, you're still pretending to be a man, and it frightens me. Come, Ursule, be a woman again, I beg of you."
"No, Blanche, I will not deceive you further. It is a man—it's—the most tender lover who is near you."
By a sudden movement Blanche rose and escaped to the other end of the room; Urbain did not seek to restrain her, but fell on his knees and held out his hands towards her, seeming to await her forgiveness, while the young girl looked at him with eyes which expressed more surprise than fear.
"What? are you really a man?" said the amiable child, after a moment.
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Are you quite sure of it?"
"Oh, yes."
"O good heavens! don't come near me, I beg of you."
"Ah, don't tremble so, I am at your feet, the most submissive of lovers."
"Of lovers! I don't know what a lover is."
"It was that I might be successful in seeing you, that I might make known to you all the love that I feel for you, that I have dared to take this disguise. Without that how should I have managed to see you when they keep you in prison in this room?"
"I never go out of it. I should not listen to you perhaps. How did you come to love me?"
"It was through the window that I first saw you. Some singers were standing under the casement. You seemed to listen to them with great pleasure. That night I returned and sang under your window the romance which you like so much."
"That was you?" cried Blanche, joyfully; and already forgetting her first fear she looked at Urbain with more assurance. Her pure and innocent mind could not conceive all the danger of her situation. A more experienced young girl would have cried and have shown much anger, but Blanche, whose soul was a stranger to all dissimulation evinced the same confidence in the young bachelor as she did in Ursule, because she had no other thought which could make her blush. "Why! was that you?" she repeated,"It isn't astonishing that I found such a resemblance in your voice, but it wasn't good of you, monsieur, to lie to us like that. I was quite sure that you were Ursule and I loved you like a dear friend, and can I continue to love you like that now?"
"And what should prevent you, if I have not displeased you?"
"Oh, no! you haven't displeased me. I even think that you look better without a cap, but it's not allowable to love a man."
"Why not, when that man wishes to become your husband?"
"Marguerite says that all men are deceivers and then, O heavens! the devil also takes the form of a man, and presented himself thus to the sorcerer of Verberie. O mon Dieu, if you should be the devil!"
"O Blanche, what a thought!"
"But no, you look too sweet—you're not all black, and you haven't any claws."
"My name is Urbain Dorgeville. My parents were honest and respected. I am an orphan. I haven't much fortune, but when one loves truly is it necessary to have much in order to be happy? Dear Blanche, will you forgive me?"
"He calls me his dear Blanche, how funny that is! And if I don't forgive you, what will happen?"
"You will reduce me to despair and nothing will remain for me but to die."
"Oh, I don't wish that you should die," cried the amiable child, "and I will forgive you, for I should be very vexed if I caused you any grief."
"Can it be," said Urbain, rising and running towards Blanche. The young girl made a movement of fear, then, recovering herself, she smiled, and signed to Urbain to seat himself near her. The happy bachelor placed his chair close up to that of Blanche and very gently took one of her hands, which the ingenuous child allowed him to retain.
"You forgive me for loving you, then?" said he, looking at her tenderly.
"Of course, I'm obliged to, since you say that it will make you die if I forbid you to."
"And you, also, will love me?"
"Oh, I don't know. I loved Ursule very much, however, but you—it wouldn't be the same thing, would it?"
"It would be much sweeter."
"Do you think so?"
"I am sure of it, by what I experience at this moment."
"You are very happy now, then?"
"Yes, very happy; for you are no longer afraid of me, are you?"
"No, I am not afraid of you, but why do you hold my hand like that?"
"I should like to press it always, to hold it incessantly against my heart."
"And is that yet another proof of love?"
"Yes, Blanche, but if it displeases you I will not keep this dear hand."
"Oh, that doesn't displease me, but yours is burning. It makes mine warm. And why are you trembling? Is it love that makes you like that?"
"Yes, it burns me, it consumes me."
"Oh, it must be very unpleasant to love like that."
The young bachelor, to solace, no doubt, the malady which devoured him, carried Blanche's hand to his lips and covered it with kisses. The young girl allowed him to do so, although the passionate glances of her lover were beginning to produce a strange feeling of uneasiness in her heart. Her breast rose more frequently, she sighed, and said in a faint voice,—
"Urbain—Ursule; mon Dieu, I don't know what's the matter with me, but I am afraid I've caught your malady. Wait! see how I am trembling now! Oh, my talisman, my talisman!"
Poor Blanche, what will you do? While promising to himself to respect the virtue of the young girl, Urbain yielded to the ardor which inflamed him, and pressed Blanche tightly in his arms, begging her not to tremble; Blanche, astonished, did not repulse him, for excessive innocence has also its dangers, but at this moment somebody knocked violently at the door of the room and the barber's stern voice uttered these words,—
"Open the door, Blanche! I command you to open the door!"
The young bachelor seemed petrified, and Blanche remained motionless in Urbain's arms, which still enfolded her.
THEslap in the face which had been so vigorously applied to the impertinent Chevalier Chaudoreille by Urbain in his character of a good-looking young woman, though richly deserved, had been so unexpected, had so thoroughly stunned the poor little specimen of humanity that he had remained for some moments supported by the stone post against which he had been flung by the force of the blow, entirely unconscious as to his whereabouts.
But as his wits returned to their normal capacity, and he fully realized the indignity to which he had been subjected in being overcome by a blow from a woman, at a moment, too, when he thought his success certain, the little fellow drew himself up with fierce determination, and, as he rubbed his still tingling and burning cheek, he exclaimed,—
"Oh, hang it all! Is it likely I will submit to such treatment. I shall know how to revenge myself, young Amazon, little as you may think so at the present moment. Never shall it be said that Venus withdrew from the transports ofMars; that slap in the face shall prove costly to her virtue."
Immediately he followed on the steps of his Venus, who was dashing along, jumping over the streams which came in her way. Chaudoreille's sharp little eyes recognized the person whom he was pursuing just at the moment when Urbain reached the barber's house and entered the alleyway, shutting the door immediately after him.
Chaudoreille knew Touquet's house so well that his distance from the pretended country woman could not prevent him from recognizing her place of retreat, and it was with extreme surprise that our poursuivant d'amour perceived that his beauty had taken refuge in the house of his friend, Touquet. He approached the alley, presuming that she might inadvertently have left the door open, but it was closed; besides, the person he had followed had not hesitated for an instant in the choice of a hiding-place, all of which seemed to indicate that the barber's house had been her destination. This incident gave rise to many conjectures on Chaudoreille's part, awakening his lively curiosity; he decided not to leave the house until the departure of the one whom he had seen enter, and walked up and down from the Rue des Mauvaises-Paroles to the Rue Saint-Honoré.
Time passed and Chaudoreille vainly watched, with his eyes directed to the house, noticing that there was still a light in Blanche's room. Soon therain began to fall and the wind blew violently; but the chevalier, though inadequately protected by a penthouse, under which he had taken refuge, did not dream of leaving the place, and wrapped himself as well as he could in his little cloak, saying,—
"She must come out sooner or later. What the deuce! can she be Touquet's mistress? Oh, hang it! I must seek the clue to this enigma. The light is still burning in my beautiful scholar's room. Hem! I have certain suspicions. That devil of a slap in the face was given to me with so much force that it makes me believe that my Venus may perhaps have a beard. Patience, she will either come out or I shall go in!"
Poor lovers! While you were enjoying so much the pleasure of being together, while you were beginning to understand each other and to exchange loving glances, in which Blanche no longer showed any timidity, you had no suspicion that at a short distance from you a cursed man had his eyes directed to your window and proposed to disturb your happiness; and all because the success of his shuffling, the white wine, and Urbain's fictitious charms had mounted to Chaudoreille's head.
Eleven o'clock had long since struck. We know what had taken place upstairs; now let us see what had taken place below.
Chaudoreille, unable longer to contain himself,decided to knock at the barber's door. The lovers had not heard him, because at that moment Urbain was kissing Blanche's soft little hand, and in so agreeable an occupation one is not liable to notice what takes place in the street. Marguerite was snoring in a manner which did not indicate fear; in truth, she had gone to sleep with the precious talisman at her side.
But the barber was not asleep; whether it was because of the storm or the wind, or from some other cause, Master Touquet, who rarely slept peacefully in his bed at night, had not yet gone up to his room, and was pacing slowly in his back shop, ever gloomy and preoccupied, and murmuring at intervals,—
"Cursed night! Why do these shadows incessantly disturb my rest? As soon as daylight disappears my torments recommence. I have gold—yes, I have gold, but I no longer enjoy my natural rest. I shall sell this house; I shall go far from here, very far. I shall return to my country, my father, if he is still living. He will be very much astonished at the change in my fortune. He cursed me when I left the country—but I will ask him to forgive me; yes, he will surely forgive my early faults when he sees that I am rich and respected. I shall not tell him all; no, I shall not tell him how I acquired this fortune."
A bitter smile flickered on the barber's palelips and he returned to his reflections, from which he was drawn by the knocking at the door.
Touquet started with fright, but immediately appearing ashamed of himself, took his lamp and went quickly towards the door. He did not expect anyone so late, but supposed that the Marquis de Villebelle, finding himself in that neighborhood, was perhaps seeking him in regard to some new love intrigue.
As he drew near the door he recognized Chaudoreille's voice, calling,—
"Open the door, Touquet. Open the door. Don't be afraid, it's me, but it is absolutely necessary that I should speak to you."
The barber opened the door; and Chaudoreille, whose soaked garments were glued to his lean figure, which appeared even more attenuated than usual, being all shrivelled up under his cloak, came into the alley huddled together, as if he were afraid that his head would hit the little lattice-work over the door.
"What the devil has brought you here at this hour?" said the barber, shutting his door, while the Gascon looked towards the end of the alley as though he were trying to see someone. Finally, he put his finger on his mouth and said in a low voice,—
"Are you alone just now?"
"Yes, certainly."
"You have no visitors?"
"Why, no, nobody, I tell you."
"Then it is urgent that I should speak with you."
The barber returned into the lower room, and Chaudoreille followed him, walking on his tiptoes and turning to the right and left, as though he were looking for someone.
"Come, what have you got to say?" said Touquet. "What means this visit, so near midnight? Did you think that I should be inclined to sleep you? Go. There are still gambling dens open in Paris where you can find a bed, but my house shall not serve as a shelter for nighthawks."
Chaudoreille, without appearing in the least disconcerted, listened to Touquet, shaking his hat meanwhile, and wringing his mantle; he smiled with a mischievous air as he listened to the barber's last words, and answered,—
"Your house! By jingo, you make a good deal of fuss about your house. We shall see presently whether you receive any suspicious persons."
"What do you mean by that?" cried Touquet, angrily.
"Hush! Don't make so much noise, I beg of you. Don't wake the cat up, she is asleep."
"Chaudoreille, I'm losing patience. Say what you want, or I'll be the death of you."
"Well, what the deuce! I came to do you a service, and it seems to me that that shouldn't make you angry. Listen now, but I beg of youdon't lose your temper, for that will make me break the thread of my discourse."
The barber restrained himself as well as he could, and Chaudoreille, after passing his cuff over the edge of his hat to give it a lustre, commenced his story in a low voice,—
"I was going this morning to Saint-Germain's fair and found myself without money, something which very often happens with me. I had eaten nothing since yesterday."
"You have eaten and drunk since, I'll answer for it."
"Yes, certainly, thanks to my genius. I was making some rather sad reflections on the instability of my luck at piquet, the treacherous chances of lansquenet and the lack of solidity in gambling—"
"I should like to make you reflect at this minute on the strength of a good stick."
"Hush, don't interrupt me. I perceived at the fair two young men, youths, you know; some of those faces which seem to say, 'Who will come and do me?' those faces without mischief which are a veritable good fortune for men of parts. The poor little fellows were playing at skittles."
"Come to the point. You are abusing my patience."
"This all leads up to the matter which regards you. I approached the innocents and showed them a new stroke which they did not know, I'llanswer for it. In short, we dined together, and I only took a pistole from them for the lesson, which was very reasonable, but if they had refused me I would have spitted them both like sparrows. Don't stamp your foot, I'm nearing the end. I was returning gayly, according to my habit, when I met a country woman in the street who seemed to me agreeable, although I saw little of her. Her carriage was free and unconstrained, she was big and strong; I was very much taken by her. I caught up to her and I said some charming things to her. Would you believe it? not a word in response; I repeated them, still no answer; I approached her and pinched her, and, my dear fellow, I received a most vigorous slap in the face."
"Well, hang it! she did well. Finish your chatter if you don't wish to receive a second."
"Stunned for an instant, I soon recovered my wits. I pursued the traitress. I saw her enter—where do you suppose?—your house."
"She came into my house? It is impossible; you are deceived."
"No, by all the devils! I know your dwelling well enough. She came in by the alleyway and shut the door immediately."
"What time was it then?"
"About seven o'clock. And I can answer for it that she didn't come out, for I haven't stirred from the front of the house."
"What, wretch, that woman has been so long in my house, and you only now come to tell me?"
"What do you expect? I didn't know what to do; between you and I, I thought the dame came to see you, but seeing that there was still a light in my scholar's room, I thought—"
"A light in Blanche's room?"
"Why, yes, by jingo! There's one there at this moment, from which I concluded—"
The barber hastily arose, lit a second lamp, took his sword and directed his steps towards the staircase at the back, saying to Chaudoreille,—
"Remain here and wait for me."
"Why, don't you want me to come with you?"
"Remain, here, I tell you, but if you have deceived me, tremble; your chastisement shall be proportioned to my anger."
"May the devil fly away with him," said Chaudoreille, ensconcing himself in a corner of the room. "I came to render him a service and he's going to flog me if he doesn't find the guilty person. That slap in the face may be followed by something still more cruel."
Touquet ran rapidly up the stairs to Blanche's room; he knocked, and ordered the young girl to open the door; we have seen the effect which these unexpected words produced on the young couple within the chamber.
Urbain remained motionless, his arms still embracingthe young girl, who was only half dressed. In a second all the suspicions which the situation would give rise to, in the mind of the person who had discovered them, flashed across him. Blanche, still innocent and pure, though her virtue had been endangered, Blanche would be adjudged guilty, and he was the cause of it. How could he prevent it? All these thoughts, rapid as lightning, transpired during the time which elapsed before the barber knocked for the second time, and loudly reiterated in a threatening voice the order which he had given. Urbain glanced at the chimney, seeing only that way of escaping from sight. He was about to run to it when Blanche stopped him. She had already recovered from her first fright, and said to him, with a calmness which astonished him,—
"Where are you going?"
"To hide myself."
"No, no, it is unnecessary for you to hide. Why not tell the whole truth?"
"O Blanche, if anyone finds me with you—at night?"
"Well, what of it? We have done nothing wrong. It is much better to confess everything at once than to lie about it," and the lovely child ran to the door, drew the bolt and opened to the barber. The latter darted into the room. His first looks were bent on Urbain, who was standing by the hearth. Touquet only looked at him for amoment, for he had instantly recognized the young bachelor, and drawing his sword he rushed upon him, crying,—
"Scoundrel! You shall pay with your life for your temerity."
Urbain remained motionless, appearing to brave Touquet's fury, but seeing the homicidal weapon flash, Blanche cried out, and, quick as the barber, ran and placed herself before Urbain, whom she covered with her body; then, lifting her hands towards Touquet, she cried with an accent which came from her heart,—
"O monsieur, he has done nothing wrong."
The barber's weapon nearly grazed Blanche's bosom, but the young girl's accents were so touching, her sweet features wore an expression so noble, that the barber himself could not resist her. His anger seemed vanquished. He dropped his sword, and said in a less gloomy voice,—
"This man has outraged you, and you don't wish me to avenge you? You ask me to pardon him? Very well, I shall not strike."
"What?" said Blanche, surprised. "What, monsieur, is it because of me that you were about to hurt Urbain? Oh, you would have been very wrong. You say he has outraged me; but, no, monsieur, I swear to you he has not. He has told me that he loves me very much, that he will love me all his life, but there is nothing outrageous in that, for when you knocked at the door I believeI was just going to tell him that I loved him also. You see that I am just as guilty as he is, and that it is necessary for you to punish both of us."
Blanche's words had an accent of truth which it was impossible to mistake. The barber glanced in astonishment at her and at Urbain, who saw that he then believed, despite appearances, that Blanche still retained her purity. However, the disorder which reigned in the apartment, the singular costume of the young girl and of Urbain, which was divided between that of the two sexes, all appeared to confuse Touquet's ideas.
"Listen to us," said Blanche to him, "you shall know the whole truth. Urbain, to be sure, is a little to blame, for he has come to see us every evening for nearly a fortnight, but he came as a young girl. At first I was angry with him also, but finally I have forgiven him. Urbain has such a sweet expression, and then, I already loved Ursule very much, and that made me love him also. He said that he wished to be my lover, my husband, that he could not live without me, and that it would depend upon you to make us happy forever. Ah, you will be good, will you not, my dear friend? You have already done much for me. Give me Urbain for my husband, and I promise you that I will never ask anything of you again."
The barber, while listening to Blanche, muttered to himself,—
"For nearly a fortnight he has been coming here every evening, it is by a great chance that I discovered him today, and yet I believed that I could easily guard a young girl and brave the enterprises of lovers."
"Monsieur," said Urbain, who up to that moment had kept silent, "I confess all the wrong I have done, and love alone must be my excuse; but I adored Blanche, whom I had seen through the panes of that window, and you would not permit any man to approach her. I tried once to begin an acquaintance with you, but the manner in which you received me left me no hope. I then consulted nothing but my love. Thanks to this disguise I deceived old Marguerite, who consented to introduce me here. I saw Blanche, and could I renounce the hope of possessing her? She was deceived as well as her nurse. Under the name of Ursule I had the good fortune to gain her confidence and, by some interesting stories, to amuse old Marguerite. I rejoiced in my happiness without daring to make myself known. Today, on account of the storm, the rain, which fell so violently, the advanced hour, she invited me to remain."
"Yes," said Blanche, with an angelic smile, "He was going to sleep with me. I myself begged him to do so."
The barber knit his brows and glanced angrily at the young man. Urbain instantly threw himself at his feet, crying,—
"I have respected her virtue, her innocence. O monsieur, can I not touch you with my love. Yes, I adore Blanche, give me her hand or deprive me of a life which without her would be insupportable."
"Hear us, my friend," said Blanche. "He will absolutely die if I am not his wife, and if he should die I feel that I should die of grief, too."
The barber appeared to listen to Urbain without being in the least moved by his prayers, when the young bachelor added,—
"I know, monsieur, all that you have done for Blanche. Her father was assassinated, she remained an orphan without any support. She owes everything to you."
"What?" said Touquet, who had paid more attention to Urbain's last words, "you know—"
"Yes, monsieur, I learned all that concerns her whom I adore. She did not know her parents and possessed no fortune, but it is she alone whom I ask of you. You have done well for her. Give me Blanche; she is sufficient for my happiness. I also am an orphan; my family was honest and respectable, but I have no relations left. My name is Urbain Dorgeville; I have an income of twelve hundred livres; that is very little, but I possess besides a little house in the country, on the borders of the Loire, there I shall go to live with Blanche. Far from the tumult of the city, which we shall not regret, nor its pleasures; andfar from society, which we do not wish to know, we shall there pass our days in peace and love and happiness."
The barber appeared to reflect deeply. He rose, and strolled about the room with bowed head. Hope and fear were depicted in the looks of the two lovers, who waited with impatience his answer. Finally, he paused, and said to Urbain,—
"You are an orphan? Entirely master of your own actions?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"There is nobody to object to your marrying an orphan without means, and whose family is unknown?"
"Nobody, I repeat to you, can oppose my wishes."
"You will never seek, yourself, to obtain any information in regard to Blanche's family, which, besides, would prove entirely fruitless."
"Why, what does it matter to me who were her parents. She is a treasure in herself."
"And you will go to live with her far from Paris—far from everyone?"
"Yes, for I shall make it my care to be all-sufficient to her happiness."
"O heavens, Urbain," said Blanche, "You know very well that I never left this room, where I saw no one but Marguerite. If I were to live with you in the country do you suppose that I should wish for anything else?"
"Dear Blanche, unite with me then in obtaining the consent of your protector."
The two young people bent on the barber entreating looks. The latter did not notice them and appeared entirely wrapped in his reflections; at last, all of a sudden, he stopped before Urbain, and said, in a curt tone,—
"Blanche is yours."
"Can it be?" cried the young bachelor, in a delirium of happiness. "Blanche, do you hear? He consents to our union."
"Oh, my dear friend, how much I thank you."
And the two lovers fell on their knees before Touquet, their eyes bathed with tears of pleasure and gratitude.
"What are you doing?" said the barber, who seemed ashamed to see the young couple at his feet. "Get up, I beg of you."
"You have made us happy," said Urbain, "and you will not even receive our thanks."
"No, no, I wish for nothing but silence and discretion."
"Aren't you glad now that you didn't injure Urbain? He meant no harm in disguising himself as a girl. It was he who sang so beautifully under my window. Oh, how happy I am! He can sing with me all the time now. He will teach me that pretty ballad and some others, too. Will you not, Urbain, teach me many things? Oh, how happy we shall be."
The barber had some trouble in calming Urbain's transports and Blanche's naïve joy. Finally he succeeded in making them listen.
"Until the time of your union," said he, "I repeat to you, I shall exact the greatest discretion. Urbain you must promise me not to speak of your marriage, and not to bring any of your acquaintances here."
"I swear to you, monsieur, that I will do as you wish; besides, I don't know anybody. I have no intimate friends."
"That is better still, you will have less to regret in leaving the city. Make all your preparations for departure, and procure all the necessary documents for your marriage. As to Blanche, I will give you the letter found on her father; that is all which concerns that matter. When you have made all the necessary arrangements, you can marry Blanche—but in the evening without any stir, with nothing that can draw people to the church to see the ceremony; I dislike idlers and curious people. Afterwards you will immediately start for the country; and you will not return to this city, where your modest means would not permit you to live happily."
"Yes, I agree to all, monsieur."
"Are you coming with us, my friend?"
"No, that is not necessary. Later on, perhaps."
"And Marguerite, can we take her with us?"
"Yes."
"How nice that will be!"
"Up to the day of your departure Urbain can come here, but in the evening only, and not in disguise."
"He will come as a boy. I am very curious to see him like that."
"You understand; it is very late. It is necessary for you to retire. Urbain, I repeat to you, maintain the greatest silence about all this. Hasten your preparations, and Blanche will soon be yours."
Urbain renewed his promises and his thanks to the barber, and took Blanche's hand and covered it with kisses. The young people could hardly believe in their happiness, and the future that was opening before them still seemed a dream of their imagination, but Touquet hurried them.
"I shall see you tomorrow," said Urbain.
"Tomorrow," repeated Blanche, "and not in woman's clothes. Do you hear? I wish to grow accustomed to seeing you as a man."
"Yes, dear Blanche, yes. No more pretence now."
The barber cut their adieux short and led away the young man, and Blanche closed her door, sighing and murmuring still,—
"Tomorrow."
Touquet guided Urbain, holding the lamp in his hand, and walking rapidly towards the staircase; but hardly had he taken ten steps in thepassage when his foot caught in something. He lowered his lamp and perceived a little shapeless heap which moved and appeared to want to glide along the wall. The barber ran at this object and, quickly lifting the mantle which covered it, perceived Chaudoreille, with his body on all fours in such a way as not to take more room than a big cat.
"What are you doing there, clown?" cried Touquet, putting his lamp against Chaudoreille's face.
"Me? Nothing. I am picking up a pin."
"Go down to the room. I have told you before that I don't like curious people," and to prove this to him beyond a possibility of doubt the barber kicked the chevalier vigorously, and the latter, not having had time to straighten himself, received the kick in three parts of his body. Touquet did not stop to do more, but led the bachelor to the street door, and opening it for him said,—
"Go, and remember all that you have promised."
Urbain was about to renew his protestations of gratitude, but the barber put an end to them by telling him to go immediately to his dwelling, and closing the door upon him.
Touquet returned into the lower room where he found Chaudoreille, who had resumed his natural size and was promenading with the air of a conqueror, evidently awaiting the thanks of the barber.
"Well, now, by jingo!" cried he impatiently, seeing that the latter said nothing to him. "You have found the magpie in the nest. I haven't dim sight. And that slap in the face, zounds! I recognized a masculine hand. I am never deceived. Well, we have, according to what I see, shown the gallant to the door. As to the little one, hang it! With her sanctimonious air, who would have expected it?"
"Be silent!" cried the barber, advancing towards Chaudoreille with a threatening gesture. "Do not outrage Blanche. That the young girl is still pure is as true as that you are a liar and a coward."
"A coward! By jingo, if Rolande could only speak!"
"Yes, I confess that I found someone there, but that someone was not alone with Blanche."
"That is singular. I didn't hear old Marguerite's voice."
"You were listening, then, wretch."
"No, it was by chance that some sounds reached my ears; some one called out. I thought that somebody had need of help and, following my natural ardor, I went towards the neighborhood from whence the noise came."
"Well, what did you hear? Speak, I tell you!"
"Oh, nothing, some words. It seemed to me that you were promising to unite the two lovers. At least I believe that's what I caught. However,if I had not thought that you were keeping the little one for yourself I would have demanded her hand of you long ago. It seems to me that I deserve the preference over that little masker, who if it had not been for his petticoat would have paid dearly for the slap on the face he gave me."
"You become Blanche's husband!" said the barber, glancing scornfully at the little man. "Listen, Chaudoreille, it suits me to give Blanche to this young man; he will make her happy."
"As to that you are the master, but—"
"But, if you say a word about what you have seen and heard tonight I shall draw down upon you the most terrible vengeance. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, I understand you. By jingo, marry the little one with whom you please. I don't care a fig for the pair of them. However, if there is to be a wedding, I hope—"
"No, there will be neither a wedding nor a repast—"
"That will be gay!"
"But, if you are discreet, I promise you two pieces of gold when everything is finished and Blanche has left this house."
"Agreed. That will suit me, it is as if I held them now; you might as well pay me in advance."
"I prefer, however, not to pay you until afterwards. But the night is drawing to a close; go home, Chaudoreille, and remember your promise."
"Yes, yes, that's settled. Is there any news of the seductive marquis and the young Italian?"
"I believe that fire is already extinguished. But that doesn't astonish me; a fortnight, three weeks, is the measure of the constancy of our great noblemen."
"And after that's ended it's probable that there will be one intrigue after another to conduct. If so remember me, my dear Touquet."
"Very good, go to your bed!"
"In fact, it's about time. I'll go back to the Rue Brise-Miche; fortunately my portress has a liking for me, or else I should run a great risk of sleeping in the street. However, if you wish, I could wait for day here, on a chair."
"No, no, it's necessary for you to go; I need some rest, also, and it seems to me that I shall get little of it this night."
Chaudoreille enveloped himself as well as he could in his mantle and went towards the door, making a grimace. The barber closed it on him and went to his room, saying,—
"I have done well; she will go away, no one will hear tell of her again, and everything regarding her will soon be forgotten."
MARGUERITEalone had slept during the night which had wrought so great a change in the barber's household; greatly cheered and calmed by the possession of Ursule's talisman she slept more soundly than she had ever done in her new room. As for Blanche one may well suppose that she did not close her eyes for a moment. The amiable child, still bewildered by all the events which had taken place, had hardly had time to pass from the fear of love to the fear of happiness; she was too innocent, too childlike to have dreamed of love as yet, her poor heart hardly yet realized its own state, though one sentiment stronger than all others dominated its thoughts. She tossed continually on her couch, repeating to herself,—
"He's a boy, and it was he who sang so beautifully. Mercy, who could have expected it? He was so pleasing as a girl; however, I believe he will be still better as a boy. Oh, I wish it was evening now. He said that he loved me—how strange that is—do I also love him? I believe I do. However, I must ask Marguerite what love is, she ought to know that. Poor Marguerite,how surprised she'll be when she learns that he was not a girl. Oh, I wish it was day now."
The day so much desired appeared at length. Blanche had been up for a long time; impatient at not hearing the old nurse come down, she could not resist going up to Marguerite's room. She knocked at the door, exclaiming,—
"Wake up, dear nurse! it's very late. I have a thousand things to tell you. Get up, I beg of you—you have slept long enough."
Marguerite, who never had to be awakened, because she always rose sufficiently early, rubbed her eyes, believing that the house was on fire, sought to recall her ideas, to recover the talisman which had been entrusted to her and which had been lost among the bedclothes, while invoking her patron saint, and muttering,—
"Where has it gone to? I've looked for it—has the devil taken it away from me during the night? Wait now—ah, I shan't find it again. I thought I felt something. It must have been the devil who took it maliciously!"
Finally Marguerite found the little scrap of Urbain's breeches, and recalling all that had taken place on the evening before, she hastened to open the door to Blanche, and said,—
"Has Ursule gone? It's necessary to hasten her away, my child."
"Oh, yes, she's gone; that is to say, he's gone. But don't be afraid, my good friend is willing thathe should come—he wishes him to marry me; he's no longer angry. He's coming here this evening as a boy; you will see how nice he is; and when we are married, we shall go into the country and you shall come with us. Oh, how happy I shall be! Come, Marguerite, laugh too; you see it's no longer necessary to have any fear."
Marguerite had no desire to laugh, she would rather have wept, for she understood nothing that Blanche was saying; she opened her eyes as widely as possible and exclaimed,—
"O good God, my dear child, is your head turned this morning? Can that Ursule be a sorcerer? Don't jump like that, I beg of you."
Blanche recommenced her narrative and at last made Marguerite understand that Ursule was a boy. The old woman cried, affrightedly,—
"My God! a boy, and he slept with you?"
"Oh, no, dear nurse, because Monsieur Touquet came in just at the moment when—mercy! I don't know what we were doing at that moment—oh, yes, I believe he was kissing me."
"Holy Virgin! it was a goblin disguised as a girl."
"No, dear nurse, he's called Urbain, he's an orphan like me; but his family was very respectable, and he's going to marry me."
"To marry you?"
"Yes, certainly. You won't oppose it when my protector has given his consent, will you?"
"What, M. Touquet has consented to it?"
"Yes, yes, I tell you. It's finished. Everything is arranged."
The good old woman hardly believed that her ears did not deceive her, but the arrival of her master put an end to her doubts.
The barber looked very stern as he approached Marguerite, and the old woman trembled, for she felt that she was in fault.
"Marguerite," he said, "I could punish you for having betrayed my confidence, for having, despite my orders, introduced someone into the house. You will tell me, like Blanche, that you have been deceived—and I would wish to think so, besides, as I have forgiven it, it is needless to dwell on what is past. The young man will be Blanche's husband; he will make her happy. You will go with them when they leave this house. I have but one command to lay upon you, and that is to keep this incident from all your gossips in this neighborhood. If you commit the least indiscretion, I'll send you away and you will prevent this marriage from taking place."
"Oh, dear nurse, don't say anything about it," cried Blanche.
"No, mademoiselle; no, monsieur," responded Marguerite, still trembling, "I swear to you that—"
"That's enough," said the barber. "You love Blanche, and her happiness depends upon yourdiscretion. Urbain will come in the evenings only, until the day he takes away his bride."
The barber departed after thus speaking, leaving Marguerite still dumbfounded by all that she had heard.
"How is this?" said she, following Blanche to her room; "M. Touquet consented to this at once?"
"Yes, dear nurse."
"I'm not to be sent away."
"That surprises me, also; I was so afraid he would refuse Urbain."
"Urbain—Urbain—but you don't know him, my child!"
"Why, yes, I do, dear nurse, since he is Ursule."
"I understand that very well; but Ursule has deceived us."
"It was that he might see me that Urbain disguised himself; it was love that made him do it, dear nurse."
"Love, indeed! but you cannot yet love him, my child."
"Oh, dear nurse, I believe I shall love him very quickly. Urbain was teaching me how to love yesterday, when my protector knocked at the door."
"Jesu, Maria! What, my child, in place of calling for help when you saw it was a man?"
"I desired to do so at first, but if you onlyknew! Urbain was not at all alarming, on the contrary; and then he threw himself at my feet and begged my pardon with such a sweet air, with eyes so—O Marguerite, what should I have forgiven him for?"
"Good heavens! And your talisman, my girl, did you not have recourse to that?"
"Oh, forgive me, dear nurse, I even showed it several times to Urbain."
"And it didn't cause him to fly?"
"On the contrary, dear nurse, he drew still nearer."
"Come, decidedly everything is upside down. It must be that boy is a magician to work such changes in this house. I shall no longer have any faith in his little relic."
Blanche and the old woman awaited the evening with impatience; Marguerite curious to know the young man who had wrought such prodigies in her master's house, and the young girl ardently desiring to see again him who had caused her to sigh and to experience an entirely new feeling. But Blanche's desires were mingled with that timidity, that bashfulness, which accompany a first love. As the hour of Urbain's arrival approached she felt more restless and dreamy, and already this unknown sentiment inspired her with a secret desire to please; she rose, looked at herself in the mirror, and arranged a lock of hair, then she said to Marguerite,—
"Dear nurse, do I look all right? Do you think he will love me as much tonight as he did yesterday?"
"Dear child," cried the old servant, "if he is capable of changing would he be worthy of you? When one loves truly, my dear, 'tis for life."
"Oh, that is much better, dear nurse; I should like to love like that. You will see that there's nothing about Urbain to frighten one, and I am sure I shall love him also."
The young bachelor desired with no less impatience than Blanche the moment when he could return to the barber's house. Since the evening before Urbain had entirely lost his head, and his happiness had been so sudden, so unforeseen, that it had completely unbalanced him for the time. He had returned to his lodging in the night, dancing, singing and running in the street. In his intoxication he had lost his skirt and his kerchief; but he had no further need of his disguise, and without troubling himself to pick up those portions of his costume he had arrived at home partly undressed, but so happy that he would not have changed his lot for the fortune, the favor or the power of the cardinal; and in that he was right, the joys which love brings are not, as is the case with grandeur and power, mingled with anxieties and cares.
The next day Urbain would have liked to tell his happiness to all the world, but he rememberedthat one of the first conditions of his marriage with Blanche was that he should keep the matter entirely secret; he contented himself, therefore, with looking at everybody who passed with an air of satisfaction and triumph which indicated a mind impervious to the strokes of fortune.
In the evening his neighbor came, as usual, to propose to help him in disguising himself; but Urbain thanked her; he had no further need of her services and the good-natured girl seemed vexed that the masqueradings were ended.
Urbain wished to please as a man still more than he had wished to do so as a country woman; he put on his collar and his hat with more care than he ordinarily took. He looked to see that his hair did not fall in disorder over his forehead, and sighed as he said,—
"If I should not succeed in pleasing her!" However, the remembrance of the evening before gave him courage, and he took his way to the barber's house. He trembled as he knocked at the door, although the fear of being sent away did not present itself to his mind. The sound of the knocker went to Blanche's heart, and she jumped from her chair, exclaiming,—
"It's he!" and was about to run to the street door when Marguerite stopped her, saying,—
"How now, my child, what are you going to do? It would not be decent for you to go and open the door for this young man."
"Do you think so, nurse. Very well; go then, Marguerite; go quickly."
Marguerite hurried as fast as she could, she was anxious to see the young man. She opened the door to Urbain and looked at him attentively; his gentle and diffident appearance made a favorable impression on the old woman.
"It's singular—he appears to be more embarrassed as a boy than as a girl. Come in, come in, my handsome young spark; come in. Now we shall see if you've any more stories to relate of the adventures of your aunts and cousins."
"Yes, my good Marguerite," said Urbain, "I shall continue to tell them to you if they give you pleasure."
"He wishes to please me," said Marguerite to herself. "Yes, Blanche was right, the young man is very charming."
The embarrassment of these two young lovers was a very singular thing, inasmuch as they had in their first interview spoken so freely of their love, and were already engaged and certain of being married. Blanche, who had at first wished to run to the door, now dared not raise her eyes, and, on hearing Urbain's step, remained motionless on her chair. The latter, on entering this room where he had been every evening for a fortnight, experienced an uneasiness, a new embarrassment, and paused near the door, holding his hat in his hand, and glancing timidly at Blanche.