Historians are not agreed as to the first two encircling walls which were built around Paris; but there is no doubt as to the location of the third, which we owe to Philippe-Auguste, and which was begun in 1190.
This wall, starting from the right bank of the Seine, where the Pont des Arts now is, traversed the site of the Louvre in the direction of the Oratoire Saint-Honoré, where Porte Saint-Honoré stood; it then described a curve to thecarrefournow formed by Rues Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Coquillière, and de Grenelle. When it reached Rue Montmartre, the wall was broken by Porte Montmartre. It continued along the northern side of Rue Mauconseil to Rue Saint-Martin, where there was a gate called Porte de Nicolas Huidelon. Crossing the sites of Rues Michel-le-Comte, Geoffroy-Langevin, du Chaume, de Paradis, where Porte de Braque stood, to Vieille Rue du Temple, it went on to Porte Beaudoyer, crossed the enclosure of the Convent of the Ave Maria and Rue des Barres, and ended at the right bank of the Seine.
The work on the wall south of the river began in 1208. This wall, built through gardens and vineyards as faras Porte Saint-Marcel, skirted the enclosure of Sainte-Geneviève to the Château de Hautefeuille, cut across Clos Bruneau to Porte de Bussy, and, following the outer wall of the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and the smaller Pré-aux-Clercs, came to an end at the Tour de Nesle.
This third wall had round towers at intervals to protect it. But the most formidable ones were at the extremities, on the banks of the Seine.
Under the reign of François I, the wall had been considerably enlarged. But, in the year 1536, the Cardinal du Bellai, lieutenant-general of the armies of King François, being informed of the approach of the English, who were already devastating Normandie and Picardie, and dreading the result of an attack upon Paris, ordered trenches and moats to be dug from Porte Saint-Antoine to Porte Saint-Honoré. These were afterward called the Fossés Jaunes [yellow moats].
This little digression into the domain of history is necessary to recall old Paris to the minds of our readers, especially so that they may be able to form an accurate idea of the localities where the events took place which we are about to describe.
Pont Saint-Louis, otherwise called the Pont-aux-Choux, because of the proximity of Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and because it was principally used by the market gardeners, who crossed it to carry their vegetables into the heart of the city, was situated between Porte du Templeand Porte Saint-Antoine, and was built over the moats of which we have just described the origin. Over this bridge, which was a dismal and often deserted structure, there was a gate of a commonplace type of architecture, called Porte Saint-Louis. But as it had not been closed for many years, there was no keeper; it was very dilapidated, and on the point of falling in ruins.
All about the Pont-aux-Choux were swamps, a large portion of which was uncultivated. Tall grass grew along the edges of the moat, which contained nothing but a little slimy water, through which it would have been difficult to force a boat. Thus the whole locality had a sort of wild and forbidding aspect, well calculated to inspire terror in the solitary traveller whom the darkness surprised on that road.
However, on a certain lovely night in summer, several young gentlemen, some of whom were acquaintances of ours, having crossed the Pont-aux-Choux on their way back to Paris, halted about three hundred yards beyond it, and one of them threw himself on the turf, crying:
"Faith, I don't care! go on if you choose, my masters; but I am going to rest here; it is very comfortable on the grass. Besides, I feel that I am drunk; I cannot stand on my legs."
"How now, my poor Monclair! Can you carry your wine no better than this? What a pity!"
"Don't put on airs, Sénange! You are at least as drunk as I am, if not more so."
"The fact is that I am quite as willing to sit down as to stumble at every step on these horrible roads.—What an infernal way for Léodgard to make us take!—I say, Comte de Marvejols, where are you? I want to congratulate you!—Where in the devil is my valet Bruno? Let him bring a torch here, and we will have another game."
"Your esquire is ahead; he walked on."
"I must call him.—Messieurs, messieurs, you fellows who are still on your legs, have the kindness to call my esquire, my page, my varlet—that rascal who is going off with the lanterns yonder, without taking the trouble to see if his master is following him."
These words were addressed to three other young gentlemen who had halted a few yards away. Among them was Léodgard de Marvejols, whose features were far from denoting hilarity, and who did not seem, like some of his friends, to have left his reason at the bottom of his glass.
The servant, being recalled, came back and placed a lighted lantern on the ground, near the two gentlemen who were already seated on the grass. The others decided to join them; but Léodgard remained a little behind, leaning thoughtfully against a solitary tree.
"Do you propose to stay here, my fine fellows?" he asked.
"Yes; the fresh air has finished us, we cannot stand on our legs any longer."
"It is a fact that the supper was delicious and the wines exquisite. Montrevert did things very handsomely; hispetite maisonis a delightful place."
"Speaking of Montrevert, did he not say that he was coming with us?"
"Yes; he said: 'Go on, and I will overtake you.'"
"Well, he does not seem to have overtaken us, and we are a good quarter of a league from his house."
"That is true, and it is an additional reason why we should rest here and wait for him."
"Bah! he won't come; he has probably remained with his infanta. She is a very pretty girl, that Herminie!"
"But I tell you, messieurs, that Montrevert will come; he cannot stay at hispetite maison, for he must be in Paris to-morrow for the king'slever. He has hopes of being admitted to the company of Gray Mousquetaires, which his majesty has just organized; it is a bodyguard that is to attend him everywhere, even to the hunt.—Vive Dieu! messieurs, but it is a fine corps! Such a coquettish uniform—red, trimmed with gold. Ah! what conquests those fellows will make with that uniform!"
"Look you, I too have some hope of entering this corps of mousquetaires," said the young Marquis de Sénange, trying to straighten up and maintain a sitting posture on the grass. "I too ought to be at the king'sleverto-morrow—or rather, this morning. But I thinkthat I shall not be there! I am too dizzy—deuce take it! Youth is the age of folly and pleasure.—Ah! I wish I could find someone who would sit back to back with me; we would support each other.—Monclair, sit behind me."
"No; I am very comfortable, I refuse to stir."
"What a selfish beast that little Monclair is!—Come, La Valteline, and you, Beausseilly—come and sit down with us."
The two young men who were still standing decided to seat themselves on the grass near their companions. But he who was called La Valteline turned toward Léodgard and shouted:
"Well! Comte de Marvejols, aren't you going to join us? What the deuce are you doing there, all alone, with your eyes fixed on the sky? are you going into astrology? Beware! you know that a commission is sitting at the Arsenal, in the Poison Chamber, for the express purpose of trying persons accused of magic! And astrologers are very closely related to sorcerers!"
"Messieurs," said the Sire de Beausseilly, lowering his voice, "poor Léodgard is in no laughing mood, and you must understand why: he was very unlucky at cards to-night, he lost all that he possessed to Montrevert, and, I believe, a hundred pistoles more on credit."
"He is always unlucky with Montrevert, he ought never to play with him; for that charmingpetite maisonwhere we supped, which is decorated so suggestively, used to belong to Marvejols; he staked it against heavenknows what sum with Montrevert! And now that delicious resort no longer belongs to him! To be sure, Montrevert often invites him there."
"If he does it in order to win his money, as he has done to-night, it is not very amusing for Léodgard. I have noticed that fortune has been very adverse to him for some time past. He always loses, poor fellow!"
"And I believe he is in debt; he owes everybody!"
"Vive Dieu! messieurs, should a man torment himself because he is in debt? As for myself, I have creditors, and plenty of them—I am proud of the fact! But when the knaves have the impudence to ask me for money, then I draw my sword and shout and curse and excite myself to such a frenzy that they run away as if the devil was at their heels! That is the way to arrange one's affairs!"
Léodgard had not heard La Valteline's call, for he was still looking at the stars.
"Stay, messieurs; I will wager that I will make him come; I know the way.—Holà! Bruno! come here, knave! Have you the dice and diceboxes in your pocket?"
"Yes, seigneur."
"Give them to me."
The valet handed to his master, the Marquis de Sénange, two ivory diceboxes and the dice; the young man placed the dice in one of the boxes and shook them a long while, then began to exclaim:
"Seven—eleven—twelve! I have won! I have won!"
The rattling of the dice produced the effect which Sénange anticipated: Léodgard, roused from his reverie, left his place and drew near the gentlemen who were seated about the torch.
"What, messieurs! are you shaking dice on the grass?" he asked.
"Sénange is shaking all by himself at this moment."
"I heard him say that he had won."
"Pardieu! yes, for I have won; I bet that with my dice I would draw the Comte de Marvejols hither.—Tell me, my masters, did I succeed?—Come, Léodgard, sit down and laugh a bit with us! What is the use of losing your temper with Fortune? What good does it do? She's a woman; what she will not grant to-day, she will grant to-morrow."
"Moreover, Comte Léodgard cannot accuse Fortune with a good grace; for if she is adverse to him at play, with the fair she seems to treat him like a spoiled child."
"There is a report of a certainbonne fortunewith a damsel on Rue Dauphine; and I hear that the little one is as beautiful as Cupid. She was kept carefully concealed, but that devil of a Léodgard would discover her kind at the bottom of a well or on top of the steepest cliffs!"
"Come, Léodgard, tell us about this intrigue."
"Yes, yes! tell us about this bourgeoisbonne fortune. It will help us to pass the time until Montrevert comes; he must have fallen into some hole in the road."
Léodgard stretched himself out carelessly on the grass and looked at his companions, saying:
"Has anyone anything to drink? I am extremely thirsty, and I can't tell my story unless I have something to drink."
"By Saint Jacques! I would like a drink, too!" muttered young Monclair, making vain efforts to sit up.
"What! not a drop? and no wine shops near by!"
"A cheerful spot, the neighborhood of this horrible Pont-aux-Choux!—There is not a house in sight—not even a hovel!"
"Wait, my friends, wait.—Holà! Bruno!"
The Marquis de Sénange's valet approached the group.
"Bruno, do you not always carry a gourd, like the pilgrims when they set out on a long journey?"
"Yes, seigneur, I do."
"What is there in your gourd?"
"There is some—some very bad eau-de-vie."
"Very bad!—Ah! you rascal! from the way in which you say that, I would swear that you are lying. Give us your gourd; and we will judge whether its contents are so bad as you say."
"But, seigneur, I have been drinking from it, and I could not allow——"
"Give it to me, all the same; we must be governed by circumstances. Come, gallows bird! I verily believe that you hesitate!"
Repressing a sigh, the valet handed his master an enormous gourd. Sénange swallowed a mouthful, then cried:
"Ah! I suspected as much; it is exquisite, delicious,—it is thirty years old, I will stake my head! The villain must have stolen it from my father's cellar.—Here, Léodgard, judge for yourself."
Léodgard took the gourd and drank slowly but at great length, so that the young men called out:
"Enough, count, enough!—He will drink it all! We too want a chance to judge of the liquor!"
At last Léodgard passed the gourd to his neighbor, who, after drinking, passed it to another. They did not cease to drink, until they had exhausted the contents of the gourd. Then they returned it to Bruno and made themselves comfortable on the grass, some half reclining, others at full length. Léodgard, who had maintained a sitting posture, with his head resting on his left hand, said to his companions:
"What do you wish me to tell you about, messieurs? an amourette among the common people? Mon Dieu! it is always the same story! They kept the girl closely confined, but not so closely that she did not see me pacing the street under her window."
"So long as parents leave windows in their houses," said Monclair, "they cannot answer for the innocence of their daughters!"
"There was a balcony on which she had placed a pot of flowers, which she used to come out to water."
"Messieurs, it is not without a motive that women display so much love for flowers; intrigues almost always begin with bouquets."
"Hold your tongue, Monclair! sleep off your wine, and allow the count to finish his story."
"Sleep off your eau-de-vie, you fellows!"
"I threw a billet-doux in at the window; she pretended to be angry at first; I did not appear again for four days, and on the fifth I found the little one on the balcony at midnight, peering into the darkness in quest of me!"
"Ah! that's the way! it is always like that!"
"The next day, with the aid of a silk ladder, I stood by my charmer's side!—You see, messieurs, that this affair was like every other; indeed, it was too easy—no jealous husband, no guardian keeping watch."
"Oh! that sort of thing is very insipid; when there's no danger, there's no pleasure."
"Oh! Sire de Beausseilly, what you say is altogether false; there is always pleasure in the conquest of a pretty girl! And it seems that this one is an angel of beauty.—Is that so, Léodgard?"
"Yes, she was very pretty."
"Shewas! Is she dead, pray?"
"No, but I have not seen her for several weeks; that is why I use the past tense."
"Oho! so it is already over?"
"Already? An amourette that lasts two months—is not that long enough?"
"It's a long time!"
"It is too long!"
"It is never too long when one is happy."
"And then a mother arrived—a very unamiable person, so it seems, who had been absent a long while. If I had still been in love, the obstacles that would thenceforth have made our rendezvous an affair of some difficulty would have served only to sharpen my desires; but my love was extinct. Faith! the little one may look out for herself now as best she can; it is no longer any concern of mine."
"Well said! Of course, a gentleman could not run the risk of a controversy with churls!"
"Faith! messieurs, for my part, I care for none butgrandes dames! They are so adroit in carrying on an intrigue, they display so much coquetry, that it keeps you in breathless suspense! A fellow is much more in love when he is not certain that he is loved in return!"
"And you, Sire de Beausseilly?"
"I! do you suppose that I have patience to make love to a woman? to dance attendance on her and languish and sigh? Nonsense! never! I like the love affairs that give one no trouble!"
"Oh, yes! we all know what that means! He frequents Rue Fromenteau, Rue Tire-Boudin, Rue Brisemiche, Rue du Hurleur, Rue de la Vieille-Bouclerie."
"Peste! La Valteline, you seem to know perfectly where all the wantons' houses are; for you mention allthe streets to whichgirls who are mad over their bodies, as they are called, are obliged to confine themselves."
"One must needs know his Paris, messieurs."
"Yes; especially when one desires to meetgolden girdles."
"Oh! messeigneurs, the edict of King Louis VIII has long been forgotten, and those damsels no longer comply with it; so that the proverb: 'A good reputation is worth more than a golden girdle' has no meaning now."
"I say, messieurs, it must be very late."
"You mean that it must be very early in the morning!"
"About three o'clock, I fancy."
"Oh! more than that; it is four o'clock at least; I am sure that the dawn will soon be here."
"Do we propose to finish the night in this place?"
"It is very strange that Montrevert has not overtaken us!"
"He certainly will not come now!"
"I do not propose to wait for daylight to return to Paris, in the condition in which I am! If someâme damnéeof the cardinal should happen to meet me, Richelieu would hear of it, and I should receive a sharp reprimand.—Come, messieurs, let us get up and go on."
"No, no!" murmured the Marquis de Sénange, rolling over on the grass; "I am very comfortable here. Let La Valteline go, if he pleases! I shall stay; for whenday breaks, the little dairymaids from the country will cross the Pont-aux-Choux; we will watch for the prettiest ones, and they will have to pay toll,—eh, Léodgard?—Well, he is still thinking of his losses at cards!"
"Sénange, you have dice there," cried Léodgard suddenly, raising his head; "I will play you for my cloak—you were admiring it last night. I will stake it against fifty livres, and, on my word as a gentleman, it cost me more than a hundred—which I have not yet paid, it is true, but which I still owe to my tailor."
"What, Léodgard! do you want to play again?" cried Beausseilly; "but you are not in luck, and if you lose your cloak, how can you return to Paris?"
"I will stake my sword, my doublet, my knee-breeches! I will stake myself, when I have nothing else left! But I must play! So long as I have anything left to stake, by hell! it will always be so.—Well, Sénange, do you accept the stake I propose?"
"Yes, I agree; your cloak against fifty livres. But what shall we play on? We can't throw dice on the grass; they would not lie evenly, and the result would be doubtful."
"Play on my back, messieurs," said Monclair, lying flat on his stomach on the grass. "I promise not to stir."
"So be it; on Monclair's back."
The two young men each took a dicebox, and their companions drew near to watch the game. The valetbrought the lantern nearer, while Monclair lay on his stomach and did not stir.
"Begin!" said Léodgard in a gloomy voice, handing the dice to his adversary.
"As you please," said Sénange; and placing the dice in the box, he threw them on Monclair's back.
"Four!" cried Beausseilly and La Valteline.
"Four!" echoed Léodgard, with a smile of satisfaction.
"What a beastly throw!" muttered Sénange; "I fancy that I may say good-bye to my fifty livres.—Go on, count—play!"
Léodgard took the dice and threw them with a trembling hand.
"Three!" cried Sénange. "Pardieu! but I am in luck! Your cloak belongs to me, Léodgard!"
The young Comte de Marvejols dropped his head on his breast, while the other gentlemen held their peace and seemed distressed by the ill fortune which pursued Léodgard.
At that moment a distant, indistinct noise reached the ears of the young men.
"Do you hear, messieurs?" said La Valteline, listening intently; "do you hear?"
"I hear nothing," said Monclair.
"I do," said Beausseilly; "I hear a noise that seems to be coming nearer; it sounds like outcries, imprecations."
"It seems to me that someone is coming toward us. Listen! listen! the footsteps are becoming more distinct."
"Suppose it were Montrevert?"
"Can he have been attacked? We must go to his assistance!"
"We had better hail him first.—Take that lantern, Bruno, and hold it in the air.—Do as I do, messieurs.—Holà, Montrevert! is that you?"
The shouts of the young men were met by an answering shout.
"It is he," said Léodgard; "and he is not far away."
"There he is! there he is!"
"Come this way! this way!"
A young man of twenty-eight to thirty years, dressed with elegance, but with his garments in disorder, his belt gone, his face transformed by excitement, and without his sword, crossed the Pont-aux-Choux at full speed and joined the friends whose shouts had guided him.
"It is Montrevert!"
"Mon Dieu! what is the matter with him? what a ghastly pallor!"
"What a state his clothes are in!"
"What has happened to you, Montrevert?"
"Have you been attacked?"
"Wait a moment, messieurs; give me a chance to breathe.—Yes, I have been attacked."
"Are you wounded?"
"No, not a scratch! And yet, I assure you that I tried to defend myself. It was Giovanni, the famous brigand, who attacked me—yonder, on the other side of the bridge, on the right."
"Giovanni?"
"Oh, yes! he was dressed just as those whom he has robbed describe him, just as he was when Léodgard saw him: the long olive-green cloak, and the cap bristling with hair—— Ah! the villain!—Look you, messieurs, this is how it happened. I stayed behind longer than I expected after your departure; so that when I started, wishing to make up for lost time and to overtake you the sooner, I walked very rapidly; I lengthened my strides, sometimes cutting across the market gardeners' gardens, and devoting all my thought to keeping my feet out of the holes and ruts and excavations which make such cross cuts extremely dangerous. So it is not surprising that I did not see my robber approaching. However, I think that he must have been hiding behind a tree, for he suddenly blocked my path without my hearing the sound of his footsteps. I was thunderstruck at seeing before me a man whose aspect was so truly frightful, and I instantly put my hand to my sword hilt; but instead of the raucous tones which I expected to hear, it was almost a falsetto voice that said to me:
"'Do not draw your sword, but give me your purse, seigneur; that will be the quickest way.'
"'My purse!' I cried. 'Ah! do you expect to obtain it without striking a blow? I propose to kill you instead of giving you my money.'
"As I spoke, I drew my sword and expected to transfix the robber with ease. But the rascal must be a powerful hand at fence. With two blows of a weapon which he held, he shattered mine; then, throwing me to the ground, he snatched my purse from my belt! Vive Dieu! my purse, which contained two hundred gold pieces! Ah! the gallows bird!—And it was all done so dexterously and so quickly that I was hardly on the ground when it was all over; no purse, no robber—Giovanni had disappeared!—Then it was that I began to shout imprecations, to relieve myself a little. I am not wounded, it is true; but to be beaten and robbed like that by that bandit! It is enough to make a man damn himself!"
The young men were stupefied by what they had heard. Léodgard alone sprang to his feet, crying:
"Damnation! I will not let this opportunity escape. It was on the right-hand side of the road, beyond the bridge, that you were attacked, you said, Montrevert, did you not? It was on the path leading to Vincennes, then?"
"Yes; but what do you mean to do, Léodgard?"
"To avenge you, or rather to avenge us both; for I, like yourself, have been beaten and stripped by Giovanni! But this time I will kill him, or he will kill me!"
"Can you think of such a thing, Léodgard? Pursue that brigand? Why, he must be far away before now!He will not have remained near the scene of his latest exploit."
"Perhaps he will. However, I will go a long distance, if need be; but I will find that man!"
"In that case," said La Valteline, "we will go with you; we will not allow you to run such a risk alone."
"No, messieurs, I beg you, do not come with me; you will make success impossible. If the robber can be surprised, it must be done by cunning. He would hear the footsteps of several people, and that would put him on his guard. Once more, I say, let me make the attempt alone. One man against one man—that is enough; and if I meet my death in this undertaking, do not pity me; at this moment I care very little for life!"
When he had finished speaking, Léodgard ran across the Pont-aux-Choux and disappeared in the darkness.
"Léodgard! Léodgard!" called Beausseilly; "we will wait for you here; we will not move until you return.—I don't know if he heard me."
"What the devil ever put that idea into his head?"
"There is no sense in what he has undertaken to do," said Montrevert; "judging from the address and agility that this Giovanni shows in his attacks, it is inconceivable that he should allow himself to be taken by surprise."
"I agree with you; but Léodgard is intensely excited! He has gambled away all that he possessed—even more. Life has little attraction for him at this moment! Faith!if he meets Giovanni, I fancy that the villain will not come off so cheaply."
"Pardieu!" said Sénange, half rising; "you remind me that the handsome cloak which the count is wearing is my property now, as I won it from him a moment ago at dice. I ought not to have let him go off with it!"
"Ah! Sénange, you are a very pitiless creditor!"
"Look you, if he meets Giovanni, the latter will be the victor, in my opinion; and as he will not find an obolus on Léodgard, he will take his cloak. Would it not be better that I should have it than that brigand?"
"Listen, messieurs! don't you hear a noise?"
"No, nothing."
"Oh! how the time drags! I wish Léodgard would come back."
Ten minutes passed, and with each minute the young men became more anxious; they no longer laughed, they even ceased to talk, for they listened with all their ears.
"Here comes the day," muttered Montrevert, "and Léodgard does not return! I begin to tremble lest he has been the victim of his own boldness."
"Messieurs," said La Valteline, "if he does not return in five minutes, we must go in search of him."
"Yes, yes!"
"Wait—I hear footsteps."
"Bah! it's a peasant going to market; look—you can make her out now on the bridge."
"True; the time for thieves to be abroad has passed."
"Poor Léodgard!"
"Messieurs, see that man walking so fast across the bridge. Ah! this time it is he! it is our friend!"
"Victory! it must be that he has carried the day!"
All the young men ran to meet Léodgard, for it was really he who was approaching. As they drew near him they were struck by his pallor and by the sinister gleam of his eyes, which avoided theirs.
"Well, comte, did you win the fight?"
"Or did you fail to find the brigand?"
"Oh! messieurs, they fought; for, see, Léodgard has blood on his clothes!"
"Ah! Giovanni has ceased to live!"
"You are mistaken," murmured Léodgard, in an altered voice; "it is true that I fought with the brigand; I wounded him, for his blood spurted on me. But it seems that his wound was of trifling consequence, for it did not prevent him from running away, and it was impossible for me to overtake him! He disappeared behind the hedges, and I saw him no more."
"Ah! so much the worse!"
"What a pity!"
"The poor count has nothing to show for his exploit.—Luckily, you are not wounded, are you?"
"No, not at all."
"That is the principal thing, for we were beginning to be very anxious about you!"
"Messieurs, messieurs, it is broad daylight; let us hasten home, or we too shall be taken for robbers."
"Yes, yes, let us go!"
"Are not you coming with us, Léodgard?"
"No, messieurs; I am in no hurry to return to Paris. This adventure, this fight, has tired me; the country air will do me good."
"Au revoir, then!"
"Au revoir!"
The young men walked rapidly away toward the city, while Léodgard slowly crossed the Pont-aux-Choux, glancing furtively behind him from time to time.
Valentine de Mongarcin was reclining carelessly on a sofa in her music room. That was her usual place of refuge when she was not with her aunt; but for several days past the study of the zither and mandolin had been abandoned.
The noble heiress had learned from her maid that the little clerk's tales were founded on truth; Miretta had told her what she had learned from Giovanni. From that moment Valentine's lovely features had shown signs of gloomy preoccupation. If a smile sometimes playedabout her lips, it seemed inspired rather by the hope of vengeance than by one of those agreeable thoughts which usually cause young girls to smile.
Valentine rang a bell, and Miretta soon stood before her.
"Did you do my errand, Miretta? Did you go to the office of my aunt's solicitor?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; I went there this morning. I easily found Maître Bourdinard's office; it is on Rue du Bac. I crossed Pont-Rouge, which, they say, was built not long ago to take the place of the ferry [bac] that used to be established there, opposite that street, which took its name therefrom.—Oh! I am beginning to know Paris very well now!"
"Well, did you find that little clerk who came here the other day, and to whom I owe such—such valuable discoveries?"
"Monsieur Bahuchet? No, mademoiselle, he was not at the office; but there were several other clerks, who stared at me so insolently that I was very much embarrassed. When I asked for Monsieur Bahuchet, all the scribblers began to laugh; and they made some very coarse jests among themselves, which brought the blood to my cheeks.
"'Ah! you want to see Bahuchet, do you?' they said; 'ah! it is that villain, that seducer of a Bahuchet, whom you want to see?—On my word, he's a lucky rascal!—It seems that you don't go in for height, or for physique!—Who would believe that such a pygmy would be pickedout by such a pretty girl?—I say, when you take his arm, you must tower above him! and if he doesn't walk fast enough to suit you, you can easily take him under your arm and carry him; he weighs only thirty-three pounds and a half.'
"To put an end to all this nonsense, I said loudly:
"'Messieurs, I wish to see Monsieur Bahuchet in behalf of Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin, who is my mistress, and who desires to speak with him.'
"Ah! mademoiselle, you should have seen what a change took place in the office when they heard your name! All the clerks assumed a most sedate air, and the jests instantly came to an end; they became very polite, and one of them, who, when he took off his cap to salute me, showed a head prematurely bald, said: 'Mademoiselle, Bahuchet is out, on business for the master, and he will not return for an hour at the earliest. But if mademoiselle your mistress wishes to speak with Bahuchet on business, one of us might take his place; myself, for example, Eudoxe Plumard; I am ready to go at once to the Hôtel de Mongarcin. Unless you prefer to speak to the solicitor himself; but he is not in, he has just mounted his mule to go to the Palais.'
"I answered that it was about a matter with which Monsieur Bahuchet was already familiar, and that, for that reason, you desired to speak with him personally. Thereupon they promised to send him to you as soon as he returned.
"'But,' added the clerk who called himself Plumard, 'don't expect him very early; for when Bahuchet goes out, it is always an eternity before he comes back.'
"And that, mademoiselle, is the result of my visit to the solicitor's office."
"Very well," said Valentine, apparently lost in thought. After a few moments, she added: "Is it a long while, Miretta, since you have been to see your acquaintance the bath keeper's daughter on Rue Saint-Jacques?"
"No, mademoiselle, not more than a week."
"Did you ask her about—about her friend, the other bath keeper's daughter?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; I asked her if she had seen her lately. She answered that, as Bathilde's mother had returned, she could see her only very rarely. And when I tried to question her further on the subject, she abruptly changed the conversation. Which led me to think that, if she is in her friend's confidence, she does not propose to betray her secret."
"A fine secret, on my word! which must be known ere this to the whole city, except perhaps those who are most deeply interested in it; but it is always so.—At what time were you on Rue du Bac, Miretta?"
"At half-past ten, mademoiselle."
"And it is now?"
"After twelve."
"Well, we must wait until it pleases Monsieur Bahuchet to return to his desk. Really, these solicitors arevery patient with messieurs their clerks! Go, Miretta; and as soon as the fellow arrives at the house, bring him hither yourself—instantly! Above all things, do not let my aunt know anything of all this!"
"Never fear, mademoiselle; in fact, Madame de Ravenelle is at this moment shut up in her oratory, and she is paying little heed to what goes on in the house."
The clock on the Capucines Church, which could be heard at the Hôtel de Mongarcin, struck four. Valentine had been for a long time in a state of the most intense impatience; she could not stay in one place; she wandered hither and thither; took up a book and threw it down again in a moment; attempted to play on her zither, but let the instrument fall from her hands; and exclaimed continually:
"He will not come! Four o'clock, and he went out early this morning! And a solicitor keeps such clerks in his employ! Ah! how quickly I would dismiss such fellows if I were in his place!—Suppose I should intrust to Miretta the execution of my plan? But, no! no woman can perform such a commission; besides, she is in my service—she would be recognized, and I do not want to be compromised; I want to be revenged! but in such wise that no one will know from what quarter the vengeance comes."
Valentine had abandoned all hope of seeing the solicitor's clerk that day, when the door of the room in which she was sitting was suddenly thrown open, and Miretta announced:
"Monsieur Bahuchet."
At a sign from her mistress she admitted the little man, who confounded himself in reverences to Mademoiselle de Mongarcin.
"Here you are at last, monsieur! that is most fortunate!" cried Valentine; "it seems that it is very difficult to have speech with you.—Stay, Miretta, stay; I have no secrets from you, as you know.—When you go out for an hour, monsieur le clerc, does it mean that you will not return during the day?"
"A thousand pardons, mademoiselle!" replied Bahuchet, trying to assume a graceful attitude; "most certainly, if I had known, if I had been able to guess, that mademoiselle wished to speak with me, I would have returned to the office much sooner; and yet, mademoiselle, I am very excusable this time. I did not pass my time, as I often do, watching the open-air exhibitions of Turlupin and Gauthier-Garguille, or Brioché's Marionettes. No, indeed! The news was too interesting to-day; it had to do with so serious an event, accompanied by such mysterious circumstances, that—I give you my word, mademoiselle—the least inquisitive man could not have resisted the desire to see what I saw."
"Some new amourette, I suppose? some nocturnal rendezvous that you surprised?"
"No, mademoiselle; this is no question of amourettes, but of a murder committed last night. When I saylast night, I am wrong; it was perhaps a fortnight ago,perhaps longer; but the victim was not discovered until last night."
"A murder! and you witnessed it?"
"No, thank God! When I saythank God, I do not mean that I am not very curious to know how it came about. But, no, although I am very brave, there are things that make one shudder simply to think of them!"
"Come, monsieur, pray explain to us what you have learned that is so shocking?"
"Mademoiselle, I had been as far as the corner of Rue Barbette on business for the office; I was about to return to Maître Bourdinard's, planning, I admit, to go by way of Pont-Neuf, for I know no more attractive, more diverting spot for the curious observer. It is the rendezvous of the whole city! Who does not cross Pont-Neuf? One sees there at the same moment, soldiers, bourgeois, priests, students, abbés, courtiers, pages, peasants, and women!"
"Do you propose to tell us the history of Pont-Neuf, Monsieur Bahuchet?"
"No, mademoiselle, no; excuse me. My story has to do with a much less cheerful bridge, the dismal Pont-aux-Choux!"
At the mention of the Pont-aux-Choux, Miretta involuntarily shuddered and listened more closely to what the little clerk said.
"Yes, mademoiselle; it was close by the Pont-aux-Choux that the horrible tragedy, which was discoveredonly this morning, took place.—I was saying—where was I?—Oh, yes! I was about to return to my solicitor's office, when, as I was taking a glass in a wine shop, I heard a peasant say to a good woman—I say a good woman, she may have been a bad one, but it's the custom, you know, to saygood womanwhen you are speaking of a woman advanced in years—he said: 'Yes, mother, there has been someone murdered on the road I take from Faubourg Saint-Antoine to the Market. And I tell you, it isn't very pleasant; I don't know yet whether I shall dare to go across Pont-aux-Choux after dark.'
"My curiosity being aroused at that, I accosted the peasant and asked him what he meant, and he answered:
"'About two hours ago, they found in the Fossés Jaunes——'"
"What are the Fossés Jaunes, Monsieur Bahuchet?" said Valentine; "I am very ignorant, am I not? but we are taught so few things!"
"The Fossés Jaunes, mademoiselle, were made in the time of King Charles V, and they surrounded the outer wall of Paris that was built long ago, in the time of Philippe-Auguste; they extend from the Bastille to Porte Saint-Honoré."
"Are they filled with water?"
"There used to be water in them, no doubt, mademoiselle, but for a long time they have contained nothing but muddy pools, in which very tall grass grows, and from which it isn't at all easy to get out if you happento fall in. But as they are no longer of any use, I presume they will very soon be filled up.—I resume my narrative. The peasant said:
"'They found a dead man in the Fossés Jaunes, near Porte Saint-Antoine, on the other side of the Pont-aux-Choux. From the condition of his wounds, they know that he must have been killed quite a while ago; consequently, no one knows just when the crime was committed. And to think that I went by there at three o'clock in the morning, monsieur! Suppose the brigands had seen me! No doubt they would have murdered me too!'
"'But,' I said to the peasant, 'as you passed the place at three o'clock this morning, how do you know that they found a dead man there two hours ago? Have you been back there?'
"'No; but I just heard about it from a neighbor, a market gardener like myself, who just came from the faubourg. He saw the poor fellow they had taken out of the Fossés Jaunes; it seems he is a young man, and as handsome as a picture! He is still lying there at full length on the bank. Near the place where they found him, there are archers and soldiers keeping watch; and they have gone to tell the magistrates, who will make an investigation, of course, and search the neighborhood, and try to find something to put them on the track of the guilty ones.'
"I' faith, mademoiselle, I no sooner heard that than I felt a most intense longing to see the unfortunate man,who was found last night in the Fossés Jaunes. And I said to myself: 'If they need the magistrates, they may need a solicitor's clerk too; I must go and see the man, and then I can tell the whole storyde visu!'
"So I took my legs around my neck—the phrase is still in use, although it lacks sense—and I can assure you that I ran without stopping, although I overturned two children, an ass, and a milkwoman on the way; but that is a detail.
"When I arrived at the Pont-aux-Choux, someone pointed out the spot where the poor young man still lay. I hurried to the place, and I was not the only one whom curiosity had drawn thither; there was a large crowd, and the soldiers had much ado to keep a space clear about the corpse. But as I am never at a loss for an expedient, I said to one of the guards that I was a clerk and employed in the magistracy, so he let me go near."
"So that you saw the man who was found dead?" said Miretta, in a voice trembling with emotion.
"Yes, my pretty lady's-maid, I saw it as plainly as I see you.—Ah! what a calamity! It was a young man—that is to say, a man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight at most, with a graceful figure, very well built, and a face—oh! a fascinating face! so refined and distinguished! He must have been a nobleman, or a gentleman of some ancient family."
"He was not disfigured, then, not wounded in the face?"
"Not a scratch! A surgeon who was there, with the lieutenant of police—for the lieutenant had come in person to examine the victim—the surgeon said, after looking at the wounds:
"'This young man was struck from behind, evidently when he was seated; he received a sword thrust in the back, which went completely through his body, and then another in the heart; but the latter when he had already fallen to the ground and lost consciousness. There cannot have been any struggle; death must have been instantaneous, and the unfortunate man had no time to defend himself.'"
"But did no one recognize the young man?" said Valentine; "his rank or his profession must have been indicated by his clothing. Did the lieutenant of police discover anything to put him on the track?"
"Mon Dieu! mademoiselle, it was very difficult to guess. In the first place, the victim had been robbed of his cloak and hat and belt. The poor young man had nothing on him but his doublet and short-clothes, both of black cloth, and boots of a very common sort. But there was nothing in his pockets—neither money, nor papers, nor weapons; absolutely nothing! How is it possible, then, to guess who he is?—The lieutenant of police, after a careful examination of the body and the clothes, said:
"'Evidently this young gentleman had just arrived in Paris, for we do not remember having seen him before. He must have been attacked and robbed by Giovanni,who took his money, his papers, his weapons, and even a part of his clothes. Yes, such a crime can have been committed by none but that bold Italian, who then hurled the body of his victim into the moat, so that this latest crime might be less quickly discovered.'"
"Giovanni!" cried Miretta; "always Giovanni! As soon as a murder is committed, everyone agrees to charge it to his account! What is there to prove that it was he who killed this young man?"
"Hoity-toity! here is the little brunette defending the robber again!" exclaimed Bahuchet, with a laugh. "Really, my dear, I begin to think that you are one of his band!"
Miretta flushed crimson.
"I say that," she faltered, "because people tell so many lies, and invent so many stories that——"
"Mon Dieu! you do not need to justify yourself!" said Valentine, smiling at her.—"But is that all, Monsieur Bahuchet? Is your terrible story at an end?"
"Yes, mademoiselle, that is all. The lieutenant of police has had a search made in the neighborhood, hoping that something might be found belonging to the victim; but what is the use of searching now, when the crime was committed perhaps three weeks ago? If it had not been for a dog, nothing would have been discovered! But those excellent beasts are often much cleverer and more cunning than we are, and they have a most astonishing scent! This one stopped on the edgeof the Fossés Jaunes, and his master called him in vain—he would not budge. As such persistence on the dog's part seemed very strange, his master went to him to find out what he was doing. By peering intently into the high grass in the moat, he finally discovered something that looked like a man's arm; he ran for a ladder, and they found the unfortunate victim. But that was all; for they have not succeeded in finding anything in the fields round about, or in the moat where the poor young man lay! Doubtless he was coming to Paris for enjoyment and diversion, and he met death before he had put his foot in the city.—But so it goes!"
"I am very, very sorry for the poor fellow who perished so miserably!" said Valentine; "but I did not know him; and as I can do nothing to avenge him, you will allow me, Monsieur Bahuchet, to turn my attention now to the subject that led me to ask you to call here."
"I am listening, mademoiselle; I am entirely at your service; I desired simply to prove to you that if I returned late to the office, I was not without some excuse. That idiot of a Plumard began at once to make remarks!"
"Enough, monsieur!—Listen: I expect a service from you. Are you disposed to oblige me, and, above all things, never to say a word which may lead anyone to suspect that you have acted by my orders?"
"Mademoiselle, I am entirely devoted to you; and asfor my discretion—— Oh! there is no danger!"
"But you are very fond of talking, monsieur, and of telling everything you have learned!"
"Everything! That depends; I know many things now that nobody else knows—secrets; for instance, when Plumard——"
"Well! do you propose to betray them now, monsieur?"
"No, mademoiselle, no! I was about to say; even if Plumard should question me, he would learn nothing.—But what sort of service does mademoiselle require of me?"
"Something very simple and very easy," said Valentine, opening a small desk and taking from it the white plume that Bahuchet had sold her. "Look, Monsieur Bahuchet, do you recognize this plume?"
"Perfectly: it is the one I picked up on Rue Dauphine, under the balcony which Monsieur Léodgard de Marvejols had just scaled."
"That is right. Well, I wish you to go to Landry's bathing establishment, and ask to see the fascinating Bathilde's mother. I know that she has returned home. You will hand this white plume to that woman and say to her: 'Your daughter's lovers lose their plumes at night when they scale balconies to join her; here is one belonging to a noble lord, whose name Mademoiselle Bathilde will be able to give you.'—Then you will bow and take your leave; and that is all. As I do not wish to put you out for nothing, be kind enough to accept this purse as compensation for the trouble I cause you."
The little clerk observed at a glance the plumpness of the purse which Valentine offered him with the plume; but he hesitated about taking them.
"Well?" continued the nobly born maiden, testily; "are you not willing to do what I ask?"
"Pardon, pardon, mademoiselle; assuredly, I am too fortunate in the confidence which you manifest in me."
"Then take this plume and this purse!"
"But, you see, I am wondering in my own mind how Dame Ragonde will take it—that is young Bathilde's mother's name. I know the family. Dame Ragonde is a very bad one, they say; and when I tell her that her daughter receives lovers at night, that will not afford her great pleasure! What if she should fall on me with fists and claws?"
"What, Monsieur Bahuchet! You, who claim to be so brave, afraid of a woman's anger?"
"Because with a woman one must accept anything without retaliating; whereas, with a man—what a difference! If he ventures to lack respect, to strike us, why, we fall on him and pay him back twice or thrice what we have received."
"Very well, monsieur; instead of taking the plume to this Bathilde's mother, hand it to her father, Landry the bath keeper; then, if he resorts to violence, you can pay him back twice or thrice."
The little clerk scratched his ear and opened his nostrils wider than ever; he saw that the young lady had no faithin his courage; however, he made up his mind at last and took both plume and purse, saying:
"I will do as you first suggested, mademoiselle; I will hand this plume to Dame Ragonde; I think that that will be the better way; and as for her claws, I will brave them without a tremor."
"And if she should ask who sent you?"
"No one! I am acting on my own account. I picked up the plume, and I bring it back; and that will be no falsehood."
"Very good; discretion so far as I am concerned, monsieur, is what I especially enjoin upon you. You will carry this plume to the bath keeper's to-day?"
"It shall be handed to Dame Ragonde to-day."
"If my errand is left undone, I warn you that I shall know it!"
"It shall be done; I swear it by the Basoche!"
"Au revoir, Monsieur Bahuchet!"
"Mademoiselle, I have the honor to present my respectful homage.—Bonsoir, pretty brunette! Oh! what eyes you make at me, my dear!—Come, come! be calm! I won't speak ill of robbers again!"
"Well!" said Valentine to Miretta, who sat as if lost in thought after the solicitor's clerk had gone. "You say nothing, Miretta; is it because you do not approve of what I have done?"
"That poor girl! She will be very unhappy when her parents know of her fault!" murmured Miretta, with a sigh.
"And suppose another woman should become the mistress of the man you love?" rejoined Valentine, seizing her maid's arm; "would not you be revenged?"
"Oh, yes! yes! You have done well!"
And Miretta raised her eyes, which seemed to emit flames.
On leaving the Hôtel de Mongarcin on this occasion, Bahuchet did not jostle the passers-by or jingle the money in his purse; the little clerk was beginning to be accustomed to windfalls. Moreover, at that moment his joy was moderated by another sentiment. He had carefully concealed the white plume under his doublet; then he had counted the contents of the purse twice over. He found therein a hundred livres tournois in coins of various denominations, and he gazed with admiration at the money; then he carefully bestowed the purse in his belt, saying to himself:
"It is a great pity that I have to carry this plume to Landry the bath keeper! There is nothing pleasant about that commission; it may even be dangerous! Pardieu! Mademoiselle de Mongarcin knows it well enough! She would not pay such a price to have anerrand done that is apparently so simple, if she did not foresee that the messenger would be exposed to great risk!—Let me see, let me see! I must cudgel my brain a bit and try to think if there is not some way of keeping my back or my face out of reach of cudgels or claws.—I have promised that this white plume shall be handed to-day to young Bathilde's parents; it shall be, for an honest youth has only his word! Moreover, I am in a solicitor's office! But solicitors know how to get around the most knotty questions; suppose I should get around this errand of mine—suppose I should send somebody else in my place to carry this infernal plume, prescribing the words he was to say? Why, that would come to precisely the same thing in the end, and my person would run no risk whatever!"
Having decided upon this plan, Bahuchet bent his steps toward the wretched eating house where he and his comrade Plumard generally dined.
On entering the place, he saw his friend seated at his usual table; he took his seat opposite him, with an even more than ordinarily expansive smile.
"Enchanted to find you, Plumard, my boy! I should have been disappointed if you had not come here to-night. You are having supper—I will do likewise, for I have a keen appetite. What you are eating looks very good, Plumard; what in the devil is it?"
"It is a rabbit stew, according to our host; but it's too good to be rabbit, it must be cat at least!"
"Ah! bigre! I propose to have some of it, too.—Holà! waiter! bring me a portion of the same dish that my friend has; if it isn't the same animal, I won't have it! And by the way, waiter, you may also bring me some fricot of veal, with small onions—a large portion! Make it double, and I will give my friend Plumard some; he has a weakness for veal, like myself. And, waiter, I could eat some of that delicious fish which is noted for its bones—a carp, as fine as those at Fontainebleau, where they resemble whales; a fried carp! That is a feast in itself—with a sprig of parsley on it; and I know that my friend Plumard does not profess a profound contempt for the carp. Moisten it all with that Argenteuil light wine that is so wellstripped—you know what I mean, don't you? the old, not the new; the really old, that you don't make yourself.—Go, waiter, and if I am content with you I will grease your palm, as we say at the office."
"But I say!" said Plumard, fixing his great round eyes on his vis-à-vis; "what does this mean, Bahuchet? Have you had a legacy left you? or has a fair lady of mature years let her favors fall upon you?"
"No! nothing of the sort! Certainly, a lady might fall in love with me as well as with another. I am not a foe of the fair sex. Although there is always a reverse side to the medal, I will not say of women, with Suetonius, that we mustmissam facere uxorem!—That Suetonius was not a gallant man."
"Answer what I ask you, instead of quoting your classics!"
"It seems to me, Plumard, that with you I may venture to take a few strides into the domain of science. You are a clerk like myself; you must understand Latin. If you do not understand it, I grieve for you."
"What an infernal chatterbox! he keeps branching off from his subject."
"That proves that I have facility in elocution, elasticity in my ideas. There are many people who would like to branch off from their subject, and who cannot. They have to remain nailed fast to it, for lack of imagination to think up anything else;—quid agis? You wish to know why I treat you so handsomely this evening, do you not? Well, I propose to tell you: I won a dozen livres in a game ofbrisquewith a churl, and I propose to consume a part of it with you. Do you think that I do wrong?"
"No, no! far from it; it is an excellent idea of yours!"
"Ah! it is very lucky that you approve of my action."
"Do you play atbrisque?"
"I play at all games at which I win; they are the only ones that amuse me.—But here comes the veal. Let us attend strictly to business. There are idiots who say:Non ut edam vivo, sed ut vivam edo. For my part, I am not ashamed to say that I live for nothing else except to eat; for if I did not eat, I should die. Why, then, should not one do with pleasure, with sensuous delight, a thing which we are bound to do every day?—Let us fall to!"
Bahuchet, possessor of a stomach whose capacity was extraordinary, swallowed with surprising rapidity everything that the waiter placed between him and Plumard; he consumed, unaided, almost the entire contents of the dishes which he had ordered for two; so that his friend stopped him at last, saying:
"It was hardly worth while to offer to treat me, if you propose to eat everything!"
"Quid rogas, comrade? why do you eat so slowly? I concluded that you were not hungry, and I thought that it was useless to leave anything."
"If I ate as fast as you, I should choke to death!"
"Well, I will go slower now.—Besides, I want to talk with you; and when one is talking, one cannot eat; that is why I laid in a stock in advance.—Plumard, I am going to tell you something which will make you very happy."
"Bah! is it that our solicitor is going to give us a crown more a month?"
"Ouiche! I advise you to count on that! He is more likely to cut us down; he has already threatened to do it to me!—Come, think, think of something that might be of immense benefit to you."
Plumard raised his great eyes to the beams which sustained the ceiling.
"Have you met a rich woman who wishes to marry me?"
"You haven't guessed yet; but with what I have discovered, I make no doubt that you will very soonfascinate some wealthy dowager, who will lay her crowns at your feet."
"Come, explain yourself, Bahuchet; you know that I am not very strong at guessing, and you keep me in suspense too long!"
"Quid festinas? What's the hurry? Think; take your time!"
"If you don't tell me, I will go away!"
"What a keg of powder!"
"That is my nature!"
"Well, listen: I have discovered in acul-de-sacan old hag who has invented a pomade that infallibly makes the hair grow on the baldest skulls and those most rebellious under cultivation!"
Plumard frowned and looked at his comrade with a wrathful air, muttering:
"Do you mean to make sport of me, as usual? You know, Bahuchet, that I don't like that. You have already told me a lot of stories about pomades that did not exist. You have sent me to ask for them to people who have laughed in my face. I want no more of your practical jokes! I will fight you if you begin that game again. I am not afraid to fight; I am no coward! Look out, or I will hit you a crack!"
"Ta! ta! ta! What a nice, amiable boy it is!—You treat a person, and try to make yourself agreeable to him, and to reward you he threatens to beat you!—All right; we will say no more about it, my dear fellow; Iwill keep my discovery to myself, and if a few of my hairs should fall out some day I shall know how to remedy it."
Plumard was silent for a moment, nibbling a piece of dry bread.
Then he murmured, in a softer tone:
"Then why have you fooled me so often? How do you expect me to have confidence in you?"
"It's all right! it's all right! let us say no more about it."
"But this old hag who makes the pomade—do you know her address?"
"No, I tell you, I no longer know anything; I was lying, I was trying to make fun of you! I deserve nothing better than the rope's end or the cudgel!"
"Come, come, Bahuchet! I was too quick; I am sorry."
"Ah! when a friend tells me that he is sorry, I cannot harbor ill will against him.—Yes, I know where to find the hag."
"And she sells this pomade?"
"No, she won't sell it to anybody!—but to me, having taken a fancy to me, she will give a jar."
"Oh! that is much more agreeable! And when will you have this jar?"
"To-morrow, if I choose."
"And you will give it to me?—Ah! you are a friend!"
"Yes, I will give it to you, but on one little condition, and that is that you will do me a favor in return.Between friends, you know, when one obliges the other, he always expects reciprocity."
"What is it that I must do?" asked Plumard, with a frown.
"A very simple thing, which will not disturb you in the least. When you go home to-night, go into Landry the bath keeper's place—he is your neighbor—and hand his wife this white plume, which I picked up under their balcony one night when I walked home with you. Then you will say to Dame Ragonde: 'Your daughter's lovers lose their plumes at night, scaling your balcony; here is one which I picked up, and which belongs to a young nobleman whose name your daughter will tell you.'—And then you will go away. It's the simplest thing in the world."
Plumard pushed his stool away from the table, crying:
"A very pretty commission that! I shall be well treated when I deliver that message.—No, no! do your errand yourself—you may have all the profit."
"As you please; but since you refuse to do it, we will say no more about the jar of pomade."
And Bahuchet began to whistle with an indifferent air. After a few minutes Plumard said, between his teeth:
"What an idea, to send to that girl's mother the plume her lover lost!—That is downright wicked, it's a villainous trick!—Have you any reason to complain of pretty Bathilde? I am surprised at that; I thought that you didn't know her."
"Plumard! there are mysteries which it is impossible to divulge.—As for the girl, she will say to her mother: 'It is not true, I have no lover'; and that will be the end of it."
"Do you think so?"
"Parbleu! are girls who have lovers ever at a loss for a lie?"
"That is true.—But another suggestion occurs to me."
"State it."
"Let us assume that I undertake this—thorny commission; how do I know that you will give me the jar of pomade then? You will laugh in my face when I claim it."
"I understand your suspicion, having now and then played some rather neat tricks on you; and I am so far from being angry with you, that I propose to prove to you that it will not be so this time."
And taking from his belt the purse he had received, Bahuchet produced a beautiful rose crown and placed it in Plumard's hand, saying:
"See, here is gold—and of good alloy. If I do not give you the jar of pomade when you claim it, I will allow you to keep this gold piece and not return it to me.—Do you think that I am tricking you, now?"
Plumard turned the coin over and over in his hand; he weighed it, rang it on the table, then put it in his pocket, and offered his comrade his hand, saying:
"It is a bargain; I will deliver the plume."
"And you will say exactly what I have told you?"
"I will say it without omitting a word. Where is the plume?"
"Here it is; conceal it under your doublet, as I have done. Let us empty this jug of wine, then you must go about your commission."
"This evening?"
"Why not? It is better to have it done with at once."
"And you will go for the jar of pomade?"
"I told you that I would give it to you to-morrow, and you may rely upon it. In any event, it seems to me that you have a sufficient guaranty."
"That is true."
The two clerks emptied the jug of wine, and Bahuchet paid the bill.
They left the wine shop.
The day was nearing its end.
"Until to-morrow!" said Bahuchet, shaking hands with his comrade.
"Until to-morrow!"
And the little man ran off in the opposite direction to that which Plumard took to go to Rue Dauphine. And as he ran, he laughed in his sleeve, saying to himself:
"Take the plume, dear boy; I am going to enjoy myself, to pass the night in jollification at a wine shop, and to make up a pomade to redeem my gold piece!"
As Plumard drew near to Master Landry's establishment, he felt that his resolution weakened; a nervousshiver ran through his limbs. To restore his courage, he passed his hand over his bald head several times, saying to himself:
"Hair! it will make my hair grow! I shall have as much as Samson, perhaps! How handsome I shall be when I have some hair! No woman will be able to resist me then. And when they ask me for a lock, I shall not be compelled to refuse them, as I am to-day.—Ah! corbleu! sacrebleu! morbleu! I must shrink at nothing in face of that hope! How beautifully I will dress my hair! I will have curls falling over my ears.—But suppose that old woman should rush at me and claw my eyes out! Peste! then I should not see my hair grow!—My eyes are superb; I should never be able to console myself for the loss of even half of one of them.—This is a very embarrassing, very delicate affair! Let me think a little. Might I not make some change in what I have to say when I deliver the plume? After all, Bahuchet won't be at my back to listen to what I say! He has taken me in many times; and if I should cheat him a little, where would be the harm?—And then, I should be sorry to make trouble for that girl, who, they say, is so pretty! Who knows whether some day, when I have some hair, she may not feel a tender affection for me, on being told of the service I rendered her?—Yes, I must be generous to beauty, and shelter my face from scratches."
In due time, Plumard reached the bath keeper's house.
It was dark and the shopkeepers were beginning to close their doors.
The old trooper of Henri IV sat in his doorway, smoking his pipe.
The clerk walked up and down the street several times; at last he decided to accost Landry, saying to himself:
"It matters little whether I give the plume to the father or the mother. I prefer to address myself to the father; men understand each other better. I must be shrewd and subtle.—Ah! good evening, Master Landry! How are you this evening? You are smoking, I see; that is a pleasant pastime. I should like very much to smoke, if it did not make me sick and make my head ache so that I can't see. I have an uncle who went into consumption from smoking a pipe, and two cousins who were made insane!—Ah! how pleasant it is to smoke!—The skies are dark to-night, and I am afraid we shall have a storm to-morrow; that would be a disappointment to me. I have a longing to take a ride in achaise à porteurs, or abrouette—the new invention, you know? it is very convenient, and very fashionable in the best society;brouettescost only sixteen sous for the trip, or eighteen by the hour; while thechaise à porteurscosts thirty sous for the trip. That is dear—yes, it's very dear! But how comfortable it must be in one!—Still, it's very nice in abrouette!"