"He is far too much so, messieurs! He is in great danger!"
"The devil! we must take precautions, then. For this husband is a veritable wild boar, supplied with nasty tusks."
"Let us go to supper, messieurs."
"Let us go to supper."
The young men walked away; but Léodgard, who had overheard them, remained seated on a bench under the trees, saying thoughtfully to himself:
"Ah! this Marquise de Santoval, who is said to be so beautiful, is Valentine—the woman whom I was to marry! I hardly noticed her, then! I am curious to know if they tell the truth.—And then, it will distract me, and I need distraction."
And the count walked slowly toward the place where the company was assembled.
As for Jarnonville, he had long since left the courtesan's abode, sorely depressed because his attempt to arouse Léodgard's interest had proved fruitless.
A few weeks later, a splendid ball was given by the Prince de Valdimer, a wealthy and luxury-loving foreigner, ambassador of one of the Northern powers.
Every person who imparted any ray of brilliancy to the somewhat dismal court of Louis XIII, every bearer of an illustrious name in France, was bidden to this festivity. The Comte de Marvejols had not been forgotten.
It was hardly possible to move in the salons of the vast mansion which the Prince de Valdimer had hired, and which he had caused to be decorated and illuminated on a most magnificent scale.
The ladies, dressed in rich gowns, were covered with diamonds, pearls, and jewels. The men, who were more coquettish in those days than we are to-day, also wore laces, plumes, and precious stones on their garments.
Then there were the newly rich merchants, the financiers, the farmers-general, who sought to disguise their origin by arraying themselves in sumptuous vestments of gold and silver brocade.
A fact that gave additional importance to this function in the eyes of many persons was that it was said that the Cardinal de Richelieu had promised to attend.
The crowd was therefore so great that one sometimes had to wait a long while before going from one room to another, if one did not wish to be suffocated.
A young woman of rare beauty, holding her elegant figure gracefully erect, and leaning on the arm of a man of forty, whose face wore a severe but noble expression, led her escort into a window recess as if in search of air, saying:
"In heaven's name, monsieur le marquis, let us not mingle with that crowd; let us wait here a moment, where we may perhaps be able to breathe! Mon Dieu! what a multitude of people! the whole court and the whole city are at this fête!"
"If you dread the heat, if this crowded hall has no charms for you, Valentine, we will go away."
"Oh, no! I wish to stay; it is a very brilliant affair; but I would like to rest a moment here."
"As you please."
"Why, here is Monsieur le Marquis de Santoval!" cried a little hunchbacked old man, who held his head erect, however, and whose eyes were instinct with cunning and good humor, addressing the escort of the lady who had taken refuge in the window recess; "have I the honor of saluting madame la marquise?"
"Yes, my dear De Noirteuil," replied Monsieur de Santoval, shaking hands with the little old man.
"Ah! present me, I pray you."
"Madame, allow me to present Monsieur de Noirteuil, a gentleman from the South—like myself; moreover, a clever diplomatist who has often placed his talents at the service of his country, and always with success."
"What would you have—I had nothing else to offer my country; it would have none of my person!—But allow me to congratulate you, Santoval! You are a lucky mortal, 'pon my honor! I have heard your wife's beauty extolled, but I see that what I have heard is far below the truth!"
"You are gallant, as always, De Noirteuil!"
"At this moment I am simply the echo of what is said on every side.—What think you of this fête,belle dame? a little crowded, is it not?"
"Why, monsieur, it seems to me to be very brilliant, very splendid!"
"Humph! too many people! That is the way with these foreigners; when they want to give a fête, they invite and invite! they would do much better to make a selection, to sort people out."
"What! do you mean to say that you have seen anybody who is out of place here?"
"I do not say that; still, after all, he might well have invited a smaller number."
"They say that the cardinal is coming."
"That is possible; but it is all the same to me—I don't care about seeing him, I have no request to make of him. He has just organized two companies ofmousquetaires,but I fancy that he will not appoint me to a captaincy. Ha! ha!"
"Still fond of your laugh, my dear De Noirteuil!"
"Ah! I must have something, you know, marquis! Now, you possess an enchanting wife, and I, my gayety! I never had any other companion; but it has its good points.—Mon Dieu! what do I see? What miracle is this? Is it really he? Yes, it is himself, on my word!"
"Of whom are you speaking, De Noirteuil?"
"Of that young cavalier whom I see yonder, at the entrance of the gallery; dressed in the extreme of fashion, with princely magnificence! But he carries it well, vrai Dieu! He is a very pretty fellow, that Léodgard de Marvejols!"
"Ah! you are speaking of the Comte de Marvejols?—What is the matter, Valentine? do you feel ill?"
"I, monsieur? not in the least. Why do you ask me that?"
"Because it seemed to me that your arm suddenly rested very heavily on mine.—I am happy that my alarm was unfounded."
"I uttered that exclamation of surprise," continued the hunchback, "because it is a long while since young Marvejols has been seen at any ball or party; he has ceased entirely to go to court; in short, between us, he is looked upon as a regularmauvais sujet, who frequents only courtesans and low gambling hells!"
"It would seem that you are not his friend, monsieur," said Valentine, with an ironical glance at the little man.
"I, madame la marquise? Oh! I bear him no ill will. I have never been his rival. Ha! ha!—Look, he is coming this way!"
Léodgard, having learned from several persons that the Marquise de Santoval was in that room, was trying to force his way through the crowd and had succeeded in reaching a point within a few feet of the window where Valentine was.
Old De Noirteuil immediately bowed several times to Léodgard and offered him his hand, saying, in the shrill, piercing voice which seems to be the patrimony of hunchbacks:
"Hail! my dear count, hail! Enchanted to see you, on my word of honor! you are such a rare bird—at court, at all events; no one will ever reproach you for being too zealous a courtier! But, vive Dieu! you should not abandon your place to others in this way! A Marvejols is intended to show himself, as I was saying just now to my friend the Marquis de Santoval and his charming wife."
While the little old man was speaking, Léodgard had fixed his eyes on Valentine, who, in her turn, fixed hers upon him. This reciprocal glance lasted only an instant, but what a multitude of things were said during that swift flash, which seemed of the sort to kindle a conflagration!
The Comte de Marvejols well deserved that a lady should rest her eyes upon him. Hardly twenty-eight years old,tall, well made, and endowed with a noble and graceful bearing, he possessed in addition very handsome features and an expression at once winning and haughty. The only points that one could criticise in Léodgard's appearance were an extreme pallor which gave to his face a suggestion of the other world, and a certain vagueness in his glance which harmonized too well with the pallor of his brow.
But, as women, in general, are rather inclined to men who have something uncommon about them, Léodgard made many conquests, and his appearance at the Prince de Valdimer's had created a sensation.
After exchanging a handshake with Monsieur de Noirteuil, he saluted the Marquis de Santoval; then he bowed low to Valentine, accompanying the movement with a slight smile, which indicated that it was not the first time that he had presented his respects to the marchioness. Then he walked on into another salon.
"He is good-looking, very good-looking, a charming cavalier!" murmured the little old man, looking after the count.
"Monsieur de Marvejols bowed to you as to an old acquaintance, it seemed to me," said Monsieur de Santoval, whose brow had grown dark.
"Why, my father was a very close friend of the Marquis de Marvejols, so that the count and I are not strangers; I have met him once or twice."
"Oh! I beg pardon; I knew nothing of that.—Is not the count married?"
"Yes, indeed! oh, yes!" said Monsieur de Noirteuil; "in fact, he made a very absurd marriage—the daughter of a man who kept a shop; and it was his father, the old marquis, who insisted that the marriage should take place. It seems that there had been seduction, malediction, desertion—and a child with it all."
"Men renowned for theirbonnes fortunesseem to have bad ones too, sometimes!" observed Monsieur de Santoval, smiling in a strange fashion.
"It seems to me, monsieur, that the crowd is less dense," said Valentine, "and that we might walk through the other rooms now."
"With pleasure, madame; I am at your service."
"Lovely woman! enchanting woman!" cried the little hunchback, as he watched the young marchioness move away on her husband's arm.
"Yes," said the Baron de Montrevert, leaning unceremoniously on the little man's shoulder; "but much too lovely for her husband—eh, Noirteuil?"
"Do not lean on me so, baron—you are heavy, you are extremely heavy, baron!"
"What do you mean by that, you crafty old man? Do you refer to my body or my mind?"
"Both."
"Is it true that Léodgard is here?"
"Quite true; I spoke to him just now."
"Do you know that Sénange has enticed Camilla, his mistress, away from him?"
"How do you suppose that I know that? Do I consort with courtesans, pray? I have never cared for that sort of woman!"
"Ha! ha! ha! I think that you have been very wise, my dear friend!"
"You laugh, do you? Mon Dieu! if I had chosen to cover them with gold, they would have adored me."
"You mean that they would have pretended to."
"To a man of sense, that amounts to the same thing. Look you—you mention Léodgard; he is handsome, young, and well made; and yet you told me just now that his mistress had left him!"
"That is true; and the strangest part of it is that Léodgard has not had a quarrel with Sénange; indeed, it is said that they continue to be good friends."
"Par la sambleu! I should say so! What greater service can one render a friend than to rid him of an old mistress?"
"Noirteuil, you are a villain! It is very lucky for the ladies that you have that slight protuberance on your shoulder!"
"Why so?"
"Because it has preserved them from the tricks you would have played on them.—But I propose to try to find the fair Santoval, and, if possible, I will dance with her."
"Go! go singe yourself at the candle, my handsome moth!" said the little old man, mingling with the crowd;"I fancy that more than one of you will scorch his wings; but I shall not be one!"
Léodgard had turned his back on Valentine, still fascinated by her glance, by her beauty which had disturbed his senses, by her charming and noble carriage, by the grace with which she wore her splendid costume, and, lastly, by the change which the title of wife had wrought in her manner and in her whole aspect.
He could not convince himself that that intoxicating beauty was really the maiden whose hand he had refused. But he remembered that in those days he had hardly glanced at her, and that she, on her side, had barely raised her eyes to his face; and he said to himself:
"What a difference! What a glance she flashed at me just now! There was in her eyes a sort of ironical expression which seemed to jeer at me for having failed to appreciate her—a sort of challenge to me to refuse to do homage to her charms!—Ah! I long to see her again! to gaze upon her charms a long while, a very long while! to taste that happiness which I once spurned! Will she look at me again as she did just now?"
Léodgard succeeded without difficulty in finding Valentine. The young marchioness, alleging the heat as a pretext, had refused all invitations to dance; she had seated herself on one of the raised benches in the gallery, which were so arranged that the ladies who sat there could enjoy the sight of the ball without moving.
When he discovered Valentine, the Comte de Marvejols leaned against a pillar within fifteen feet of her, because from that place, thanks to her elevated position, he could gaze at her at his ease. The Marquis de Santoval, being at the foot of the benches, and surrounded by people, could not see Léodgard.
The latter had been in his chosen place but a few moments when he became certain that Valentine had seen him, that she knew that he was there for the sole purpose of admiring her and watching her movements. Thereafter he saw nobody in the whole assemblage but that woman, a single glance from whose eyes had sufficed to set his heart on fire. All the passing, all the going and coming about him were powerless to divert his attention; his eyes did not wander from the Marquise de Santoval.
"Vive Dieu! my dear count, you are terribly preoccupied, this is the second time that I have spoken to you without obtaining a reply!"
As he spoke, the Baron de Montrevert placed his hand on Léodgard's arm; the latter angrily roused himself from his contemplation and muttered:
"Well! what is it, Montrevert? Is not a man the master of his thoughts and actions here?"
"Oh, the devil! How surly you are to-night, Léodgard! Have I disturbed you in some very pleasant occupation? I will wager that I know what has nailed you to this pillar! Yes, now I know!—Aha! my dear master, we are admiring the Marquise de Santoval, whois on one of the benches yonder!—Well! in that case, I forgive you for snarling at me—such a lovely woman is quite capable of making us forget our friends!—But look—it seems to me that she casts a glance in our direction; this is a good place, apparently!"
Léodgard had resumed his contemplation of the marchioness and was no longer listening to Montrevert.
At that moment the little old hunchback joined them and stood on tiptoe, crying:
"What are you looking at there? Is the cardinal in that direction? I don't care about seeing him—I know him; still, as they say that he is thinner than ever, I should like to judge.—Montrevert, take me in your arms a moment, so that I may see."
Montrevert followed Léodgard's example—he did not reply. The Chevalier de La Valteline, who also had stopped near them, said to Monsieur de Noirteuil:
"Console yourself; it is not the cardinal they are looking at; it is the young Marquise de Santoval, whom everybody is admiring."
"The Marquise de Santoval! Oh! that makes a difference; I know her! I am very intimate with her husband!—But what a noise there is in the next room! Doubtless the cardinal is making hisentrée; he seems to be coming this way, for the commotion is approaching us. So much the better! we shall be able to see him."
At that moment, the new arrival, whose peculiar costume and unique figure caused such a lively sensation inthe throng that filled the rooms, made his appearance at the door of the gallery where the benches were. At sight of him many ladies could not control their desire to laugh, which they tried to dissemble behind their fans, while the little hunchback cried:
"By Notre Dame! who is this green man, who looks not unlike an asparagus stalk?—But I know him! why, yes, it's the Gascon chevalier, Monsieur de Passedix!—Where in the devil did the Prince de Valdimer pick up all these people?"
"My dear De Noirteuil," said La Valteline, "do not make a mistake; Passedix is a genuine chevalier of good family! He is absurd with respect to his physique, his costume, and his pretentious ways—that may be; but he is in no wise out of place here!"
The Gascon had, in fact, laid aside his orange costume. Having succeeded in obtaining an invitation to the Prince de Valdimer's ball, he had determined to create a sensation there by his magnificence, and, above all, by the originality of his costume; he had, in short, decided to do his utmost to forget Miretta; and having found no cure for his troubles in wine, he proposed to himself to make other conquests, hoping that another love would cure him of the passion which had caused him naught but vexation.
For several days, Passedix had reflected upon the subject of the color which would be most becoming to him and at the same time would be likely to attract the eyes of the ladies at a ball. He had decided on apple-green,and had ordered a satin doublet and short-clothes of that color, both slashed with olive-green, to form a contrast with the background. A dark-green girdle surrounded his waist; a short apple-green cloak was fastened to the left shoulder; and lastly, a sea-green velvet cap, surmounted by plumes of the same shade, completed the costume of the chevalier, who resembled an ambulatory tree, and whose entrance had produced an effect even beyond his hopes.
"One could never imagine anything like it, if one did not see it!" said the little old man.
Passedix, who had recognized La Valteline and Montrevert, pushed through the crowd which escorted him, and hastened to join them.
"Hail to the flower of chivalry!" exclaimed La Valteline, smiling.
"Enchanted to meet you, my fine fellows!—Cadédis! what a crowd at this ball! it is gorgeous! it is elegant! The fair sex predominates—so much the better, sandis!—I say with François I: a ball without ladies is a court without roses—no, I mean a springtime—but, no matter!—Ah! but there is our friend the Comte de Marvejols, glued to yonder pillar.—Good-evening, Léodgard! How now! not a word for a comrade?—Can he have gone deaf, I wonder? he does not answer!"
"No," said Montrevert; "but I believe that he has fallen in love with the Marquise de Santoval, who is sitting over yonder."
"The Marquise de Santoval!" repeated Passedix, with difficulty repressing a sigh.
"That name makes you sigh, chevalier," said La Valteline; "can it be that you too are one of the adorers of that lady, who sows confusion in all hearts?"
"I! oh! not at all; but I remembered that the Marquise de Santoval is no other than Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin—that is all."
"Vertuchoux! monsieur," said the little old man, saluting Passedix in his turn, "you have chosen an exceedingly dashing costume for the ball, and one which, as you must have noticed, produces a great effect here."
"My costume is graceful and distinguished, is it not? I have always had a weakness for apple-green; it is very becoming to me!"
"Yes, you wear it in a way that is peculiar to yourself."
"You have the general aspect of a shrub," said Montrevert.
"So much the better, sandioux! I am a rosebush; the ladies will be the roses."
"You represent hope also!" said Monsieur de Noirteuil.
"As you say, I am the chevalier of hope."
"One might also take him for a lettuce!" said the little hunchback, in an undertone.
"But, if I remember aright, you were all orange not long ago?"
"Yes, yes, that is true; but I have had enough of my orange costume; it came very near costing me dear.—Did Sénange and Monclair never tell you what happened to me, thanks to that infernal doublet?"
"No, we know nothing about it. Was it not a love adventure?"
"Love adventure! Bigre!—I beg pardon, I meant to say no, by Roland!—I was arrested, taken away—the crowd was already beginning to talk of hanging me! and all because they absolutely insisted that I was the famous robber Giovanni!"
"Giovanni! you, Giovanni! Ha! ha! ha! that is too absurd!—I say, Léodgard, Passedix was mistaken for Giovanni!"
The name of the Italian robber produced a magical effect upon Léodgard. The amorous expression of his glance instantly disappeared; he turned toward those who had addressed him, gazed at them with a distracted air, and replied in a metallic voice:
"What? what is it? what do you say? I did not hear."
"I said, count, that the Chevalier Passedix, whom you see before you disguised as a lawn——"
"What do you mean bylawn?" cried the Gascon.
"No; I meant to say dressed as a meadow—in short, this worthy gentleman was arrested by mistake for the robber Giovanni!"
"Ah! he was arrested?"
"Don't you agree with me that it is very comical?"
"Sandis! baron, I see nothing amusing in it at all! What do you see in it that moves you to laughter?"
"Pardieu! Passedix, the fact that you no more resemble Giovanni than that enormous lady yonder resembles the Marquise de Santoval; and I speak by the card, having had the honor of being set upon and robbed by the illustrious brigand!"
"What, monsieur le baron! have you been attacked by the famous Giovanni?" said the little hunchback, raising his head in order to look at Montrevert more closely.
"Yes, monsieur, and much more than attacked—I was beaten; for I tried to defend myself. But Léodgard here knows Giovanni much better than I, for he has had two encounters with him: the first, when he was robbed, like myself; on the second occasion, he tried to avenge me and kill the villainous thief; he fought with him and wounded him.—Is not that so, count?"
"Yes, it is true, I wounded him; at least, I thought so!" Léodgard replied, trying to hide his emotion, and glancing uneasily in every direction.
"You thought so!" rejoined Montrevert; "why, it was no delusion, as you were covered with blood when you came back to us."
"Cadédis!" cried Passedix, raising his hand to put aside one of the plumes, which fell over his left eye; "I don't know what I would give to cut that infernal robber in four pieces!"
"In that case, messieurs," said Monsieur de Noirteuil, "you must indeed know this Giovanni perfectly."
"That is why I said just now that the Chevalier Passedix did not resemble him at all!" said Montrevert. "Not that you can see his face, which is all hidden by his beard, but you can distinguish his eyes, which are very black and very bright, and his nose, which is long and sharp."
"Well! all that resembles me, I should say!"
"But he is a long way from having a figure like yours—he is not even so tall as Léodgard; he is very active, and seems to be powerfully built and quite young."
"I see no great difference from your humble servant."
"For some time past, we have heard nothing of people being attacked by this robber," said the little old man; "it would seem that he is reposing, or that he has left Paris."
"No, indeed!" said La Valteline; "but the shrewd rascal always awaits a good opportunity before acting; he does not steal for trifles! No, no! he is a fellow who selects his victims.—Not more than fifteen days, that is to say, fifteen nights ago, the wealthy Destaillis, receiver of the salt tax, was robbed by him as he left a gambling house in which he had broken the bank!"
"Sandis! if I were lieutenant of police, I would be ashamed of not having captured this Giovanni yet!"
"It seems that he has retreats, hiding places, in every quarter; he throws off the track all the bloodhounds that are set on him."
"Patience, messieurs," said the little hunchback; "I have been assured that the Cardinal de Richelieu said lately that he proposed to turn his attention to that villain! And if his eminence takes a hand in it, Giovanni will be caught."
"But what is this commotion in the gallery?—Ah! messieurs, this time it is really the cardinal; he is going to pass through here."
"I don't care about seeing him," said the hunchback, darting toward the crowd, "but he may have something to say to me; that is why I think it better to be where he can see me."
"For my part, I should not be sorry to have him notice me!" said Passedix.
"Oh! parbleu, chevalier!" said Montrevert; "he cannot help it! You have a costume that attracts every eye."
"So much the better! Sandis! you make me swim in joy! Bigre! here he is! we must stand erect!"
Richelieu came forward slowly, surrounded by a throng of courtiers, all of whom strove to obtain a favorable glance or a mere word from his eminence; and those who were vilifying the prime minister most savagely a few moments before were not the least eager to bend their backs double to obtain a smile.
As it was absolutely necessary for the guests to stand aside and make room for the cardinal to pass, he stopped a moment in front of the pillar against which Léodgard was leaning, and glanced at the persons nearest him.
"His eminence paused to look at me," said Passedix, leaning toward La Valteline. "Look—see——"
"He turns and speaks in an undertone to the Prince de Valdimer, who is at his side."
"I should not be surprised if he were to call me! He wishes to know the address of my tailor!"
But the Gascon's expectations were not fulfilled; it was not upon him that Richelieu had cast his eagle eye; it was Léodgard whom he had noticed; it was the name of the Comte de Marvejols that had come from his mouth.
After gracefully saluting the ladies who stood along his path, Richelieu walked through the gallery; but before he took his leave he cast at Léodgard another glance, of which all the courtiers then present sought in vain to divine the meaning.
During the first few weeks after the ball given by the foreign prince, Léodgard tried to forget Valentine's image, to banish her from his mind; he said to himself that it would be madness on his part to fall in love with a woman whose husband he had refused to be.
But the young marchioness's tender and expressive eyes were not the kind that one easily forgets, especially when they have seemed to say to one:
"Love me, I insist upon it!"
Tired of fighting against a sentiment which gave him no rest, Léodgard said to himself at last:
"Well! I will love this woman!—She will love me in return, I am certain of it; I saw it in her eyes. What do the obstacles that lie between us matter to me? Two lovers, when they understand each other, admit no obstacles!—She does not love this Marquis de Santoval; I saw that too. There are things which a glance suffices to reveal to us.—Now, I wish to be in Valentine's company again. I will go wherever she is likely to be; ere long she will cease to doubt my love. Yes, that woman shall be mine. I will trample under my feet anyone who may seek to prevent me from obtaining her."
A few days later, a brilliant reception was given by a great personage. Léodgard attended; he wore a costume the magnificence of which heightened the beauty of his face and his soldierly figure. A diamond of great value held the plumes that waved above his cap; his sword hilt and the aglets that glistened on his shoulders were incrusted with gold and precious stones.
As he passed, the Comte de Marvejols might have gathered more than one loving glance bestowed upon him by lovely and noble dames, whose conquest many a cavalier struggled to achieve. But Léodgard paid no attention to them; he had come there for but one woman—all others were indifferent to him; he passed unscathed through the fire of their glances.
At last he spied her who engrossed all his thoughts.
Valentine was seated among a number of ladies of the court, whom she dominated by the power of her charms as the majestic oak dominates the slender saplings that surround it.
The young marchioness's toilet was noble in its simplicity; it was less ornate than those of her neighbors, and yet hers was the one that was observed and admired; for veritable beauty imparts a charm to everything that it wears.
Léodgard stopped in front of Valentine and fastened his eyes upon her; he made no attempt to conceal the admiration she aroused in him.
Valentine, on her side, had perceived Léodgard at once, and a faint smile played about her lips, while her eyes expressed the keenest satisfaction.
Léodgard stood on the same spot, gazing at Valentine longer than strict propriety permitted. But suddenly the marchioness's lovely eyes ceased to respond to his burning glances, and seemed, on the contrary, to do their utmost to avoid them.
He sought to discover the cause of the change and soon succeeded: as he turned his head, he saw the Marquis de Santoval standing within a few steps and watching what was taking place.
The Comte de Marvejols decided, albeit regretfully, to leave his position. He did not lose sight of Valentine, however; he waited, hoping and seeking constantly to approach her; but Monsieur de Santoval remained near his wife; when Léodgard thought that he had gone into another room, he suddenly reappeared like a ghost, like a threatening spectre; for his brow was dark, and his eyes emitted ominous flashes which seemed the precursors of a violent storm.
At last the marchioness left her seat, to walk through the salons on her husband's arm. Seizing a moment when they were surrounded by people, Léodgard approached Valentine and said in her ear:
"I am dying with love for you, madame!"
"It is very late!" murmured the young woman, with a glance of flame at him who had addressed her.
"What? what did you say, madame?" demanded the Marquis de Santoval, turning to his wife.
"I said that it was very late, monsieur."
"You are right, madame; it is time to leave this function, which, in truth, offers little in the way of recreation."
The marquis took Valentine away; and Léodgard, as soon as he was certain that they had left the party, made haste to follow their example.
But Valentine knew that he loved her, and the words that she had let fall were not calculated to discourage him, even if they had not been accompanied by a soft glance.
A few days later, a ball was given by one of the king's favorites. Léodgard did not fail to attend, but in vain did he wander through the salons looking for her whom he burned to see again. The Marquis de Santoval and his wife did not appear; they had been invited, however; for the noble duke who gave the fête expressed more than once his disappointment that the lovely marchioness was not among his guests.
Several parties, several large receptions followed, and Léodgard did not miss one; but she whom he always hoped to meet did not appear.
The time passed; and love, which is intensified by separation, so long as it has not been rewarded, became every day more violent in Léodgard's heart.
It was evident that the Marquis de Santoval was jealous, that he had noticed the impassioned glances which theComte de Marvejols had bestowed on his wife and, above all, a certain expression of satisfaction, of triumph, that shone in Valentine's eyes while Léodgard made himself drunk with love by gazing at her.
To prevent a repetition of that pantomime, the husband could devise no better means than to cease taking his wife into society.
But Léodgard said to himself that Valentine was not the woman to allow herself to be sequestered, to live without the pleasures suited to her years. In that case, it must be she herself who did not choose to be thrown with him again. Was it because she detested him? Was it not rather because she was afraid that she might love him?
"Her efforts will be vain; I will see her!" thought Léodgard; "I will find a way to approach her; indeed, her soft glances seemed to say that that would not displease her."
Several more weeks passed. At last Léodgard, who continued to go into society, found himself one evening in the same room with the Marquis de Santoval and his wife. There was a melancholy, melting expression on Valentine's features, which was not habitual to them; but her beauty was far from being diminished by the soft languor that dimmed the brilliancy of her eyes; on the contrary, their power was increased thereby.
Léodgard did not dissemble his sensations when he saw the marchioness again. She looked at him only an instant, but in the glance that she gave him there was thewherewithal to overturn the reason of the most virtuous man; and Léodgard was mad with love already.
But the Marquis de Santoval did not leave his wife for an instant; it was impossible for the most enterprising lover to say a word to her in secret, for there was no crowd there to facilitate a private interview.
The Comte de Marvejols was obliged, therefore, to allow the marchioness to go away without exchanging a single word with her. But he no longer doubted that she was alive to his passion, and he determined to resort to other methods of seeing her.
The Hôtel de Santoval was situated on Rue Sainte-Avoie. During the next few days, Léodgard passed and repassed that hôtel, the great gate of which was always closed. He renewed the occupation of seducer, which he had abandoned of late; but the servants who went in and out had one and all a surly air of the sort that does not inspire confidence; they either answered by monosyllables the questions that were put to them, or walked away without answering at all. The concierge, too, who sometimes appeared for a moment in the gateway, had a crabbed look far from encouraging to lovers.
"By hell! I must find a way to send the lovely Valentine a note!" said Léodgard to himself, stamping the ground in vexation.
Then as his eye happened to fall on a wretched little wine shop, within a gunshot of the Hôtel de Santoval, he decided to enter.
Although enveloped in an immense brown cloak, it was easy to recognize agrand seigneurin the individual who entered the dark and smoky common room of the wine shop; so that the proprietor, who was not in the habit of receiving such guests, outdid himself in salutations, and invited Léodgard to walk into a small room behind his shop, where he could be alone, if such were his pleasure.
But Léodgard, preferring not to lose sight of the street and of Valentine's abode, took his seat at a table near the window, saying:
"I am very comfortable here; I will not move."
"What shall I serve monsieur?"
"A bottle of your best wine."
The host bowed again; for in those days wine served in bottles was not common, and was correspondingly dear. Only noblemen or rich merchants indulged in that luxury at wine shops.
The room in which Léodgard was seated contained but few drinkers at that moment. At the rear, two old soldiers were discussing their campaigns over their wine; there were also three workmen, who were breakfasting very frugally and singing snatches of ballads.
The latter soon left the wine shop, to return to their work. A few moments later, two young men arrived; their attire was very modest, but they talked very loudly.
As they made their entrance into the room, the shorter one exclaimed:
"Ah! ten thousand names of devils! It isn't so brilliant here as at the famous tavern of the Loup de Mer—eh, Plumard? This place is a regular hole!"
"It's large enough for what we have to spend!" muttered the second clerk, removing his cap to scratch the bit of plaster which was still attached to his scalp, and which, by dint of patience and by working with his nails, he had succeeded in reducing to about the size of a crown piece.
Bahuchet—the reader will ere this have recognized the two Basochians—approached the table next to Léodgard's, saying:
"Let us sit here, my dear boy; we shall be very comfortable here; we shall be able to see a little something—that is, if our proximity does not annoy his lordship?"
These last words were addressed to the count, who, having pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes, simply moved his head; whereupon the two clerks took their seats at the next table.
"What shall I serve you, gentlemen?" the host asked the new-comers.
"He calls usgentlemen!" muttered Plumard.
"The shrewd knave flatters us, hoping to induce us to spend more; but he will have nothing to show for his compliments and his reverences!—We have no choice—eleven sous between us; that is rather meagre, but we can't go beyond it!"
The host was still waiting. Bahuchet beckoned to him to come nearer.
"Listen carefully, good host, and do not exceed our order; we came here simply to eat a morsel—between our meals. Serve us three sous' worth of bread, six of wine, and two of good meat."
The host made a wry face and replaced his cap on his head.
"What kind of good meat do you expect me to serve for two sous?" he retorted.—"Make it six at least, messieurs, and you shall have a dish."
"We will not add a single denier—we have our reasons for it. Go, cabaretier, and serve it hot."
"Hot! you will have cheese!—I am not in the habit of serving it hot!"
"Ah! poor Bahuchet! where are your days of bluster?" muttered Plumard, digging his nails into his plaster.
"What would you have, Plumard? The days follow, but do not resemble one another!—Your skull is the only thing that persists in not changing; it is infernally obstinate about it."
"Do you remember, Bahuchet, when we regaled ourselves on the costume of my uncle the clothes dealer?—Ha! ha! thirty pistoles—no less; and what a spree we had at Le Roule, for two or three days!"
"I should say so; they had to take you to the hospital; you nearly died of indigestion.—Those were the good times!"
"To be sure, that great idiot of a Gascon chevalier was the cause of our having a scene with my uncle afterward!"
"Yes, but your uncle could never make us give back the money.—Ah! here comes our banquet. Fichtre! the good meat they are bringing can be smelt a long way off!"
"It's cheese—very well done."
The two clerks concluded to attack their breakfast. They stuffed themselves with bread and cheese. But after a moment Bahuchet observed, with a sigh:
"Ah! what a pity that Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin is married! She used to give me famous commissions! and she paid handsomely."
Léodgard, who up to this time had heard the lamentations of his two neighbors, but had paid no heed to them, suddenly became very attentive and did not lose a word of what followed; for Valentine's name had reached his ears, and nothing more was needed to arouse his curiosity.
"Oh, yes!" replied Plumard, making a wry face as he tasted the wine that had been brought them; "you used to receive well-filled purses in those days; and you used to treat me. I remember the commission about the white plume; I came near receiving a cudgelling."
"I would run the risk often now, to obtain the wherewithal to pay for a sumptuous repast."
"Why do you not go to the Hôtel de Mongarcin any more?"
"I do go there sometimes, as Maître Bourdinard, our employer, is still Madame de Ravenelle's solicitor and has charge of her affairs. But Mademoiselle Valentine doesn't live with her aunt since she married the Marquis de Santoval."
"The result being that you never see her."
"Faith! the other day the old aunt came within an ace of sending me to her niece to obtain her signature to a document concerning the sale of a piece of real estate; but some formalities had been omitted, and I had to carry the document back to the office, where they prepared another.—Sacrebleu! what beastly wine!"
"Messieurs," said Léodgard, turning to his neighbors, but without removing his hat, which partly concealed his face, "would you like to taste this? you may not think it bad."
And the count raised the bottle to fill the two clerks' goblets. They both made a gesture of surprise, which ended in the most gracious of smiles. They did not wait to be asked twice to hold their goblets.
"Really, my gentleman, we are deeply touched by your courtesy!" said Bahuchet, losing no time in emptying his goblet.
"Excellent! it is excellent!" cried Plumard, who would have been glad to salute his generous neighbor without uncovering his head, and who constantly put his hand to his cap, taking pains to reveal only half of his forehead.
"If you like it, you must fill again.—Holà! landlord, two more bottles!"
"Ah! my dear fellow," Plumard whispered in his comrade's ear, "what an agreeable gentleman! he has ordered two more bottles! we evidently have made a very favorable impression on him."
"Oh! there is something behind all this," Bahuchet replied, with a half-smile; "this young nobleman does not look to me like a fool, or a new arrival in Paris. If he treats us so generously, it means that he has need of us! But I snap my fingers at him! Let us accept his treat first, and let us not be bashful. It seems to me that I know this young dandy; and you, Plumard?"
"How do you expect me to recognize him? I can see only the end of his nose."
"Messieurs," said Léodgard, "would you not like to take something besides cheese with your wine?—Look you, I know what young men are; their purses are not always well filled."
"That is true!" said Plumard; "we will not play at pride with you, seigneur; we will admit frankly that we have but eleven sous; to be sure, we are clerks to Maître Bourdinard, solicitor, but he pays so little."
"In that case, allow me to offer you some breakfast."
"You invite us so graciously, that we cannot refuse."
"Landlord, bring us some ham, an omelet, cutlets—in short, the best of everything that you have!"
The tavern keeper stared in amazement at Léodgard and the two clerks; but the count had tossed a gold piece on the table, and such things were seen so rarely in that poor shop that the host took it up, gazed at it a long while, and rang it on the table to be sure that he was not mistaken.
Reassured at last with respect to the quality of the metal, he tossed his cap in the air and ran off to his kitchen, overturning all the tables that stood in his path.
The breakfast was soon brought. Léodgard ate something, so that his conduct might seem less extraordinary to his guests, whose glasses he was careful to fill frequently; and as they never refused, they were speedily in the best of humors. But Plumard did not carry his wine so well as his friend; he began to find difficulty in expressing himself, while Bahuchet was only a little giddy.
Léodgard leaned toward the latter and said to him in an undertone:
"If I should ask a service at your hands, and should offer to pay for it its weight in gold, should you be inclined to render it?"
"Altogether inclined, my gentleman; indeed, I am the one who would be greatly obliged. But move away a little, if you please; it is unnecessary that my comrade should hear you; when there is money to be earned, I prefer not to share it. To be sure, if he should hear now,he wouldn't understand. He is drunk! he doesn't know how to drink!"
The count pushed his seat away, and Bahuchet moved nearer to him. Plumard, his goblet having been filled once more, emptied it and began to talk to himself.
"Do you know the Marquis de Santoval's young wife?" asked Léodgard, taking pains to speak so that only Bahuchet could hear.
"Yes, seigneur, yes; but——"
"Your master attends to her aunt's business?"
"He does."
"You have a document to carry to Madame de Ravenelle's niece for her signature?"
"I say—you know that?"
"When you carry that document, you can take charge of a letter which I will give you for the marchioness; but you must hand that letter to no one but herself, and without allowing any other person to see you."
"Very good; I understand."
"Will you find a way to perform this commission?"
"Will I find a way! Never fear, I have done more difficult things."
"The husband must not suspect anything."
"He will know nothing about it."
"And you will try to get a reply. If she will not write one, remember exactly what she says to you."
"Word for word."
"Now, can you do all this to-day?"
"To-day? impossible! the document has to be copied; but to-morrow—to-morrow, I can go to the Hôtel de Santoval."
"To-morrow, then, at one o'clock in the afternoon, I will await you here, I will give you my letter, and you will return here and report to me the result of your mission.—See, take this money; I will give you as much more if you serve me adroitly and with discretion!"
"You will be content with me, my gentleman, for I am most desirous to serve you often.—Pardon, I think that I cannot be mistaken—you are the Comte de Marvejols?"
"Possibly—but try to forget it; I do not wish to be known here, or by your comrade."
"Never fear, monseigneur; I no longer know you."
"Until to-morrow, then!"
Léodgard left the wine shop. Bahuchet, with the keenest delight, counted the gold pieces which he held in his hand, but carefully concealed them from Plumard, who asked him why their new friend had gone away.
"Because he had business to attend to, had that most excellent gentleman! It seems to me that we too shall do well to leave the table. It is high time to return to the office."
"To the office? what! do you intend to work to-day?"
"Why not? Come, Plumard, off we go, my boy! The air will do you good."
And Bahuchet led his comrade from the shop; but when they were in the street, as Plumard stumbled atevery step instead of going forward, Bahuchet deposited him on a stone bench, and hastened back alone to the solicitor's office.
The next day, Léodgard and the little clerk arrived at the wine shop at almost the same moment. The former handed Bahuchet the note for Valentine which he had prepared; and the clerk, who had had no breakfast, promised to perform his mission adroitly.
Valentine was alone in her bedroom, buried in meditation. Her brow was stern, and the young woman's thoughts were certainly not of a frivolous description. She did not hear her maid, who had just entered the room, until she said to her:
"A young clerk is here, and wishes to know if madame will receive him. He is sent by Madame de Ravenelle. I recognize him—it is the same young man to whom madame intrusted a white plume, before her marriage; it is Monsieur Bahuchet."
"Bahuchet!" cried Valentine, in whose mind that name evoked a thousand memories. "Is that little fellow here?"
"Yes, madame."
"Admit him at once."
The little Basochian was ushered into the room; he bent himself double as he entered, retaining, however, the mocking, self-sufficient air which was customary with him, and which was intensified at that moment by the importance of the commission with which he was charged.
"My aunt sends you to me, you say, monsieur?" said Valentine, gazing fixedly at the messenger. "What does she want? or rather, with what message are you intrusted?"
"Madame, it is a matter of a parcel of real estate—a house that belonged to a second cousin on your mother's side; the said cousin having deceased without issue, and the estate descending to her collateral heirs——"
"Enough, enough, monsieur, I beg you! I understand nothing about inheritances, and I do not care to have my brain confused with all these details, which I find horribly wearisome. Come to the point. What am I to sign? a power of attorney?—Come, tell me quickly!"
"I was coming to the point, madame. Yes, I have a document in my pocket, which you will be good enough to sign, perhaps; but not until you have first read it carefully, for one should never sign anything without reading it."
Bahuchet accompanied his words with such an expressive pantomime, that it was impossible for Valentine not to understand that the little clerk had another message for her, which he dared not deliver before a third person. Her face brightened at once, and she said to the girl:
"Miretta, keep a close watch, be on your guard; and if you hear Monsieur de Santoval coming, move a chair.—And now, Monsieur Bahuchet, explain yourself; no more grimaces. What have you to say to me?"
"Does madame wish that I—before her femme de chambre?"
"I have no secrets from her. Speak at once."
After casting a glance about the room, Bahuchet took from his pocket the letter he had concealed there.
"Madame, the document to be signed was only a pretext to gain access to you. But here is a note which a young and handsome cavalier bade me hand you in secret.—Please to read it; he is waiting for me close by, and hopes for an answer."
Valentine took the letter and read it at once. An expression of joy, of triumph, lighted up her face. The little clerk had respectfully walked away, and could not hear the words which the marchioness, after reading the note, muttered between her teeth:
"Aha! monsieur le comte! you ask for a rendezvous! You are very impatient, now! But you go too fast!"
She beckoned Bahuchet to her side.
"Where was this note given to you?"
"Near by—at a wine shop."
"Do you know the person who gave it to you?"
"No, madame; but it was easy to guess that he was a nobleman."
"And he is waiting for you now?"
"Yes, madame; at the same place where he gave me his letter. What reply shall I take to him?"
"None."
"What, madame! no letter, and no word?"
"You will simply tell him that I smiled when I read his letter, and that I placed it—here."
Valentine, as she spoke, slipped the letter into her bosom.
At that moment, Miretta hurriedly moved a chair.
"My husband is coming—let me have the paper—quickly!"
"Here it is, madame; also a quill and an inkhorn; we always have them about us.—Omit one of your baptismal names," he added, in an undertone; "that will give me a pretext for coming again, and I fancy that it may be necessary."
The Marquis de Santoval entered his wife's room and scrutinized the little clerk, who bowed to the floor. The marquis paused in the middle of the room, saying:
"I disturb you, madame; you have visitors."
"Not at all, monsieur. My aunt, Madame de Ravenelle, has sent her solicitor's clerk with this document for me to sign. It is nothing very interesting, as you see—the sale of an old house, I believe, is it not?"
Bahuchet hastened to reply in his shrill falsetto:
"Yes, madame, the sale of the estate described herein, situated on Rue de la Parcheminerie, which street takes its name from the guild of workmen who once lived there, as the custom formerly was; so that we have Rues de la Ferronnerie, de la Heaumerie, de la Coutellerie, and many others. But as Paris increased in size——"
"Very good, young man, very good," said the marquis; "madame has signed, I believe?"
"Yes, monsieur le marquis, that is true; and I have only to take my leave."
And the little clerk pocketed the deed, saluted, and left the room.
Monsieur de Santoval remained for some time talking with his wife. But when he had left her, he called his valet and said:
"Did you see a very small man, with his nose in the air, who went away from the house not long ago?"
"Yes, monsieur le marquis."
"If he comes again to speak with madame, follow him when he goes away; see where he goes, and ascertain whether he speaks to anybody on leaving here. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, monsieur le marquis; and your orders shall be carried out."
"I rely upon it; for I am well aware of your zeal and intelligence."
Léodgard was but partially satisfied with the result of his message. The marchioness had smiled, and had placed the letter over her heart. To be sure, that did not indicate that she was annoyed with him who had written it; but it advanced his love affair very little.
"And now you have no excuse for going again to the marchioness's, have you?" the count asked his messenger.
Whereupon the little clerk drew himself up, placed his hand proudly on his hip, and replied with a self-satisfied air:
"We always have one, monseigneur; we are never at a loss for expedients, God be praised! This time we told the lady to omit one of her names when she signed the deed. That will suffice to require us to return for the rectification of that error.—Ha! ha! that was not bad!—But if we had not that pretext, we would invent a thousand others."
"Very good! I see that you are a sharp-witted youth."
"I dare to flatter myself that I am, seigneur."
"Take this money, and come again to this same wine shop four days hence; I will then give you another letter for the marchioness."
"Agreed, monsieur le comte; and be sure that on that day I will arrange still another pretext for returning to the house."
Four days later, Bahuchet, having concealed beneath his doublet a second letter from Léodgard, and holding in his hand a large roll of paper covered with another roll of parchment, containing the deed of transfer which he expected would make many trips from the solicitor's office to the Hôtel de Santoval, presented himself again at the latter place and asked to speak with madame la marquise.
He was admitted without difficulty. This time Valentine was alone in her room. When she saw the little clerk come in, parchment in hand, she could not help smiling.
Bahuchet unrolled his parchment and said aloud:
"The last time that I had the honor to see madame la marquise, when she signed this document she omitted one of her baptismal names; that omission might, at some later time, give rise to discussion, to demands for birth certificates; it might even result in making void the conveyance which you wish to effect."
"Oh! it is quite possible, monsieur; I am very absent-minded."
Bahuchet, having walked to Valentine's side, produced the note which was in his doublet and handed it to herwith the document. The young woman gave the preference to the love letter. She opened and read it, and found therein renewed protestations of an everlasting passion, and the same request for a rendezvous, at which the writer could express with his voice the love that he felt for her.
Having read the letter, Valentine hastily concealed it in her alms purse; then she said in an undertone to the young clerk, who questioned her with his eyes:
"You will say that I am too closely watched at this moment. He must wait."—Then she continued, speaking aloud: "Where shall I write the name that I forgot, monsieur? I know nothing about your documents."
"Here, madame, if you please; then make a flourish under the word inserted.—Omit one letter of the name," Bahuchet added, in an undertone; "that will furnish me with a reason for coming again."
Valentine did what the little clerk suggested; whereupon he once more rolled up the deed, carefully covered it with the parchment, and, bowing low to the marchioness, left the house without seeing the Marquis de Santoval.
He hastened to join Léodgard, to whom he repeated the verbal reply that had been given him. The count stamped his foot impatiently, muttering:
"Wait!—Ah! then she does not share my love! And not to condescend to write me a word! not to send me the slightest pledge, the veriest trifle!—Can you go to the Hôtel de Santoval again?" he said to the little clerk.
"Oh! yes, seigneur; I have arranged a littleplea in bar—it is such a simple matter in our profession! And the next time I will find another."
"In that case, return in a fortnight; that is a long time! but since she will have it so—I will tell you then what you must do."
Bahuchet, having been handsomely paid once more, promised to be exact; and he returned to his office, oblivious of the fact that he had been followed on leaving the Hôtel de Santoval, and continued to be till he had entered the office door.
The fortnight having passed, Bahuchet met Léodgard again at their usual place of rendezvous.
"Go to the marchioness," said the count; "as my letters have obtained no reply, you will not carry one this time; but you will say to her that I entreat her to give you a word for me; add that, if she denies me this favor, I am capable of committing the most imprudent acts in order to see her.—Go—I will await your return; and I will double the usual sum if you bring me a note from the marchioness."
"By Plumard's scalp!" said Bahuchet to himself, as he walked toward the Hôtel de Santoval; "the lovely marchioness simply must write a few words! I will grovel at her feet to obtain them.—Vertuchoux! this is a right good trade! I am feathering my nest!—Let things go on like this for a few months, and I shall have enough to set up for myself!—I will keep a tavern adjoining thelaw courts; that is more amusing than pettifogging.—Here is my charmer's house; I have my deed, I am all armed—I will present myself boldly!"
Bahuchet knocked at the gate, which was opened to admit him, then suddenly closed behind him. He smiled affably to the concierge, saying:
"I have come to request the honor of speaking with Madame la Marquise de Santoval on business, from my employer's office."
And he was about to walk toward the vestibule leading to the main staircase, when four servants suddenly appeared, lifted him up, carried him to the carriage house, and there thrashed him mercilessly with cudgels and stirrup leathers, paying no heed to his shrieks and his entreaties.
The operation concluded, the valet de chambre, who had superintended it, began to search the little Basochian, and did not release him until he was certain that he bore no secret missive. Then he hustled him to the gate, which was reopened, and, with a few parting blows of the stirrup leathers, threw him into the street, saying:
"This is the way that you will be treated whenever you appear here."
"Oh! bigre! oh! my ribs! my loins! This is infamous—the villains! how they went at it! Hoo! I shall be hunchbacked. What an ambush! Catch me going there again, to their devilish hôtel! And I thought it a good business!—A pretty business, on my word! I must bepretty sturdy to be able to walk. Hoo! what a pity that it didn't occur to me to send Plumard to do my errand to-day!"
Groaning and limping, Bahuchet arrived at the wine shop. Instead of going in, he beckoned to Léodgard to join him, and said:
"Let us not stay near that house, monsieur le comte; it's not a safe place! Perhaps they have a treat in store for you like the one I've just received."
He then described the way he had been maltreated by the Marquis de Santoval's servants.
"And they searched you?" asked Léodgard, apparently little moved by his messenger's groans.
"Yes, seigneur, from top to bottom!"
"It is lucky that I gave you no letter to-day."
"Yes, seigneur; for I believe that in that case they would have killed me on the spot.—Hoo! I am bruised to a jelly! I shall have a serious illness!"
"Nonsense! a man should not be so delicate! Just for a few blows with a cudgel!"
"A few blows? No, thanks, seigneur! they rained on my body like hail! If you had been beaten like that——"
"I would have defended myself! I would have killed two or three of the miserable lackeys!"
"Oh, yes! that would have been the finishing touch. I should have got myself into a pretty pickle! to trot off to the Châtelet or the Bastille, and rot there!"
"Nonsense! hold your peace and take this gold, which will heal your wounds."
"Thanks, seigneur! I certainly do need to buy medicines, ointments to rub my body."
"And before long you will be in condition to return to the marchioness's house."
"Return to the Hôtel de Santoval? Merciful heaven!"
And, waiting to hear no more, Bahuchet ran off as fast as his bruised legs allowed, and soon vanished from the count's sight.
"The coward!" exclaimed Léodgard, as he watched the little clerk's flight; "he is afraid of the danger!—So this Marquis de Santoval has suspicions; he plays the spy, he posts his servants in ambush! But it will avail him nothing! If Valentine will second me, we will crush all the obstacles that he may place between us!"
Some time had passed without any new occurrence, when Miretta one day entered Maître Bourdinard's office, where Plumard was trying to detach the last remaining piece of his plaster; while Bahuchet regaled himself with a small ham and a bottle of superfine old wine, in which he indulged himself with the proceeds of his visits to the Hôtel de Santoval.
On recognizing the marchioness's young lady's-maid, Bahuchet turned pale and swallowed a mouthful the wrong way, dreading a new cudgelling.
But the girl smiled at him and motioned that she wished to speak with him in secret.
The little clerk regretfully quitted his ham and went out with Miretta, who said to him when they reached a solitary spot:
"Are you willing to undertake a commission?"
"If it is to go to the Hôtel de Santoval again, never! I have had enough of that!"
"No, it is not that, but to carry this note to him who sent you to my mistress."
"Oh! that is a different matter."
"Here, this is for you; will you do the errand?"
Bahuchet at once placed in his belt the purse she handed him; then he glanced at the note and said:
"But I see no address."
"What is the use? you know perfectly well for whom it is!"
"I beg pardon! I know perfectly well that it is for the young lord who employed me; but I do not know that young lord; I know neither his name nor his residence; I have never seen him, except in the cheap wine shop where he always waited for me."
"And you do not know that he is Comte Léodgard de Marvejols?"
"The young Comte de Marvejols!—Peste!"
"You lie, Monsieur Bahuchet; for you told us about Comte Léodgard long ago, and you knew him perfectly well then!"
"It is difficult to deceive you, my pretty brunette!" said Bahuchet, scratching his ear; "I said that I didn'tknow the lover, because he ordered me not to know him; but, between ourselves, I think we may speak more frankly. It is a bargain; I will take the letter to the count."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"I know quite well that it is not with his wife. Say to your beautiful mistress that her commission will be executed to-day.—She must have pitied me when she learned how horribly I was maltreated in her house the last time that I had the honor to call there?"
"We did not know about it until a long time after, and then only through the indiscretion of one of the servants, upon whom absolute secrecy had been enjoined."
"So that Monsieur le Marquis de Santoval got wind of something? Is the man a tiger, a rhinoceros?"
"I know no more of him than you do, and I have no time to talk.—Adieu, Monsieur Bahuchet; and do not forget to carry the letter to Comte Léodgard!"
"It is as if he had it, piquant brunette!—By the way, are you still inclined to assume the defence of the famous Giovanni?"
"Giovanni! Giovanni!" murmured Miretta, whose face had become deathly pale; and she uttered a profound sigh.
"But I beg your pardon, my dear; I do not know why I speak to you of the illustrious brigand, for they say that he has not shown himself in Paris for more than six months—or, at all events, that he has not attackedanybody—which makes it fair to presume that he has left our city! I' faith, for my part, I am not sorry, and I wish him a pleasant journey; let him go elsewhere to get himself hanged!"
Miretta walked sadly away, murmuring:
"Gone away! oh, yes! he has gone away! He has left France without me! He has abandoned me—and still I cannot believe it!"