It was not easy to obtain access to the Comte de Marvejols when one called at the house in Rue de Bretonvilliers. But Bahuchet persisted, although the concierge told him that the count did not choose to receive visitors.
"Please to say to him that it is Bahuchet, the solicitor's clerk, the young man of the little wine shop; and I will wager that your master will receive me instantly."
The concierge ushered him into a room in the right wing, and went to the wing at the rear, where Léodgard then was.
After waiting a long while, the concierge returned and said to the young clerk:
"Monsieur le comte will come; wait."
"Why, in heaven's name, don't you take me to him? It seems to me that that would be much simpler than to make him put himself out to come here."
"Monsieur le comte never receives anybody in the wing that he occupies."
"Wolf's head! what mystery! what ceremony!" said Bahuchet to himself, when he was alone. "If this Seigneur Léodgard were proscribed, condemned to death, if the police had orders to pounce upon him, he could not conceal himself more completely from observation!"
The count's appearance put an end abruptly to the little clerk's conjectures.
"What brings you here? what do you want of me?" demanded Léodgard, roughly.
"I have come, monsieur le comte, because I was told to come. I have come from the marchioness."
"The marchioness! have you seen her?"
"No, monsieur le comte; but she sent her maid to me—a very pretty brunette, on my word!"
"Well—go on!"
"Who handed me a note and bade me bring it to you."
"A letter from Valentine! Give it to me!"
Léodgard snatched the letter from Bahuchet's hands, and eagerly ran through it.
"This letter requires no reply," he said to the little man, after reading it. "You may retire."
Bahuchet made a faint grimace.
"Do you mean, monsieur le comte, that I am to go away like this, as I came?"
Léodgard realized what he had forgotten, and hastily placed a gold piece in the messenger's hand; whereupon Bahuchet withdrew with a radiant face, making innumerable protestations of devotion.
When Léodgard was alone, he again read the note, which contained these words only:
"Beginning to-morrow, try to be on Place Royale between twelve and two o'clock. A girl who is wholly in my confidence will come—I cannot now say on what day—and speak to you in my behalf.—Trust to her, and do whatever she tells you."
"Beginning to-morrow, try to be on Place Royale between twelve and two o'clock. A girl who is wholly in my confidence will come—I cannot now say on what day—and speak to you in my behalf.—Trust to her, and do whatever she tells you."
The count pressed his lips to the letter, murmuring:
"Ah! you love me, Valentine! I was not in error! And the time drags with you as with me! To-morrow I will be at the place she appoints—Place Royale.—Place Royale! It is a pity that she selected that spot, so near—— But what does it matter, after all? Doubtless it is the proximity of Rue Sainte-Avoie that led her to make that selection. I will go there."
At the period of our tale, the centre of Place Royale was a sort of flower garden,—green turf embellished with flowers and surrounded by trees. Everybody could walk there, and benches placed at short intervals made it possible also to rest there, and read, while breathing the fresh air.
The iron fence which surrounded the square at a later period was placed there during the reign of Louis XIV, at the expense of the owners of the surrounding houses, each of whom contributed a thousand livres toward its construction. The bronze equestrian statue of Louis XIII was not erected until 1639, and the events that we are narrating, beginning in 1634, have thus far brought us only to the autumn of 1637.
It was late in the month of October, but the weather was fair and mild; so that there was a large number of people on Place Royale, where the turf was still green, and some of the rosebushes still bore flowers. But the habitués of the promenade consisted in great part of old men of the quarter, who came there to sit in the sun, and young nursemaids, who brought thither the children they had in charge, who could run about and play on the grass at their ease. There were also divers couples of young lovers, who made appointments to meet along the shady avenues, and seated themselves on solitary benches to talk of their loves.—But why need we tell that? Lovers are of all epochs and of all places of resort!
When Léodgard arrived on the square, he took pains to go to the point farthest removed from the Hôtel de Marvejols, which his wife then occupied. But the square was large; and between the avenues there were spaces and trees which made it impossible to see from one end to the other.
Having walked a few steps along the turf, he sat upon a bench, saying to himself:
"I will wait for this girl whom the marchioness is to send me; she knows me, doubtless, or else her mistress will have described me in such a way that she cannot make a mistake."
Léodgard had been seated on the bench a few moments, gloomy thoughts causing him little by little to forget that he was at a love rendezvous, when a child about two years and a half old collided with him while running by.
It was a little girl with a pink and white complexion, with long light chestnut locks, already curling over her pure and noble brow. Her deep-blue eyes were really larger than her mouth, and they had the dawning expression of a sweet and kindly nature, instinct with playfulness.
The lovely smiling mouth was formed by two lips, perhaps a trifle too thick, which, however, denoted frankness and sincerity; whereas thin lips always denote just the opposite. A pretty dimple on the chin put the finishing touch to the fascinating beauty of the little angel, who, laughing merrily, took refuge between the count's knees, where she seemed to challenge her nurse to catch her.
Léodgard, roused so abruptly from his reflections, was surprised beyond measure to see the child hiding between his legs; but she was so pretty, her smile was so sweet as she looked up at the gentleman to whom she seemedto appeal for protection, that he could not refrain from admiring her and smoothing her hair.
"What a fascinating little girl!" he exclaimed.
A nursemaid soon appeared and said to the child:
"Well, well! what are you doing there, mademoiselle? You are disturbing monsieur and annoying him! Come away quickly!"
A little voice, which could not as yet enunciate distinctly, but which sounded very sweet to the ear, replied:
"No, I don't want to! You go and hide!"
"Once more, mademoiselle, come; monsieur will be angry!"
The little girl looked up at Léodgard as if to see whether he was, in fact, going to scold her; and seeing nothing on his features to indicate anger, she pressed still closer to him, laughing aloud—an expression of the frank, unalloyed joy which one never experiences so fully as at that age.
"This little girl is fascinating!" said the count, after kissing the child on the forehead; "how old is she?"
"Nearly two and a half, monsieur."
"Her parents must idolize her?"
"Oh, yes! her mother loves her dearly, monsieur! And if madame had not been a little indisposed for two or three days, she would have taken mademoiselle out to walk as usual!"
"What lovely eyes! they are so soft and intelligent! She is not a naughty girl, I am sure!"
"Oh, no! monsieur, she is very good—so everybody loves her. She is a little mischievous sometimes—as at this moment, when she doesn't want me to catch her.—But it's all in play, isn't it, Mademoiselle Blanche?"
"Blanche! Blanche!" murmured Léodgard, to whose mind that name recalled his conversation with Jarnonville.—"Ah! so the little girl's name is Blanche?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And would it be out of place to ask her mother's name?"
"Mon Dieu! no, monsieur; the dear child is the daughter of Madame la Comtesse de Marvejols, who lives yonder—on the other side of the square, beyond the avenue at the left."
When he heard his own name, Léodgard gave a sudden start and pushed away the child who was leaning on him; but Blanche instantly returned to her place between his legs and clung with her little hands to his knee-breeches, crying:
"No, I want to stay with you! Nurse can't catch Blanche!"
The child's voice was so sweet, there was such a winning expression in her lovely eyes, which she fixed upon the count, that he did not feel the courage to spurn her again; a pleasing emotion made his heart beat fast; his sensations were so unfamiliar to him that he could not define them; but that unknown sentiment that found its way to his heart was like agrateful shower falling suddenly upon the parched and arid ground.
He gazed silently at the little girl, whose tiny pink hands were resting upon him.
But the nurse, fearing that the child annoyed the strange gentleman, seized Blanche by the arm and drew her away, saying:
"If you will not come, mademoiselle, I shall go home to your mamma and tell her that her little girl would not come back to her."
One could be perfectly sure of being listened to by Blanche as soon as one mentioned her mother; she instantly left the place she had adopted and took her nurse's hand, saying:
"We go see mamma."
"Bid this gentleman adieu, and ask his pardon for disturbing him."
Blanche turned to Léodgard with a lovely smile, and nodded her head, murmuring:
"Adieu—pardon."
Then the nursemaid took her in her arms and disappeared along one of the leafy avenues.
The count remained where he sat, lost in thought; he was tempted more than once to turn his head and look after Blanche, but he resisted the temptation. After some time, he rose abruptly and left Place Royale, saying to himself:
"It is after two o'clock; no one will come to-day."
The next day, Léodgard went to Place Royale at about the same hour as on the preceding day. Although his mind was full of Valentine, and he was most impatient to see the person whom she was to send to him, when he found himself near the flower beds, where a multitude of children were running about at play, his eyes wandered in all directions, seeking a certain child among them, although he would not admit it to himself.
After walking about for a moment, the count took his seat on a bench—the same one on which he had previously sat. He even waited a short time for two people who were sitting there to leave, instead of taking a seat elsewhere.
He seated himself in such a way that his back was turned to the Hôtel de Marvejols, but he glanced very often toward the greensward where the children were playing.
Suddenly the same sweet voice that had fascinated him the day before rang in his ears, and he saw little Blanche running toward him with outstretched arms, crying:
"The gentleman, nurse, the gentleman."
Léodgard could not help opening his own arms to receive the child; and when little Blanche reached them, he could not resist the temptation to press her to his heart and kiss her.
The nurse soon came up.
"Oh! monsieur," she said, "mademoiselle saw you in the distance and recognized you at once; then I could not possibly hold her back! She began to run toward you, crying: 'The gentleman!'—You must have taken her fancy, for she doesn't go to everybody like that!"
"Is—is the child's mother with you to-day?" the count asked hesitatingly.
"No, monsieur; madame la comtesse is better; but she isn't strong enough to go out yet."
Léodgard seemed more at ease, and he kissed once more the child whom he was entitled to call his daughter, but to whom he said simply:
"Do you know that you are very pretty?"
"Oh, yes!" the child replied, with a smile.
"But it isn't enough to be pretty," said the nurse. "Mademoiselle knows that she must be good and obedient too, or else she would be ugly."
At that moment a poor, half-clad little boy, whose pinched features denoted privation and suffering, stopped a few feet from the bench and held out his hand to ask alms.
Little Blanche, as she glanced at the mendicant, ceased to smile, and with her eyes questioned the nurse, who said:
"He is unfortunate; your mother, you know, always helps them and wants you to do the same; she gives us money for that purpose. Here, mademoiselle, would you like to give it to him yourself?"
Blanche eagerly took the coin which her nurse handed her, and ran to give it to the little beggar, saying:
"Take this—poor boy!"
Léodgard followed the little girl's every movement; when she returned to him, he took her in his arms once more and could not resist the longing to kiss her again.
At that moment he heard a cry of surprise close at hand, and these words fell on his ear:
"O mon Dieu! is it possible? What joy! Monsieur le comte embracing his daughter!"
Léodgard instantly raised his eyes and saw Ambroisine, who had halted a few steps from the bench, and was gazing at him, deeply moved.
To place the child hurriedly on the ground, to rise and walk rapidly away—all that was a matter of a second for Léodgard.
Ambroisine stood as if petrified; even little Blanche seemed surprised at the disappearance of "the gentleman"; and as for the nurse, the words she had heard seemed to daze her, and she did nothing but murmur:
"Is it possible? Jésus bon Dieu! What! that gentleman who was kissing our dear little one—can it be?—was monsieur le comte, her father! How is it, then, that when I told him yesterday that mademoiselle belonged to Madame la Comtesse de Marvejols, he didn't say: 'She is my daughter'?"
"Yes, he is really her father, he is the Comte de Marvejols!" said Ambroisine, with a sigh. "Oh! I am terriblysorry that I showed myself and let those words escape me. But, no matter! he kissed her—and he knew that she was his daughter.—Ah! I must make haste to tell Bathilde—she will be so happy!—Come, Blanche; come, dear child; let us hurry home to your mamma; we are going to make her very happy!"
Ambroisine took Blanche in her arms and returned to the Hôtel de Marvejols, covering with kisses the lovely child, who made no objection and seemed already to share the happiness that she diffused about her.
After walking about for some time in the streets near Place Royale, Léodgard said to himself:
"That Ambroisine probably has left the square now; she has taken the child home, to tell Bathilde what she saw; so that I may safely return to the place appointed; for it is not yet two o'clock, and if that girl should go there and not find me, Valentine's pride would be offended, and who can say that all hope would not be lost?"
The count returned to the place he had just left; but he advanced more cautiously now, looking all about andscrutinizing everybody who passed. His premonitions proved accurate; Ambroisine, with the child and her nurse, had returned to the Hôtel de Marvejols.
The count did not take his place on the same bench, however, and he constantly rose to walk a little and look about him.
He had been thus engaged for about half an hour, and his increasing impatience had nearly led him to leave the square, when a girl coming slowly along Rue des Tournelles, who had observed Léodgard's restless movements, approached him and stopped, with every sign of intense agitation.
"You are the person whom I have been expecting, doubtless?" said the count, closely observing the girl, whose eyes assumed a strange expression as she looked at him.
Miretta, for it was she who had stopped in front of Léodgard, replied in a faltering voice, and as if under the influence of a secret terror:
"You are—Comte—Léodgard de Marvejols?"
"Yes, I am he; and you are sent by the lady who wrote me to be on this square?"
"Yes, seigneur, yes—I come from her."
"But what is the matter with you, girl? Your voice trembles—you seem to be intensely agitated. Can any misfortune have happened to your mistress? have you a sad message to transmit to me? In heaven's name, speak! This perturbation of yours is not natural."
"Mon Dieu! seigneur, I do not know myself why I tremble so, why my body is suddenly bathed in cold perspiration. I have no misfortune to announce—on the contrary, my message cannot fail to be agreeable to you. But when I saw you, when I stopped in front of you, I felt a strange oppression; I do not know what took place within me; it seemed to me that I was dying."
"Control yourself; you must have walked too fast—and an attack of dizziness—— But you seem to be better already?"
"Yes, seigneur, yes; it is passing away."
"Then you will perhaps deliver your message, and tell me——"
"That if you wish to see my mistress, she can accord you a few moments this evening."
"If I wish to see her! Why, is it not my most earnest desire, my dearest hope? What am I to do to obtain that favor?"
"Simply come to the house; but you will say to the concierge, whom I will be careful to notify in advance, that you wish to see me. Once in the courtyard, go to the rear, and on the right you will see a narrow servants' staircase; go up to the second floor, and you will find me."
"And the marchioness?"
"She will be in my room; she will come there by a secret passage communicating with her apartment."
"Very good. But does she not fear that the marquis will ask for her—that he may go to her apartment?"
"Everything is provided for; this evening monsieur le marquis goes to a large reception; madame has feigned an indisposition as a pretext for not accompanying him. The only danger to be feared is that monsieur le marquis may return too early—but that will not deter monsieur le comte, I presume?"
"Nothing can deter me when it is a matter of seeing your beautiful mistress. I ask these questions, I assure you, solely in the interest of the marchioness. For my own part, I would joyfully encounter the greatest perils to prove my love for her."
"This evening, then, seigneur, at nine."
"Good.—But one moment—you forget the most essential point; if I am to ask for you, it is indispensable that I should know your name, and you have not told me that."
"Pardon, monsieur le comte, I thought that my mistress had told you. Well, you will say to the concierge: 'I am going to see Miretta.'"
"Miretta!" faltered Léodgard, to whose mind the young lady's-maid's name seemed to recall a painful memory; and a sudden change took place in his expression.
"Yes, seigneur, my name is Miretta," replied the pretty brunette, who had observed the magical effect which her name produced on the count, and wished to know the cause of it. "Does my name remind you of anyone whom you have known?"
"No—no—no one," stammered Léodgard, who, as he strove to recover his self-possession, scrutinized the girlwith peculiar attention. "Have you been long in the Marquise de Santoval's service?"
"I entered Mademoiselle de Mongarcin's service on my arrival in Paris, more than three years ago. I had a letter of recommendation for mademoiselle."
"Ah! and you came——"
"I came from Italy; I was reared in the outskirts of Milan."
Léodgard's features contracted still more, but in an instant he rejoined hurriedly:
"This evening at nine o'clock; I will be prompt. Assure your mistress of the zeal with which I shall fly to her."
As he spoke, Léodgard slipped a purse into Miretta's hand, then walked away before she had time to realize his action.
The girl gazed with a feeling of repugnance at the purse the count had put in her hand, and said to herself:
"Why does he give me this money? Does he think, I wonder, that I need it to induce me to obey my mistress, to serve her faithfully? From her I may properly accept the wages that I earn, but I wish for nothing from others. I do not know why this young nobleman arouses a sort of secret antipathy in my heart. I cannot understand what took place within me when my eyes first beheld him;—all my blood rushed back to my heart. And yet, I do not know the man. How is it that his expression changed when I told him my name?—Oh!I detected his emotion! He shuddered; one would have said that I frightened him! It is certain that it was not the first time that he had heard the name Miretta. Perhaps it reminded him of some other poor girl whom he seduced and then deserted!—But this purse weighs upon me; I do not propose to keep it; it seems to me that it burns me.—Ah! I know what I can do with it."
A little beggar was passing through the square; Miretta ran to him and thrust into the little fellow's hand the purse filled with glistening gold pieces.
"This is for you," she said; then she hurried away and disappeared, leaving the boy utterly dumfounded by the fortune that had come to him; but it was the same child to whom Blanche had given alms a few moments before, and the alms of an angel should bring him good luck.
Miretta returned at once to the Hôtel de Santoval, and went straight to her mistress; having assured herself that no one could hear them, she said:
"Your errand is done, madame."
"You have seen the count?"
"Yes, madame; he was waiting on Place Royale. He will be here this evening, at nine o'clock."
"You told him what direction he must take to reach your room?"
"Yes, madame.—Oh! he will not go astray."
"Did he seem very happy on receiving the appointment?"
"Oh, yes!—He would be glad, he said, to defy a thousand dangers to see madame."
"Well! we will afford him that pleasure.—You had never seen Léodgard, Miretta; is he not a charming cavalier?"
"Why, yes, madame; he is well favored."
"You say that as if you thought just the opposite!"
"Mon Dieu! madame, the fact is, that, although monsieur le comte is a handsome gentleman, I—I do not like his face."
"You are hard to please, Miretta!"
"But—but I inferred—I thought from what madame had said to me, that monsieur le comte had ceased to please her."
"I propose to have my revenge for the affront he put upon me! But that does not prevent me from doing him justice.—The rendezvous this evening will be without danger for him—at least, I think so; but I shall be very glad to see at my feet the man who refused to be my husband! I long to hear him make oaths of love, protestations of undying affection for me. I want him to curse the day on which he allowed me to become the wife of another man!"
"But, beware, madame!—Since you consider monsieur le comte so fascinating, are you not afraid that that feeling will triumph over your resentment, as you listen to his words of love?"
"Oh, no! no! I fear nothing!—Besides, you will stay with me, Miretta; you will not leave me."
On both sides the coming of night was awaited with impatience.
It came at last, and about eight o'clock the Marquis de Santoval went to his wife's apartment; she had feigned indisposition since the day before, and had remained in her room.
The marquis glanced about him for some time with an expression that was far from benevolent. He had never said a word to Valentine on the subject of the young clerk whom he had had cudgelled. Monsieur de Santoval was one of those men who do not speak for a mere suspicion, but who collect facts, and are terrible when they allow the storm to burst which they have long repressed in the depths of their hearts.
"Well, madame, how are you this evening?" he asked, as he seated himself beside his wife.
"Still about the same, monsieur; my head aches, and I feel languid; I must have a touch of fever.—See, feel my pulse."
"I know nothing of such matters, madame," replied the marquis; and he did not touch the arm that his wife held out to him.
"Oh! that is a pity!"
"So you cannot come with me to the Duchesse de Brillac's?"
"You must realize that it is impossible, monsieur. In my opinion, one should not go into society looking as if one were bored and ill! You must make my excuses to the duchess."
"Yes, madame, yes. I am sorry to leave you not feeling well; and if I had not promised the duke——"
"I should be very sorry to have you deprive yourself of an agreeable evening because of a simple indisposition, entirely unattended by any danger.—I have Miretta, who will stay with me, who will not leave me."
"Your faithful maid. That girl is very much attached to you, is she not?"
"I think so; I have every reason to praise her zeal and her fidelity."
"And I think that she should congratulate herself on being in your service. She must be very happy here; and yet, I have noticed of late that she seems to be profoundly sad and depressed. A smile never appears on her lips. Have not you noticed it, madame?"
"Pardon me, monsieur; but as I know the cause of her melancholy, I overlook it."
"Ah! you know the cause of it?"
"Indeed, it is not difficult to guess: an unfortunate love affair; the man she loves has disappeared!"
"Very good; I see that you know your maid's secrets."
"The poor girl is alone in this country, without kindred or friends. Why should I not be interested in her?"
"You should, of course; and then, women are always compassionate for troubles of the heart.—Well, madame, I go, with regret; take care of your health."
"He has suspicions!" said Valentine to herself, when the marquis had gone; "but what does it matter? I know the way to dispel them."
As the clock struck nine, a man enveloped in an ample cloak, and wearing a hat whose broad brim concealed a large part of his face, knocked at the gate of the hôtel. He gave the Cerberus the name of Miretta, and was admitted; he crossed the courtyard and found on the right hand the narrow staircase, which he was about to venture upon although it was not lighted, when a small hand seized his and a voice said:
"Allow me to guide you, seigneur."
Léodgard abandoned his hand; the one that held it was cold and trembling.
They went up two flights; a lamp stood in a corner of the second landing, and the count recognized Miretta in the person who had served as his guide.
She instantly dropped the hand she held, as if she were glad to escape at last from a painful necessity. Taking the lamp, she walked ahead; and Léodgard was soon ushered into a dimly lighted room, where he saw the marchioness.
Valentine was seated on a sofa; her costume was entirely black, and imparted a certain solemnity to her noble and majestic figure.
At sight of Léodgard she carefully repressed a thrill of joy which sought expression in her eyes, and tried to replace by a pleasant smile the gleam of triumph which passed over her face.
The count bowed low before her, and seated himself on a chair very near the sofa. He seized her hand before she gave him permission, and covered it with kisses; while incoherent words, which, however, accurately depicted his love and the perturbation of his senses, poured rapidly from his lips. But, happening to glance toward the end of the room, he saw Miretta sitting there, with her head sunk upon her breast, motionless as a statue. Thereupon Léodgard's flow of words ceased, and, looking at Valentine, he asked her in an undertone:
"What is your maid doing here, pray?"
"Nothing; she is awaiting my orders."
"Do you not propose to order her to leave the room?"
"No, indeed! on the contrary, I told her to remain."
"Ah! I thought, madame, that you had taken pity on my torments and my love!"
"Is it not taking pity on you, pray, to accord you this rendezvous—to consent to listen to you?—Upon my word, men are never satisfied!"
"But one dares not speak of love before a third person."
"Why not, when that third person is in our confidence and privy to all our secrets?"
"A tête-à-tête with you would have been so sweet to me!"
"Before granting a tête-à-tête, it is necessary to know one's mind; and one must be very sure of being loved!"
"Can you doubt it?"
"More than any other woman, I am justified in doubting it, when it is you who tell me so.—Really, monsieur le comte, your conduct is so extraordinary—it is now so directly opposed to what it has been, that at times I can place no faith in your words, and I ask myself if it is really you, Comte Léodgard de Marvejols, who sit here beside me, talking to me of love!—So it was necessary that I should become another man's wife, to arouse in you this longing to love me and to tell me that you love me!—You must agree that that is quite unique, to say the least!"
There was a suggestion of irony in Valentine's tone as she said this, which would have offended Léodgard if he had been less in love; but he thought of nothing but compelling the marchioness to revise the judgment she had pronounced, and to forget the doubts she still felt.
Skilful in the art of seducing, eloquent when he really loved, tender and ardent by turns in his language, Léodgard knew the road to a woman's heart. Valentine was already listening to him with secret emotion; her eyes expressed that dreamy languor which denotes disturbance in the heart; when Miretta, who had been watching her mistress closely for some time, suddenly sprang to her feet, crying:
"People in the courtyard—I heard the gate close! It must be monsieur le marquis!"
"Ah! I must return to my apartment!" cried Valentine; "so that it may not be known that I have left it!—Miretta will show you the way out.—Adieu!"
"You leave me, madame; and I have no idea when I shall see you again!"
"I will let you know. Adieu!"
Valentine disappeared before Léodgard could say another word. He put on his cloak, wrapped it about him, and followed Miretta in obedience to a sign from her. The girl walked swiftly across the courtyard and knocked on the concierge's window, calling:
"Open the gate; I am going out."
The gate opened, and Léodgard alone went out; Miretta hastened back to her mistress, who said as soon as she saw her:
"You were mistaken, Miretta; the marquis has not returned. I have just asked Joseph. No one came in."
"I know it, madame; pray forgive me, but I listened to that gentleman's words, and I saw how moved you were. I was afraid for you—and for your revenge."
"Perhaps you did well, Miretta; yes, this Léodgard is very dangerous. However, he shall not cause me to forget the past. You may leave me now; I need rest."
Miretta left her mistress and returned to her own room, engrossed by the events of the day, unable to account for the feeling of repulsion which the handsomeComte de Marvejols inspired in her, and regretting perhaps that the gallant had succeeded in making his exit without any unpleasant encounter.
But, although no one had appeared in the courtyard when Léodgard went out, there was watching on the street, within twenty-five yards of the hôtel, in a corner formed by two houses, a man with orders to take notice of everybody who went into or out of the Hôtel de Santoval.
Several days passed. Léodgard impatiently awaited the second rendezvous which Valentine had promised him; he assumed that he would receive another message from the marchioness by the hands of the little clerk.
The marquis returned from the reception with a darker cloud than usual on his brow; the next day, he hardly inquired concerning his wife's health, and the tone of the question was so ironical as to indicate his utter disbelief in the indisposition of which she complained.
Valentine, although she seemed not to notice it, observed carefully the progress of the jealousy that gnawed at her husband's heart.
Miretta too remarked that the marquis's servants were constantly at her heels in the house, and seemed to watch her slightest movements.
"I do not know what is going on, madame," said the girl, when she was alone with her mistress, "but I see that monsieur's people always have their eyes on me now; perhaps before long I shall not be at liberty to go out whenever I please.—What have I done? why do they spy upon me so?"
"What, Miretta! do you not divine that monsieur le marquis is jealous? and as he knows that I have great confidence in you, he thinks that you may assist me in my intrigues."
"But in that case, madame, he will discharge me."
"Have no fear; he will soon do justice to us both."
Everything announced that a violent explanation was likely to take place very soon. The marquis's glances foreboded a storm; but Valentine, always calm and impassive, awaited events with the most absolute tranquillity.
At last, Miretta one day rushed into the salon where the marquis and Valentine were together. The girl was very much excited, and could hardly control her voice to say:
"Madame—I was going out—I had someone to see to-day! But the concierge has just refused to open the gate, and he told me that he did it by monsieur le marquis's order."
"Is this true, monsieur?" Valentine asked her husband.
"Yes, madame, it is true that he acted by my orders. You have absolute confidence in this girl; but let me tell you, madame, that she abuses it; for I assume that it is not with your consent that she receives her lover in this house. Denial would be quite useless; I am certain of what I say: about ten days ago,—the evening when you claimed to be indisposed, madame,—a cavalier carefully enveloped in a cloak entered this house after asking for mademoiselle. Now, was it she or you whom he came to see? It is for you to answer this question, madame."
"It was not to see Miretta that that gentleman came, monsieur; it was to see me."
The marquis stepped back, glaring at his wife, and murmured, while his hand sought his sword hilt:
"To see you! that man came here to see you, madame!"
"Yes, monsieur, nor is that all; Miretta now has upon her a letter which I gave her to take to this same gentleman."
"Infamous!—What, madame, you dare to confess——"
"One does not fear to confess, when no criminal purpose exists; there is no infamy when a woman seeks to avenge her own honor; and really, monsieur le marquis, for a man who, I had been told, was so jealous, so sensitive in the matter of honor, you have been a long timefinding out that someone was making love to your wife.—Miretta, give monsieur le marquis the note I handed you, and go."
Miretta made haste to obey the marchioness; she was secretly rejoiced to deliver to the husband the note addressed to the lover; she understood that her mistress was carrying out her scheme of vengeance at last; and she left the room, with a glance at Valentine expressive of her satisfaction.
The Marquis de Santoval took the note that the girl handed him; he was still inclined to disbelieve what he heard; he found it difficult to understand his wife's conduct. However, he opened the letter and read:
"This evening, about ten o'clock, be in the first arcade on Place Royale, as you enter from Rue des Tournelles. I will join you there."
"This evening, about ten o'clock, be in the first arcade on Place Royale, as you enter from Rue des Tournelles. I will join you there."
"This is an assignation, madame," said the marquis, angrily crumpling the letter in his hand.
"Yes, monsieur; but pray do not crumple the paper so, unless you wish me to have the trouble of writing another."
"What, madame, you propose——"
"Really, monsieur, I thought that you had more penetration; but, since I must explain everything to you, listen: this letter was——"
"For Comte Léodgard de Marvejols, madame."
"Even so, monsieur; ah! I am very glad that you have at least guessed that.—Now, do you not know that, in accordance with plans formed by our parents, Comte Léodgard was to have been my husband?"
"Your husband?—I did not know it."
"The alliance was earnestly desired by the count's father, and I should have complied with my father's last wishes. But Comte Léodgard would have none of me for his companion; he scorned the projected union—and all to marry a girl of the common people.—Monsieur le marquis, between men there are insults that are never forgiven, and for which they swear to wreak vengeance; do you think that among women one does not meet now and then one of those proud natures which cannot endure an insult? Well, I am such a woman. After I married you, my heart throbbed with joy when I saw that the count, when I first met him in society, seemed to admire my features and my figure, seemed, in short, to be enamored of my person. Then, monsieur, instead of turning my eyes in disdain, as others would have done perhaps in my place, I gave all my attention to him, fastening my eyes upon his and trying to impart to them an expression of languor, almost of tenderness; for at that party I said to myself: 'The time has come to avenge myself on that man who refused to marry me; I propose that he shall love me; I am determined to see him at my feet, swearing everlasting love, imploring me to reciprocate, and cursing the day when he refused myhand.'—That triumph I enjoyed, monsieur, on the evening that the count was admitted to this house.—But that was not enough; after pretending to be touched by his passion, I determined to appoint a meeting with him in some solitary, out-of-the-way place; but, I thought, he will not find me there; the man whose name I bear will go to that rendezvous and will take it upon himself to make my vengeance complete.—Well, monsieur le marquis, do you understand my conduct now?"
The marquis bent his knee before his wife and kissed her hand again and again, saying:
"I admire you, madame; I am proud to be your husband!—Pray forgive me for having misunderstood you for a moment. But if my jealousy was slow to burst forth, it was because, in the bottom of my heart, I could not believe in your treachery; it was because I remembered that you chose to become my wife of your own free will, without any constraint; and because I thought that you could not have assumed, solely to dishonor it, the name that is now yours.—Here, madame—take this note, send it by your maid, who is entirely at liberty now to leave the house. As for the rest, rely upon me to conclude this affair, and to punish the reckless man who, after being insane enough to spurn an alliance with you, dares now to address his solicitations to the wife of the Marquis de Santoval! I am well aware that Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu has forbidden duelling, that hepunishes it very severely, in fact; but have no fear—it will all be between ourselves."
The weather was cold and dismal. A fine but steady rain made the streets of Paris very slippery where they were paved, and even more dangerous were those very numerous ones that had no pavements. At ten o'clock at night, in November, and in cold and rainy weather, one met very few people abroad. However, the famous Giovanni had ceased some time before to molest belated wayfarers, and people were beginning to hope that he had left Paris.
At a few minutes before ten, a man entered Place Royale, sheltering himself as well as he could in a cloak of greater breadth than length.
"What a curious predilection the marchioness has for this square!" he said to himself. "What a strange idea always to select it for her place of rendezvous! But I trust that this is the last one that she will give me here. She must consent to come to mypetite maison. There we shall have no surprises to dread; there are secret exits which put one out of reach of any possible danger."
Having arrived at one of the arcades which surrounded the square, and being sheltered from the rain there, Léodgard let his cloak fall back, and raised his hat brim so that it covered his face less. Then, casting his eyes about the square, which was deserted, and at its dark arcades, he continued:
"The place is decidedly ill chosen for an amorous rendezvous. But Valentine will probably send her messenger, young Miretta—Miretta! yes, that is surely the name; and judging from what she told me, she is the person! What a strange meeting! If that girl suspected!—Ah! I must banish that ghastly memory!—How dismal this square is to-night! Really, this spot would be much better suited for a meeting between two gallant men armed with swords or daggers!—But is not this the place?—Yes, it was at the entrance to Rue des Tournelles, where one side of the park then came to an end—I have often been told the story—this is the very spot where Maugiron, Quélus, and Livarot fought at five o'clock in the morning, in April, 1578. Their adversaries were D'Entragues, Schomberg, and Ribérac. This square was not then laid out, and from the top of the towers of the Bastille one could watch the whole combat.—Ah! that triple duel was a glorious battle! Maugiron, Schomberg, and Ribérac lost their lives.—But that is the fitting death for a gentleman to die!—Those were the good times!—The king, far from forbidding duels, was foremost in encouraging them; whereas to-day the cardinal is terribly severe. The Bastille, aye, death sometimes, for those who fight, who disobey his edicts. And when he has said the word, Richelieu is inflexible! How he looked at me at that fête at the Prince de Valdimer's!—Was he thinking of my father, whom he esteems highly, they say? Or was it—— That look upset me completely. That man knows so many things!"
Léodgard let his head sink upon his breast, and stood lost in thought. In that condition, he saw nothing, heard nothing, and seemed entirely oblivious to everything that was taking place about him. So it was that he did not notice an individual, quite tall, wrapped in his cloak, and followed by a servant bearing a lantern, who entered the arcade in which he was waiting, and walked toward him. The new-comer passed close to Léodgard, who did not emerge from his reverie or lift his head. Thereupon, at a sign from his master, the servant who carried the lantern held it so near to the count's face that the light fell upon it.
"What are you doing here, knave?" cried Léodgard, instantly raising his head. "Why do you stop so near me with your lantern? Did I ask you for a light?"
"Excuse him, monsieur; it was at my command that he acted as he did. As I passed you, I thought that I recognized you; but it is so dark under these arcades that I was not certain, and, as I desired to assure myself that I was not mistaken, I motioned to my servant to throw the light on your face for a moment. So you see, he is not the culprit."
Léodgard's features contracted into a scowl; he had recognized the Marquis de Santoval in the person who addressed him. He divined instantly that the encounter was not simply the result of chance; however, he determined to pretend to assume at first that it was so, and he replied nonchalantly:
"It is Monsieur le Marquis de Santoval, I think.—I am overjoyed at the chance which affords me the pleasure of offering you my most sincere respects."
The marquis made a sign to his valet, who withdrew ten or twelve paces, so that he could not overhear what was said. When the servant was out of hearing, Monsieur de Santoval planted himself haughtily in front of Léodgard, and said in a bantering tone:
"The weather is very bad for an open-air rendezvous, is it not, monsieur le comte?"
"Why, it seems to me that you do not consider it too bad, monsieur le marquis, as it does not prevent you from coming out."
"Ah! but I have not come here to meet a lady—quite the contrary!"
"Who told you that I was here with that purpose?"
"Who? You would be greatly surprised if I should tell you that it was the very person who gave you the rendezvous!"
Léodgard with difficulty restrained an outburst of rage, and replied:
"I do not understand you, monsieur le marquis!"
"You do not understand me, count? That surprises me!—No matter, I will explain myself more clearly.—There are gentlemen to whom nothing is sacred, and who do not hesitate to pay their respects to other men's wives. Their number is not small, I am aware! But it is less common to see a gallant, after refusing to marry a noblyborn and beautiful lady, presume to make love to her as soon as she has become the wife of another man.—You must agree that a man need be extremely self-conceited to believe that he will succeed in obtaining a hearing then!"
"Monsieur le marquis——"
"But that is what you have done, count, failing to perceive that the lady was laughing at you, and that she joyfully grasped the opportunity to give you a lesson which you deserve."
"Enough, marquis, enough! I take lessons from no one!"
"You prefer a sword thrust, then?"
"I venture to believe that you came here to find me, monsieur le marquis, with the intention of making use of your sword."
"You are not in error."
"Let us talk no longer, then!"
"Holà! Joseph! attend us with the light!"
The valet drew near with his lantern and leaned against a pillar. The two gentlemen had already tossed aside their cloaks; they speedily unsheathed their swords, and, taking their places within two yards of the light, began to attack each other with great impetuosity. Léodgard was stirred to frenzy by his anger at having been made a plaything by Valentine; in the case of the marquis, the desire to be revenged upon a man who had attempted to dishonor him was sufficient to strengthen his arm and inflame his blood.
The marquis, however, was more self-controlled; he fought more prudently than his adversary. Léodgard, enraged to find himself opposed by a man whose skill equalled his own, hurried his blows as if he were in haste to conclude; and as he lunged to deal a terrible thrust at the marquis, the latter's sword entered his breast and passed through his body.
Léodgard fell to the ground without a cry. The valet held his lantern so that he could see the wound, from which the blood poured forth in a stream, and said to his master, who tranquilly wiped his sword and resumed his cloak:
"Oh! monsieur, I do not think that the gentleman will recover. Such a wound! and fair in the breast! That was a mighty thrust he received!—What shall we do with the gentleman?"
"Blockhead! to suppose that I intend to pay any heed to the fellow!—We have nothing more to do here. Go before and light me!"
Let us return now to Bathilde, the sweet and charming countess, the loving mother, whom events have compelled us to neglect for some time, but whom it would be impossible to forget; for sweetness of disposition, when combined with beauty, is a talisman which never loses its power.
When Ambroisine, on returning from Place Royale, where she had seen Léodgard embrace his daughter, entered Bathilde's room with the child, her friend divined from her radiant face that some fortunate event had occurred; and rising from the reclining chair on which she was stretched, she held out her arms to Blanche and cried:
"What has happened? What brings you back so soon?—Ambroisine, I see in your eyes that you are happy. May I not share your happiness?"
"Oh! yes, indeed! Our reason for returning so soon was that you might enjoy it the sooner. But first of all take your child on your knees, and kiss her; the dear little angel—it is she who is the cause—it is she who—— Mon Dieu! I am so glad—so glad, that I can't speak—it suffocates me!"
Bathilde took the child on her knees; Blanche put her little arms about her mother's neck and returned her kisses, lisping:
"The gentleman—he kiss Blanche again; he said—I am pretty!"
"What does she say?" asked Bathilde, looking from Ambroisine to the nurse.
"She says," replied Ambroisine,—"what she says is true; yesterday there was a fine gentleman on the square; he saw Blanche playing; he thought her so pretty that he kissed her, and then he asked Marie the dear child's name, and then her mother's; and when she told him, he kissed Blanche once more; and that same gentleman came to-day again and sat on the same bench; and I am perfectly sure that it was to see Blanche again!"
"When mademoiselle saw him this morning," said the nurse, "she recognized him at once, and began to run toward him."
"But this gentleman—who was he, pray?" asked Bathilde, in a trembling voice.
"Do you not guess, Bathilde, do you not guess?"
"O mon Dieu! tell me!"
"He was the Comte de Marvejols—your husband."
"He! Is it possible?"
Bathilde turned pale; for a moment she was overcome; but joy rarely does any harm, and the young mother covered her daughter with kisses once more, crying:
"He kissed you, little darling, he kissed you! Why, that gentleman was your father—your father for whom I have taught you to pray to God every night, to preserve his life and bring him back to us. Ah! God has heard your prayers.—Now, Marie, Ambroisine, tell me all that happened, all, both yesterday and to-day. Do not forget anything, do not omit the most trivial detail; I shall be so happy listening to you."
The maid described minutely the meeting of the preceding day.
"And you told me nothing of this yesterday, Marie!"
"Bless me! I could not imagine that it would interest you so deeply! I was so far from suspecting that that handsome gentleman was monsieur le comte; and if I must mention everybody who admires mademoiselle when I take her out to walk, and everybody who exclaims at her beauty and caresses her, I should never stop!"
"Well—and to-day, Marie!"
The nurse told what had happened previous to the arrival of Ambroisine, who completed the story from that point.
"And he went away like that—hurriedly?" said Bathilde.
"Mon Dieu! yes; I am very sorry that I showed myself; but when I saw him holding his daughter in his arms, could I be expected to control my surprise?"
"He held her in his arms?"
"To be sure."
"And he kissed her?"
"Oh! several times."
"And you are sure, Marie, that he knew that Blanche was the daughter of the Comtesse de Marvejols?"
"Pardine! I told the gentleman so yesterday, madame; and it was he himself who asked me the question."
"He knew that she was his daughter, Ambroisine, and he took her in his arms, and put his lips to her forehead! Oh! I cannot believe yet in such good fortune! Why, in that case, he must love darling Blanche!"
"Does that surprise you? Is it possible to see the child without loving her? Moreover, as he came again to-day and sat in the same place as yesterday, don't you see that it must have been a desire to see his daughter that brought him there again?"
"Oh! if that were true, if it were possible! But if he wishes to see his daughter, does he not know that the doors of this house will fly open before him any day, at any hour? And if it is my presence that offends him, if it is I whom he does not wish to meet, why, I will be careful to avoid his glances, I will conceal myself in the most distant part of the house, and I will stay hidden there so long as he remains. But let him come to see his daughter! let him lavish his caresses on her without fear. I shall be only too happy, and I will not complain."
"Of course, monsieur le comte did not know at first," said Ambroisine, "when Blanche attracted his attention, that it was his own daughter whom he was praising;when he learned that fact, he could not help being proud of her; and then the same feeling brought him back to the spot where he knew that she ordinarily came to run about and play. But it is a long way from that to coming to this house."
"Oh! no matter; to-morrow Blanche will go out with her nurse at the same time; my daughter will go for her walk in the same direction, to the same benches as to-day; perhaps he will come again to see her; and I will go there with you, Ambroisine. I am strong enough to go out; at all events, you will lend me your arm, and we will keep out of sight, a long way off; but not so far that we cannot see whether the darling girl's father caresses her again."
Everything was done the next day as Bathilde had planned. Blanche went out with her nurse as the clock struck twelve; some distance behind, two women walked arm in arm, following with their eyes every step, every movement of the child.
But the bench on which they had found Léodgard two days in succession was unoccupied; and more than once the little girl, after running in that direction, returned to her nurse and said in her childish lisp, and in an almost mournful tone:
"The gentleman not there, nurse; where is the gentleman?"
For Blanche had already come to look upon it as a pleasant custom to be kissed and caressed by Léodgard.Children learn to love very quickly! A person attracts them instantly or never; as they have not become reasoning persons, they follow their first impulse.
That day had not the result for which they hoped. Léodgard did not appear at the bench, or in any other part of Place Royale, where Bathilde's and Ambroisine's eyes would not have failed to discover him.
On the following day they repeated the same manœuvre, with no better success. And Blanche, as she returned to the house with her mother, who sighed profoundly, seemed to share her sadness.
"Mamma, he did not come—the gentleman!" she said.
Several days passed thus, and they were forced to conclude that Léodgard, angry at having been surprised by Ambroisine when he was kissing his daughter, had preferred not to return to Place Royale, for fear of other disagreeable encounters.
The Sire de Jarnonville, the loyal friend of the countess and of Ambroisine, who loved Blanche with all the fervent paternal love that heaven had left in the depths of his heart, was speedily informed of what had happened on Place Royale. He was more touched than surprised; it seemed to him so natural that one should be drawn to Blanche at first sight.
"I knew that he needed only to see her to love her!" cried Jarnonville, letting his eyes rest on Blanche. "He refused to listen to me or to believe me, one day when I spoke to him of his daughter; but Providence, morepowerful than his will, has brought him and the child together. Henceforth, madame, be of good cheer; it is impossible that your child should not bring her father back to you."
With such words did Jarnonville comfort Bathilde when she sighed because Léodgard had not appeared again on the bench where his daughter had twice met him. Ambroisine united her efforts with the chevalier's to encourage her friend. Bathilde, Ambroisine, and the chevalier passed almost every evening at the Hôtel de Marvejols, beside Blanche's cradle, spending in pleasant converse the long autumn evenings, talking almost constantly of him who refused to accept the pure happiness offered him by his own fireside, his wife, and his child.
It was after such a conversation, prolonged to a later hour than usual, that Ambroisine left the hôtel with Jarnonville, who always escorted her to Master Hugonnet's door. On this particular evening it was very dark, and the fine rain that was falling was icy cold, so that even when the chevalier and his companion were still protected by the arcades of the square he said to her more than once:
"Wrap yourself tightly in your cloak, mademoiselle, for it is raining and it is quite cold."
Then, with an almost involuntary movement, the chevalier pressed closer to his side the arm that the lovely girl had slipped through his.
They had reached the end of the arcade, when a horrible spectacle arrested their steps: a man lay flat on theground; his cloak and his sword were at some little distance, and it was so dark that they could not see the pool of blood in which his body lay.
"Mon Dieu! what is that?" exclaimed Ambroisine, stopping abruptly; "I believe that it is a man there—lying on the ground."
"Yes, you are right; perhaps he is asleep; perhaps he is drunk.—Wait, while I ascertain."
Jarnonville released Ambroisine's arm, walked nearer to the body that lay there absolutely inert, and stooped over it. In a moment he cried out:
"Ah! the poor fellow is bathed in his own blood!"
"See that sword yonder—perhaps there has been a duel."
"If I could raise his head; but his hair has fallen over his face and conceals it.—Mon Dieu! is this a delusion?"
"What is it, chevalier?"
"For heaven's sake, stand aside a little, so that the light may shine on this unfortunate man—yes, it is he! it is surely he!"
"Who, in God's name?"
"Léodgard!"
"The count—is it possible!—Great God! is he dead?"
"Wait—wait!—No, it seems to me that I feel a faint movement of the heart."
"I will run at once to the hôtel for help; don't leave him, chevalier."
Ambroisine was no longer afraid, she forgot the cold and the darkness alike. Running along the dark arcade, she soon reached the Hôtel de Marvejols; and having enjoined upon the concierge to conceal from the countess all knowledge of what was going on, she took two servants with her and hurried back at full speed to Jarnonville, who was on his knees beside Léodgard, having raised his head, which he was supporting against his breast. But the wounded man had not recovered consciousness; he was still in the same condition.
With the aid of the two servants, the chevalier raised Léodgard, who was forthwith transported to the Hôtel de Marvejols. The count had his own suite there, which he had not occupied for many months, but which was always ready for his occupancy, none the less.
"It is your master," said the chevalier to the servants, whom curiosity had drawn to the gateway; "it is Monsieur le Comte de Marvejols, whom we found in this condition a few steps from here. Let one of you run with all speed to fetch a physician or a surgeon. But, above all things, absolute secrecy; do not let this accident reach madame la comtesse's ears to-night; before we tell her that her husband is under her roof, we must know if there is any hope of restoring him to life!"
Jarnonville's orders were executed with zeal. Ambroisine installed herself by the wounded man's bedside, having sent a servant to inform her father that she should pass the night at the Hôtel de Marvejols.
Luckily, the hôtel was an immense place, and the young countess's apartment was in a different wing from that to which her husband had been taken. So that Bathilde slept in peace beside her daughter, having no suspicion that the constant object of her thoughts was so near her at that moment.
The surgeon summoned by the servant carefully examined the deep wound in Léodgard's breast. One and all waited anxiously to hear what he would say, what judgment he would pronounce.
But the man of science simply shook his head in a far from encouraging fashion, and said:
"This is a very serious wound, and the loss of blood has been considerable. If monsieur le comte recovers, he will be very fortunate. However, if the sword did not reach any of the vital organs, it is possible that he may be cured. For the moment, it is impossible to say. When the patient recovers consciousness, be careful, above all things, not to let him talk; avoid everything that is likely to cause him the slightest excitement."
The surgeon took his leave after giving the necessary directions, saying that he would return at daybreak.
Jarnonville and Ambroisine passed the night beside the wounded man.
"Mon Dieu! if she suspected that he was here!" murmured the girl, glancing at the chevalier.
"She would be unable to resist the desire to come to see him; she would insist upon attending to his wants;and you heard what the surgeon said—that the slightest excitement might be fatal to him. Do you think that he would not be excited, if, on opening his eyes, he should see his wife by his side?"
"You are right, chevalier; but if fate has willed that monsieur le comte is to die of this wound, if to-morrow he should have ceased to live! Do you think that Bathilde would ever forgive us for concealing from her the fact that her husband is here—dying—so near her; and for depriving her of the melancholy pleasure of closing his eyes?"
"I know not what to say; follow the dictates of your heart. You love the countess too dearly not to divine which is likely to cause her the less pain,—to remain in ignorance of her husband's danger, or to share our anxiety concerning his fate."
Ambroisine hesitated, but she decided at last to wait until daybreak and the surgeon's return.
Toward the middle of the night, Léodgard partly opened his eyes; but his vague, uncertain glance could not endure the dim light in the room; he soon dropped his eyelids, having recognized none of his surroundings.
At dawn, the surgeon returned to his patient; after examining him carefully, feeling his pulse, and listening a long while to his respiration, he made a motion with his head, more encouraging than the earlier one, and said:
"I have a little hope; but I cannot say anything definite until I have removed the dressing of the wound, and I must not do that until evening. Until then, the same directions, the same precautions; give him this phial to inhale from, if he should lose consciousness; but, above all things, absolute silence."
When the surgeon had gone, Ambroisine, having made up her mind what to do, went to her friend's room.
It was only seven o'clock in the morning; Bathilde was still asleep, with her face turned toward her daughter's cradle, so that when she woke her first glance was for her child.
Ambroisine walked into the room very softly, in order to make no noise. The faithful Marie, who was already in the adjoining room, allowed her mistress's young friend to pass without remonstrance; for the countess had once told her that Ambroisine was at liberty to enter her apartment at all times and seasons.
The young mother and her child were both sleeping peacefully.
"They are enjoying sweet repose," said Ambroisine to herself, as she gazed at them. "Poor Bathilde! you have earned it by all the torments and suffering you have endured!—Would it not be a crime to disturb it? The man who is yonder is most unjust to you! does he deserve that you should shed more tears for him?—Ah, no! it seems to me that he does not deserve it.—But she still loves him, he is this little angel's father; and then, too,he has held Blanche to his heart! For that reason, we must forgive him."
And Ambroisine laid her hand gently on Bathilde's arm. Her light sleep was disturbed by the slightest touch. When she saw her friend standing by her side, the young mother apprehended some calamity and instantly turned her eyes toward her daughter; but the child was sleeping quietly, and her pink and white cheeks were altogether reassuring as to her health.
"What is the matter, in heaven's name," asked Bathilde, half rising, "that you are here so early, dear Ambroisine? You must have something of great importance to tell me?"
"I have not left the house since yesterday; that is to say, I left it for a moment, but returned at once and passed the night here."
"Speak, Ambroisine, explain yourself; one would say that you dared not.—Oh! I will be brave enough, if necessary. Besides, my daughter is with me; and when I fear nothing for her, I am very strong, I assure you!"
Thereupon Ambroisine told her friend of the events of the previous night, taking pains, however, not to make the count's wound appear so serious as the surgeon had declared it to be.
But Bathilde did not give her time to finish her story; she had already risen and was dressing in great haste, saying, in a voice broken by the emotion that choked her utterance:
"He is here, mon Dieu! here—so near me—since last night—and I was not told! And you left me in ignorance of his suffering!—Oh! that was wrong—very wrong! is it not my duty to be with my husband when he needs care?"
"Our duty was to follow the orders of the surgeon; he said that the slightest excitement would be fatal to monsieur le comte."
"Mon Dieu! then he is very ill!"
"Remember that he does not know as yet where he has been taken; and if he sees you by his side, if he recognizes you, do you think that it will not excite him?"
"Very well! I will hide myself, I will keep out of sight, he shall not see me!—But I shall see him, I shall know what his condition is, and I shall be able to add my care to that which you give him.—Come, Ambroisine, come!"
But before leaving the room Bathilde stopped to press her lips to her daughter's brow; then, after bidding the faithful Marie to stay with Blanche, she hurried to her husband's apartment.
Léodgard was still in the same condition; the ghastly pallor of his face and his closed eyes gave him the aspect of a dead man; but a faint breath that came from his lips proved that life had not abandoned him.
Bathilde gazed long at the sad spectacle, then fell on her knees beside the bed, and implored heaven to preserve Léodgard's life.