For twenty days, Léodgard hovered between life and death; a horrible delirium succeeded the prostration which immediately followed his wound; but during that time the most touchingly devoted care was lavished on him.
Bathilde, Ambroisine, and the Sire de Jarnonville were almost constantly at the patient's bedside; at first the young wife passed whole nights in attendance on her husband; in order to induce her to be more reasonable, to force her to take some rest, it was necessary to tell her that her child was asking for her, that she refused to go to sleep unless her mother was with her.
During those long nights, when the violence of the count's fever often caused him to talk aloud in his dreams, or rather in his delirium, his watchers had observed with amazement that the same person was constantly in his thoughts, that he was almost invariably tormented by the same memories; in short, that his lips many and many a time uttered a certain name; and that name was Giovanni.
"Did you hear him?" Bathilde would ask her friend; "it is most extraordinary that Léodgard, in his delirium, is always thinking of that famous robber. One would say that he was afraid of the man—that he was fighting with him!"
"Yes; only yesterday I heard monsieur le comte cry out: 'Avaunt, wretched man! do not pursue me so!'—And a moment later, he said: 'But, no, it is not he, it is I whom they mean to arrest! They have recognized me! I am Giovanni, I! the other is dead!'"
"Poor love! what ghastly delirium!—Oh! when will he be calmer and recover his reason?"
And one evening, Bathilde said to the Sire de Jarnonville, who seemed lost in thought as he listened to the sick man's wanderings:
"Chevalier, as my husband is always thinking of this Giovanni, do not you believe that, instead of having fought a duel, as you thought at first, he was attacked by that terrible robber and received this dangerous wound from him?"
"I haven't the least doubt about it, myself," said Ambroisine; "monsieur le comte has that last encounter ever present in his mind, and so in his delirium he believes he still sees this Giovanni."
Jarnonville seemed to reflect before he replied; at last he said to the friends:
"Your conjectures may be well founded; yes, it may well be that, instead of a duel, the count was the victim of an ambuscade."
"Besides, you have made inquiries, chevalier, have you not? you have seen a number of gentlemen who are friends of Léodgard, and no one of them knows of his having fought a duel?"
"No, madame; nor has anyone heard even of a possible quarrel. But, in truth, since the cardinal issued such a severe edict against duellists, there is little inclination to boast of such affairs; on the contrary, whoever has one on hand tries to keep it entirely secret. For that reason, whatever the cause of the count's wound, it is prudent to attribute it to a nocturnal attack."
"Especially as it is probably the truth; otherwise, would my husband think so constantly of that Giovanni?"
On the twenty-first day, the surgeon, having paid an early visit to his patient, because he expected a crisis which would be decisive of his fate, sent the ladies away, allowing no one to remain with him save the Sire de Jarnonville; then he waited to see what Providence rather than his skill would do for the count.
He had been in a violent fever since the night before, but the delirium had ceased. Toward morning the fever subsided and was ere long succeeded by a peaceful sleep.
Then the surgeon went to Bathilde, who was in an adjoining room, on her knees, with her daughter kneeling beside her. Both were praying; and they were such pure and spotless creatures that their prayers were granted.
"Saved! I will answer for him now!" said the surgeon, as he approached the countess.
She seized the doctor's hands, pressed them to her heart, and would have kissed them if he had not prevented her.—Is not he who restores to us a person whomwe love a god in our eyes? and do we not always feel that words are powerless to express our gratitude?
"But," continued the surgeon, "the greatest caution is necessary still—no great excitement! The convalescence will be long—very long. In order to heal perfectly, the wound needs prolonged rest; but, unless something unforeseen happens, I repeat—monsieur le comte is saved.—When he wakes, he will feel better, and he will question you, no doubt. Urge him to think of nothing but getting well, and tell him that I have forbidden you to allow him to talk."
Then, having written a new prescription, the doctor went away, carrying with him the benedictions of those whom he had made happy.
"When he wakes," said Jarnonville, "the count will recognize this apartment, as it is the one he occupied when he lived with his father."
"After all," said Ambroisine, "he must know it at some time. Where could he be taken better care of than in his own house, with his wife and child?"
"Oh! do not mention his wife to him!" cried Bathilde; "that might make him angry, and you know what the doctor ordered!"
"Will you trust me?" said the chevalier; "I am sure that I can arrange matters so that your husband will have an agreeable awakening, attended by pleasant sensations.—Pray, madame, intrust your daughter to me."
"Blanche!"
"Yes; the sight of that little angel cannot fail to produce a happy result."
"But he knows that she is his daughter."
"And that knowledge did not prevent him from embracing her!"
"But he fled when he noticed that someone saw him kissing his child!"
"He has just escaped death; and that circumstance sometimes induces salutary reflections—when one has seen the grave so near at hand!"
"Well! I place myself in your hands, chevalier; take my dear Blanche—I will remain here, and unless the count asks for me I will not venture to show myself to him; but I shall be happy once more, if, from this room, I hear my husband kiss his child."
Jarnonville took little Blanche by the hand, after she had been told not to make any noise; she seemed already to understand that she was to have a share in the cure of the gentleman who was lying there, although Bathilde had not dared to tell her to call himfather.
The chevalier returned softly to the count's room. Hearing some movement in the bed, he left Blanche hidden by the curtains, and approached the invalid, who had opened his eyes and was gazing about the room as if he were trying to collect his thoughts, to marshal his recollections.
At sight of Jarnonville, Léodgard, more amazed than ever, faltered:
"What! is it you, Jarnonville? For heaven's sake, explain! What has happened?"
"You were very dangerously wounded. I found you lying on the ground, under an arcade on Place Royale."
"Oh, yes! yes! I remember—my duel—with the Marquis de Santoval.—And you had me brought here? But I recognize this chamber—it used to be mine; I am at the Hôtel de Marvejols."
"To carry you farther would have been impossible; you would have died on the way; and besides, where else would you have found the devoted, incessant care and attention with which you have been surrounded here for three weeks past?"
Léodgard made no reply; he let his head fall back on the pillow; but his expression had become sad, his brow was clouded.
Thereupon Jarnonville beckoned to Blanche, who had remained behind the curtains, afraid to stir. The little girl came forward, climbed the bed steps beside the bed, then suddenly showed her sweet face to Léodgard, saying:
"I see the gentleman!"
An abrupt change took place in Léodgard's whole expression; at first he started in surprise, but almost instantly a sentiment of well-being, like the calm after a storm, found its way into the invalid's heart.
He smiled at Blanche and tried to hold out his hand to her. But he was still too weak to use his arm, and could only say:
"Is it you, dear child?—Ah! it is very good of you to come to see me. You must come often."
Then his eyes closed—the emotion had exhausted his strength; but the weakness that he felt was in no wise dangerous, and it was soon succeeded by a refreshing sleep.
"We have succeeded!" said Jarnonville, leading the child back to her mother; "the sight of the child instantly dissipated the clouds that darkened your husband's brow. Now, madame, you may be sure that Blanche will complete her father's cure."
Bathilde lovingly embraced her daughter; then she took advantage of Léodgard's slumber to go to his side and gaze at him at her ease.
By the sick man's movements they could always determine the moment when he would wake; thereupon Ambroisine and Bathilde hastened from the room, leaving Jarnonville there alone; or if the chevalier was absent, his place was taken by a servant.
When Léodgard next opened his eyes, they wandered about the room, as if in search of someone.
Jarnonville approached the bed and asked if he desired anything.
"Yes," whispered the count, trying to smile, "yes—I would like to see—the little girl."
"He is not willing yet to say 'my daughter,' but that will come in time," thought the chevalier, as he went to fetch Blanche, whom he soon led to her father's bedside.
The little one ascended the bed steps without aid, and showed her pretty face, her chestnut hair, and her winning smile.
"Bonjour, my friend!" she said.
Bathilde had instructed Blanche to address her father thus. Before giving him a sweeter name, she wished that Léodgard himself should authorize it.
The invalid succeeded in putting out his hand as far as the child, whose hair, already thick and silky, he patted gently, saying:
"You are very good to come to see me; but perhaps you will get tired of it. Will you come every day?"
"Yes, my friend."
"In the morning, and then again in the afternoon?"
"Yes—if mamma will let me!"
Léodgard became pensive, and was silent for a long while, still toying with the child's hair. After a few minutes, Blanche cried:
"I prayed to the good Lord, I did, with mamma, to make my friend not be sick any more!"
"Dear child, how kind you are! Do you love me a little?"
"Oh, yes! with all my heart!"
Léodgard made a movement; it was plain that he desired to kiss Blanche; but he could not raise himself so as to put his face to hers. Jarnonville, who was watching him out of the corner of his eye, saw all this; hemade no sign, however, but remained where he was, pretending to be engrossed by his book.
At last, unable to reach the child's face, Léodgard decided to say to her:
"Give me your hand—a little farther—against my lips; that is right."
And he covered his daughter's little hand with kisses, while she exclaimed with delight:
"Oh! monsieur friend! he kiss Blanche's hand!"
Concealed behind the folds of a portière, Bathilde saw it all, and tears of joy escaped from her eyes.
The count kept the child with him a long while, but at last made up his mind to send her away.
"I do not wish to deprive her any longer of the pleasures, the amusements suited to her years," he said to Jarnonville; "her pretty color will fade beside a sickbed.—Take her away, chevalier.—Au revoir, little one—until to-morrow! I shall wait impatiently for you to come to pass a few moments with me."
Twelve days passed. Léodgard continued to improve and began to recover a little strength; but it was not possible as yet for him to leave his bed, the severity of the wound he had received demanding extreme precautions. To beguile his ennui, to make the hours seem less long, he often had Blanche with him, and each day he tried to keep her longer.
When his daughter was not by his side, Léodgard was silent, and his mind seemed always to be engrossed bygloomy thoughts. He would hardly answer Jarnonville when he tried to divert him, and sometimes passed whole hours without opening his lips, without emerging from the torpor in which he was plunged. But when Blanche's little steps pattered along the floor, when her sweet voice made itself heard in the room, it was as if a fairy had touched the Comte de Marvejols with her magic wand: his brow instantly cleared, he raised his eyes, a bright smile changed the whole expression of his countenance, and, being stronger now, he would hold out his arms to Blanche, draw her to him, and make her sit on his bed, where he could kiss her lovely face at his ease.
Then he would lead the child on to talk; he loved to hear her, to listen to her childish answers, wherein sensibility and intelligence were already apparent. These are natural gifts, which education and years do not give; when they do not manifest themselves early in life, be sure that you will look in vain for them later.
But Léodgard had not yet called Blanche his daughter; and when she spoke of her mother, he very soon found a way to change the subject.
Bathilde continued to keep out of her husband's sight, and he had not once inquired about her. But she did not complain; she was happy because she had been able to nurse him, and even happier for the affection which he displayed for his daughter.
Ambroisine thought it her duty as well to abstain from showing herself to the sick man; the mere sight of herhad seemed so unpleasant to the count when she met him on Place Royale, holding Blanche in his arms, that she did not care to cause him a repetition of that sensation.
So that Léodgard saw nobody save the surgeon, who continued to visit him morning and evening; Jarnonville, who often came to bear him company, and to whom he had confided the fact that he had fought a duel with the Marquis de Santoval, but without disclosing the cause of their quarrel; the servants, who came to him when he rang; and the child, who had lately embellished the invalid's bed with divers toys, so that she might remain longer with her friend.
One evening, the two ladies questioned the chevalier on the subject of Léodgard's wound.
"Has he told you how it happened?" asked Bathilde; "how he was attacked by Giovanni? For it was that brigand who wounded him, was it not?"
Jarnonville seemed to reflect before he replied:
"Madame, your husband is very uncommunicative; and since he has begun to improve, he talks no more than before. Your daughter alone has the power to make him talk. When I attempted to question him concerning this adventure, he answered only by monosyllables, which led me to think that my questions were displeasing to him; so that I thought that I should not persist."
"Oh! you were quite right, chevalier; let monsieur le comte conceal from us the cause of his accident, if thatis his wish; the essential point is that it should have no fatal consequences."
"Still," said Ambroisine, "I do not understand why he should make a mystery of having been attacked by a robber! But if he had fought a duel——"
"That is impossible," rejoined Bathilde; "remember that in his delirium he talked constantly of this Giovanni."
Thus the two friends were still uncertain with respect to the cause of the wound which had nearly caused the count's death; and Jarnonville, who knew what it was and might have told them, pretended to share their ignorance.
One morning, on awaking, Léodgard, who was accustomed to see Blanche at the foot of his bed, or somewhere in the room, looked in vain for the child, who was nowhere in sight. After waiting for some time for his daughter to be brought to him, he rang for a servant.
"Why do they not send the child to me this morning, as usual?" he asked the valet who answered the bell.
"I believe that I heard someone say, monsieur le comte, that mademoiselle was not very well in the night; that is probably the reason why she does not come to you."
"Ah! that makes a difference! And the physician—have they sent for the physician?"
"Yes, monsieur le comte."
"Has the Sire de Jarnonville not yet come?"
"No, monseigneur."
"Very well; as soon as the physician has seen the child, send him to me."
The valet left the room; but in a few moments the count rang again, and asked that the child's nurse be sent to him.
Marie appeared, and the count was glad to see the nurse who was taking his daughter to walk on Place Royale when he first met her there. He motioned to her to come forward.
"Blanche is ill—what is the matter?"
"Oh! it will be nothing, monsieur le comte; mademoiselle coughed a little in the night, and this morning she has a little fever; but it will not amount to anything; children fall sick very quickly, but they get well as quickly."
"Is she in pain?"
"No, monseigneur; she has already asked to get up, and to come to see you."
"What! does she really think of me?"
"Oh! since she has been coming here, you are her first thought, after she has kissed her mother."
"Dear child!"
"But as mademoiselle is feverish, it would be imprudent to allow her to rise."
"Yes, it must not be. And her—her mother is with her, I presume?"
"Madame does not leave mademoiselle for an instant; especially as when she is ill mademoiselle is not always very good about taking her medicine. But when her mamma says to her: 'You must take this, my child!' then she obeys instantly."
"It is well; go; let them send the doctor to me when he has seen Blanche."
The time seemed very long to Léodgard, who had become accustomed to the pleasure of seeing his daughter. We do not fully realize the value of things until we are deprived of them. Until that moment, the count had thought perhaps that his daughter's presence was simply an agreeable diversion; now, he felt that it had become an imperative need.
At last the doctor came, and Léodgard questioned him eagerly concerning Blanche's condition.
The doctor began by allaying his fears, and continued:
"Even if this indisposition should prove to be one of the diseases common to children, we would cure her."
"A disease! What disease do you suspect, doctor?"
"Why, it is what used to be calledPusula—thefeu ardent,feu sauvage, Saint Anthony's fire."[B]
[B]Erysipelas.
[B]Erysipelas.
"You terrify me, doctor!"
"But in those days they were very ignorant! It is simply the measles—what we doctors callBoa; a skin disease, very light in children, unless they are not properly cared for—unless there is imprudence. There is no danger of that in this case.—But how are you, monsieur le comte?"
"I am doing well, and I wish that I might be allowed to rise."
"Wait a few more days. If your wound should reopen, you would be kept in bed for a long, long time. Bereasonable, monsieur le comte; it is really a miracle that you have recovered."
"Thanks, doctor; but henceforth give all your attention to the child."
The doctor went away, but Jarnonville soon came to stay with the count. On this occasion he did not find him taciturn and pensive as usual. The count asked him with much eagerness if he had seen his daughter, questioned him about her condition, and told him what he had learned from the doctor. And as the chevalier never tired of talking about Blanche, those two men, whose aspect was sometimes so stern and forbidding, passed a large part of the day talking about a child.
The next day, the doctor declared that his opinion was confirmed, and that the child had the measles—a disease attended with no danger, if not complicated by other circumstances.
Léodgard did not allow five minutes to pass without ringing and sending servants to inquire for his daughter. He no longer hesitated to give her that title when he spoke of her; and Jarnonville could not conceal his joy when the count at last uttered that word.
On the third day, after inquiring for Blanche, he exclaimed:
"Oh! how fortunate her mother is! She is with her, she can see her, if nothing more; and I—who had become so accustomed to seeing her every day—how long the time seems to me now!"
On the following day, the servants' faces were more downcast, and Jarnonville himself, although he said that the disease was following its regular course, seemed more anxious, less cheerful, concerning Blanche's safety.
After scrutinizing the faces of all those about him, Léodgard summoned a valet and ordered him to help him to dress.
"What! you intend to rise?" cried Jarnonville; "that is most imprudent; the doctor still forbids it."
"The doctor does not know how much I suffer from not seeing my daughter; the sight of her will be more beneficial to me than all his prescriptions. Moreover, to-day everyone seems to be more anxious about Blanche's health, and I wish to satisfy myself with my own eyes concerning her condition. You will give me your arm, chevalier, and take me to my daughter."
The tone in which the count spoke showed that all objections would be fruitless.
Enveloped in a voluminous robe de chambre, Léodgard took Jarnonville's arm, and left his apartment at last, to go to the wing occupied by Bathilde and her child.
But, despite all his resolution, the convalescent, whose legs shook and wavered, could go only very slowly, and a servant hastened before him to announce to the countess her husband's coming.
When she learned that Léodgard had insisted upon coming to see his daughter, Bathilde could not restraina joyful cry; and she lovingly embraced the little invalid, saying to her:
"It is on your account that he comes, dear child, it is you who bring him back to me!—Oh! I am well aware that it is not I whom he wishes to see, but I shall not go away, for I never leave you; from the instant that you are suffering, my place is with you! And your father must needs endure my presence, if he wishes to have a share in nursing you."
As for Ambroisine, who also was beside the child's cradle, she went at once into another room; for in that first interview between the husband and wife a witness would have been in the way.
Slow and heavy steps announced the count's arrival. Bathilde seated herself at some little distance from her daughter's cradle; but when Léodgard entered the room, leaning on Jarnonville's arm, she could not refrain from looking at him, and she was painfully impressed by the tremendous change in his whole appearance. Considerably thinner than of old, extremely pale, and with naught reminiscent of his large eyes save a feverish and sombre fire, the Comte de Marvejols was no more than the shadow of his former self. But in Bathilde's eyes he was still the man whom she adored, the father of her child; and she was obliged to make a mighty effort to keep from rushing to him and throwing herself into his arms.
Léodgard simply bent his head to his wife. His eyes sought his daughter's cradle, and when he espied it hedropped the chevalier's arm, went forward alone, put aside the curtains that covered it, and sat down beside it. Blanche was at the point of waking; her sweet face was purple and swollen as a result of her disease; but she smiled when she woke, and on recognizing Léodgard she cried:
"Oh! my friend! my friend! he not sick too! he come to see Blanche!"
The count leaned over the cradle and covered the child with kisses. Bathilde turned her head away to hide her tears; but they were not unpleasant, and she did not try to restrain them.
"Does the doctor still say that there is no danger?" asked Léodgard, addressing Jarnonville; but he pretended not to hear, in order to compel the count to address his wife.
Seeing that the chevalier persisted in not replying, Léodgard made up his mind to turn to Bathilde; whereupon the young woman murmured, without looking at her husband:
"My daughter has now reached the point where her disease is at its height; but to-night, about midnight, the doctor says that the fever should begin to abate; he has assured me that Blanche is in no danger."
"But this extreme redness——"
"Is characteristic of this fever. It worried me too, but the doctor declares that it is better that it should be so.—But you, monsieur le comte—I thought thatyou were not allowed to leave your bed yet; is it not imprudent?"
"Your husband would not listen to reason, madame," said Jarnonville; "his desire to see his daughter was stronger than any words of mine!"
Léodgard looked up at the chevalier and smiled slightly.
"Ah!" he murmured; "you seem to be talking now, Jarnonville!"
Then, turning again toward his daughter, he said:
"Little darling! I am terribly bored, being deprived of your visits!—Get well very soon; but meanwhile it is my turn to come to see you, and I will come."
"Every day?" whispered Blanche.
"Oh, yes! every day! Au revoir, my child, au revoir!"
And the count rose, bowed to Bathilde, took the chevalier's arm, and returned to his apartment.
But the next day it was impossible for Léodgard to rise; the exertion of the preceding day had reopened his wound. The doctor scolded him roundly for his imprudence, and the count was fain to be content with hearing from his daughter every instant of the day. Luckily, the reports were excellent; the malady was abating, and the recovery would be rapid. Blanche should be brought to him as soon as it could be done without danger to her.
Four days more had elapsed, when, on waking one morning, Léodgard found Blanche on his bed. He threw his arms about her and covered her with kisses.
"Friend still sick?" asked the little girl, smiling at her father. But he gazed fondly at her, saying:
"You must not sayfriend, dear love; after this, call mefather—do you understand?—father; for you are my daughter, and I am proud of you.—Oh! why did I not know this happiness sooner—this inward satisfaction which a man feels in pressing his child in his arms!—But I did not believe in it until I possessed you. I was still blind, and I denied the light!"
Joys of the heart are always the best remedy for all ills. As soon as he saw his daughter once more, Léodgard rapidly improved; he was soon well enough to rise and walk about his room; but to make him perfectly comfortable, Blanche must be with him. He seemed to become more attached to her every day. Albeit vastly surprised by the power which the child exerted over his heart, he did not try to combat it; on the contrary, he abandoned himself to it with delight, for he realized that the unfamiliar sensation that he felt was the only one which causes us to enjoy true happiness.
Sometimes, however, as he held his daughter on his knee, with his eyes resting on her lovely eyes, Léodgard would suddenly become depressed and thoughtful, and a livid pallor would overspread his features. Then, putting Blanche on the floor, he would walk hurriedly away from her, hiding his face in his hands, and muttering:
"Poor child! Suppose that some day she should learn—thatsomebody should tell her that her father—— She would curse me, perhaps!—Oh! the mere thought is terrible! it is my most cruel punishment!"
And Léodgard would remain as if crushed by his thoughts; but Blanche, unable to understand why her father had suddenly turned his back on her, would run to him and take his hand, saying in her sweet voice:
"Papa, don't you love Blanche any more?"
The little angel's tones very soon made their way to her father's heart, and, like a ray of sunshine, dissipated the storm that had gathered there.
"Woman's moods are light as air;Foolish he who trusts the fair!"
"Woman's moods are light as air;Foolish he who trusts the fair!"
After his duel with Léodgard, the Marquis de Santoval returned to his hôtel and went at once to his wife, who was anxiously awaiting the result of the meeting, which she herself had brought about, between the count and her husband.
When the marquis appeared with a triumphant air, Valentine was conscious of a thrill of horror which went to her heart.
"You are avenged, madame, completely avenged!" said Monsieur de Santoval, as he saluted his wife.
"Ah! I was very anxious, monsieur!"
"I thank you for your anxiety. But with me you need have had no fear!"
"Did you—meet—the Comte de Marvejols?"
"Yes, madame; you may be sure that he would not fail to accept your amiable invitation. One has not such a charming rendezvous every evening!—And that fellow is so conceited! he could not fail to fall into the trap!"
"And how did it come about?"
"As naturally as possible. The count was rather surprised to see me; however, he tried to throw dust in my eyes. But as I was in haste to have done, I told him frankly the whole truth."
"Ah! you told him——"
"That you had made a fool of him, that you were very glad to give him a lesson, without which your vengeance would have been incomplete!—Ah! if you knew how frantic the handsome seducer became at that!"
"I can well believe it, monsieur."
"We instantly drew our swords.—He fights well, but his anger blinded him."
"And you wounded him?"
"Wounded him!—Oh! I did better than that—I killed him, madame. A superb thrust, which ran him through. If he recovers, it will surprise me greatly.—But what is the matter, madame? You turn pale!"
"Yes, monsieur; in truth, I do not feel well—theanxiety I have suffered to-night, and—— But a night's rest will restore me. Be good enough to send Miretta here."
"On the instant.—Really, I am deeply touched by your interest in me; but, as you see, I did not receive the slightest scratch."
"Yes, monsieur, yes; that sets my mind at rest. And—that unhappy man—whom you killed—what has become of him?"
"Whatever God wills should become of him.—For myself, my dear love, you will understand that the best thing for me to do was to come away at once! The law concerning duels is very severe!—But Joseph alone was our witness, and I am sure of that fellow's fidelity.—Come, marchioness, be reassured; take some rest; no more anxiety. I will send Miretta to you."
The marquis left the room. Valentine sat perfectly still, as if she were overwhelmed. Her brow was blanched, her eyes shone with a sombre fire; it was evident that a cruel thought absorbed all her senses. It was in this condition that Miretta found her when she entered the room.
"Did madame send for me? Madame seems to be suffering," said the girl, as she observed her mistress. "But monsieur le marquis has returned—so that he must have been the victor, and madame is avenged!"
Valentine raised her head and flashed a terrible glance at her confidante, crying:
"Avenged! unhappy girl! Why, do you not know that I am a miserable, infamous wretch?—For that manhas killed him! He has killed him! and I am the cause of it; it was I who gave him that assignation, who laid the snare for Léodgard, by making him believe that I loved him!—Yes, I did love him! I did not lie! I tried to deceive myself concerning my feelings; I tried to delude myself. I told myself that he had disdained me, that I should wreak vengeance upon him for his scorn. I told myself that! But in the bottom of my heart I always loved him. I wanted to see him at my feet, to hear him make sweet protestations of love. I saw him there, and I caused his death! I killed him!—Oh! I have a horror of myself! I am unworthy of pity! And I would give my life now to undo the evil I have done!"
Miretta seemed more surprised than moved by her mistress's despair. She contented herself with saying:
"So monsieur le marquis killed his opponent?"
"Yes; at least, he thinks so.—Ah! if, however—— Miretta, you are brave—you must go out, hasten to Place Royale, near Rue des Tournelles,—the place where I promised to meet him. Look carefully. If Léodgard is still there, ascertain whether he is breathing, and, in that case, knock at some shop door and implore help, and see that the count is taken to his house in Rue de Bretonvilliers.—See, here is money; do not spare it. With money one can always find people ready to do one's bidding.—Go, Miretta; you can go out when you choose now; the marquis has the most perfect confidence in you.—Go; find Léodgard, and do not leave him untilyou have stationed a doctor by his side.—And then return—return! I shall count the minutes."
Miretta did not seem overjoyed by the mission which was intrusted to her; but, being entirely devoted to her mistress, she did not murmur, and made haste to obey. Moreover, when she went out at night, a secret hope always awoke in the depths of the girl's heart, and would have given her courage if she had lacked it.
Miretta looked in vain for Léodgard on Place Royale; we know that the wounded man was no longer there. But a great pool of blood, in which her foot slipped, satisfied her that she had found the spot where the duel had taken place. Seeing no light anywhere, and having no hope of obtaining information at midnight, she returned to the Hôtel de Santoval, walking slowly, however, with her ears strained to detect the faintest sound, stopping from time to time when she thought that she heard footsteps, and entirely oblivious of the commission her mistress had given her.
Valentine meanwhile impatiently awaited her maid's return. She appeared at last, and informed the marchioness that the Comte de Marvejols was no longer on Place Royale.
"Some charitable person must have taken care of him," said Valentine; "and if he was able to speak, he has probably been taken to his own house. At daybreak, Miretta, you will hasten to Rue de Bretonvilliers, enter the count's house, ascertain whether he has beentaken there, and inquire concerning his condition. At daybreak, do you understand?"
"I will obey you, madame."
And the next morning, almost before there was light enough to see, Miretta set about executing the orders she had received. But at the house in Rue de Bretonvilliers the count had not been seen since the preceding day, and no one knew what had become of him.
Valentine's torment increased with the ill success of the investigations which she caused to be made.
"But certainly that unfortunate man's body cannot have disappeared without having given rise to some talk!" cried the marchioness. "He was left for dead by his adversary on Place Royale, and that is where he must have been found. Go there again, Miretta, pass the whole day there if necessary; but do not return without bringing me some news of Léodgard."
Once more Miretta obeyed her mistress's orders; and after passing a large part of the day on Place Royale, she was about to return to the Hôtel de Santoval, when she happened to meet Ambroisine, to whose house she had not been for a very long time, but for whom she still cherished profound gratitude.
The two girls greeted each other with a smile, and the bath keeper's daughter said to Miretta:
"What has become of you, pray? I never see you!"
"I am still in the service of Mademoiselle Valentine, who is now Marquise de Santoval; and you?"
"I come almost every day to see my friend Bathilde, who is now Comtesse de Marvejols."
"Ah, yes! I remember; I have heard of that marriage."
"It is a most extraordinary story. But I have no time to talk at this moment. If you knew—last evening, the Sire de Jarnonville and I found Monsieur le Comte Léodgard lying on the ground yonder, under the arcade, bathed in his own blood; I ran to the house—which is close by—and they took the wounded man there.—He is very ill; however, there is still some hope perhaps.—Adieu! adieu! I must go back to Bathilde!"
Miretta had learned all that she wished to know, and she hastened to make her report to her mistress.
On learning that Léodgard was in the house occupied by his wife, Valentine had almost a paroxysm of rage; at last she fell exhausted on a chair, saying:
"With his wife! he is with her now! And this is what all my projects of revenge have resulted in—uniting him to this Bathilde! bringing about a reconciliation between them, perhaps! Oh, no! no! I will poison that woman's happiness.—Ah! I should regret it less now if Léodgard should die of his wound!"
But the marchioness's hopes were not gratified; we know that the count did not die of the sword thrust administered by the Marquis de Santoval.
When Valentine was once informed of the place where Léodgard was, she easily succeeded in obtaining newsof him; and almost every day she sent Miretta to inquire in the neighborhood of the Hôtel de Marvejols concerning his condition. The servants, as they went in and out, never failed to give their neighbors news of their master, whom they believed to have been attacked on the street by brigands. So that Valentine knew that he was convalescent, and that he would soon be able to go out. She awaited that moment with impatience.
But the days passed, and Léodgard did not leave the Hôtel de Marvejols.
"He must be well content to be with his wife!" thought Valentine, far from suspecting that it was a child who detained Léodgard under the same roof with Bathilde. "I will wait no longer! for if I do, it will perhaps be too late to tear the count away from this new life."
The marchioness summoned Miretta and said to her:
"Léodgard is now cured, entirely recovered from his wound, I know; and yet he still remains with this Bathilde. But something tells me that I still have some power over the count's heart, and that a word from me would suffice to bring him back to my feet."
"What, madame! do you propose——"
"Hush, Miretta; you cannot understand what is taking place in my heart. I have but one thought now: to give myself to Léodgard, and to leave this Marquis de Santoval, whose mere presence is horrible to me.—Not a word! Do not try to combat my resolution—it is not to be shaken. Would not you have suffered everything,defied every danger, for your Giovanni? Would you not, to obey only him, have disobeyed the whole world?"
"Oh, yes! I would have done all that for Giovanni, madame; and I am ready to do it still!"
"Be not surprised to find in another woman a sentiment at least as imperious as that which you yourself know!"
"Ah! madame, I never would have sent Giovanni to fight with another man!"
"Poor fool! do you know what you would have done if you had seen your lover desert you for a rival?—But let us talk no more of the past! It is for the purpose of atoning for it that I wish to send a message to Léodgard. I wish it to be placed in his own hands. You cannot take charge of it, because you are known to that bath keeper's daughter, the noble countess's close friend; she would insist upon taking the letter, she might inform her friend, and then they would divine from whom you came."
"Oh, yes, madame! for I told her that I was still with you; and if monsieur le comte has admitted having fought a duel with monsieur le marquis, they would think, if I should carry a letter there, that another duel was in contemplation, and they would be quite capable of not giving it to the count."
"That is why I do not wish to intrust it to you. The little solicitor's clerk will do the errand perfectly. Go, Miretta, and find him. But he cannot come again to thishouse, where he was beaten. Make an appointment with him in some solitary, out-of-the-way place, and I will meet him there. Thank heaven! Monsieur de Santoval has ceased to be jealous since that duel. He leaves me entirely free. Go, then, find this Bahuchet, promise him money, much money; I know that he is not to be relied on without that."
Miretta lost no time in going to Maître Bourdinard's office; she knew the way very well.
But when she entered the dirty, smoke-begrimed room where Bahuchet and his friend usually sat, she was surprised to find new faces in the places of those which she was accustomed to see there.
"What do you wish, young woman?" asked an old fellow as yellow as parchment, as he saw the girl gazing around the room.
"I wish to see Monsieur Bahuchet."
"Master Bahuchet is not here."
"Oh! he has gone out; at what hour will he return, if you please?"
"He won't return at all, thank God! I say that he is not here, which means that Maître Bourdinard has dismissed him, discharged him, kicked him out, in short; and he well deserved it!"
"Oho!—But he had a friend, whom I do not see here!"
"Oh, yes! his friend Plumard; another fine subject—a worthy pendant to Bahuchet! Those fellows foughtall day long, but they became reconciled at night in order to raise the devil all over the city. But when one of the master's clients, a certain Chevalier de Passedix, came here and told him the story of an orange-colored costume that those two scamps sold him, Maître Bourdinard's eyes were opened, and he turned the two little clerks out of doors—Plumard with Bahuchet, supporting each other!"
"In that case, monsieur, please give me this Monsieur Bahuchet's address, so that I may know where to find him; I must speak with him."
"His address, young woman—the address of a Bahuchet! Do you suppose such gentry have an address? Do they live anywhere? In wine shops and gambling hells and bawdy houses—that's where they live! But, frankly, I don't advise you to go there to look for him; and if the fellow owes you money, you will do well to make a cross on it."
Unable to obtain any information concerning him she sought, Miretta returned to report to her mistress the unsatisfactory result of her visit to the solicitor's office.
"More delay!" muttered Valentine, smiling bitterly; "one would say that destiny takes pleasure in multiplying obstacles to retard what I wish to do! But nothing will tire out my perseverance.—Miretta, you must find this Bahuchet; the fellow can have no reason for hiding, for he must now be in quest of another place. Search Paris for him; disguise yourself, if necessary; concealyour pretty face beneath an ample cap, and go to those dens which Monsieur Bahuchet frequents.—Who knows? while looking for him, perhaps you will find someone in whom you are interested."
Miretta shook her head, as if to say that she had ceased to hope; but she prepared, none the less, to obey the marchioness.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning; the weather was dry and cold; the wind was from the north; and they who were obliged to go abroad on business walked rapidly, and sometimes took the risk of running, in order to return the sooner to their homes.
However, in that sharp atmosphere, which is not uncommon toward the end of December, two young men were crossing Pont-Neuf very slowly, noses in air, looking from side to side, stopping before the most trivial objects, scrutinizing with a curious eye even the dogs that passed, and which they sometimes seemed inclined to follow; in a word, these two individuals sauntered along like people with nothing better to do, albeit their garments were ill calculated to protect them from the inclement weather.
Their short-clothes, which were threadbare through long service, displayed here and there an occasional rent which had been awkwardly patched with material of a different color; their jackets, which took the place of doublets, were too long for them, lacked several buttons, and were worn through at the elbows; and lastly, the caps which covered their heads were entirely shapeless, and did not even conceal the tips of their ears.
In these two companions in idling and evil fortune the reader will already have recognized the two clerks whom Maître Bourdinard had dismissed from his employment.
"Do you know that it's terribly cold this morning, Bahuchet?"
"Pardieu! do I know it? I feel it quite as keenly as you; except on the head, however, as I have hair to protect me, whereas you—naught!—You must regret your plaster at this moment; you were wrong to take it off, Plumard, for it made a sort of little skullcap for you."
"Do you propose to begin your wretched jests again, Bahuchet? I give you warning that I am in no mood to put up with them!"
"Come, come! let us not quarrel, my dear fellow; that won't give us a breakfast, and that is what we must have. My stomach has a shockingly hollow ring, and fasting doesn't warm one's blood."
"No, indeed—far from it!"
"I thought that you would go to see your uncle the clothes dealer, Plumard. What the devil! if he shouldgive you nothing but a cloak to carry you through the winter,—and that would be the least he could do for his nephew,—you might try to get a cloak large enough to make each of us one."
"I went to my uncle's this morning, while you were still asleep in that dram shop where we passed the night. But he received me so unkindly that I have no desire to go there again. He called me vagabond, good-for-nothing, robber—all on account of that miserable orange-colored suit that we consumed together, and for which he arrested that long-legged Chevalier Passedix!—Oh! he has that episode on his stomach!"
"What a fuss to make over a few faded duds! What's the use of having uncles if they let you freeze to death?"
"Holy forks! how hungry I am!"
"Rascally solicitor, to turn us into the street!"
"It's all the fault of that lanky, ill-built Gascon, who went to him and told him the story of the orange costume!"
"And all the offices are supplied with clerks—no place to be found!"
"If we could only find some other business!"
"It's all one to me; I would take anything that was open!"
"Even if it was a cook's place?"
"Pardieu! I would take it, I would turn cook with all my heart! Can you imagine a more alluring trade at this moment? To stand in front of a nice hot oven andsmell the odor of a number of saucepans from which you always select the choicest bits?"
"Yes, I agree that that would be more agreeable than walking on Pont-Neuf in such weather as this! But as it isn't probable that we can find places even as scullions, I think that, in order to avoid starvation, we had best allow ourselves to be kidnapped by a sergeant in the king's service, and decide to serve our country as best we can!"
"What do you say, Plumard? Enlist—go into the army—carry a musket! Nay, nay! by all the devils, that is not my vocation! Though I should have to take another turn in my saddle girth and drink nothing but water, I propose to retain my liberty."
"Oh, well! don't be so disturbed, my poor Bahuchet! you won't be enlisted. Indeed, you know very well that, even if you wanted to go for a soldier, they wouldn't take you! you're too small! you haven't the build!"
Bahuchet bit his lips and elevated his nose, as he rejoined, with a mocking smile:
"If they don't want short men in the army, I fancy they don't care much about having bald-headed ones either."
"You are an ass, my boy; as a soldier never goes bareheaded, either in battle or on parade, he is entitled to have no hair if he pleases."
"You lie; it's part of the uniform; soldiers have their hair dressed—they wear pigtails."
"I have some hair at the back of my head, to make a pigtail if need be."
"Oh! that would be very pretty! a pigtail hanging from a pate as bald as one's knee!"
"It would be quite as pretty as a dwarf in uniform, whose sword dragged on the ground!"
"Plumard, I believe that you are pining for a drubbing!"
"No; but I am pining to administer one; that will warm me."
"Indeed!—Well, I don't choose to receive one.—Look you, dear boy, it is hunger that embitters our dispositions and makes us quarrelsome. The proverb is very true: when there's no hay in the manger, the donkeys fight."
"So you liken us to donkeys, eh?"
"Plumard, that proverb was made for men as well as for beasts.—Speaking of beasts, cast your eye on that little dog running along yonder; how clean and plump he is!"
"Are you inclined to eat that dog, I should like to know?"
"I' faith! in default of other viands, it might not be so bad. You, who had an idea of going for a soldier, ought to know that in a town beleaguered and besieged by the enemy they eat everything: dogs, cats, rats!—Indeed, an old archer told me that one time, when he was in a besieged place, he ate birds that had been stuffed and kept under glass several years."
"They must have made a sorry feast.—But the dog has stopped; if we could induce him to follow us, evenif we had to use a little force, we could sell him to a dog fancier and get the wherewithal to gnaw a crust."
"You are right—come; let us act as if we did not see him. I will go ahead, you stay behind, and we will surround the cur."
The two clerks quickened their pace, walking in the direction of the dog they coveted, which had stopped to sniff a multitude of things. Bahuchet was very near him, and was trying to coax him by talking to him in an endearing tone; but just as he was about to put his hand on the animal's collar, a heavy, callous hand roughly pushed his away, and a hoarse voice exclaimed:
"Don't touch my dog, little jackanapes! He hasn't done anything to you—why do you put your hand on him?"
"Pardon me, monsieur," replied Bahuchet, bowing low to the dog's owner, a man of the people, with square shoulders and a face as rugged as his hands; "I had no intention to injure this pretty spaniel; but he is so handsome, so well trimmed, that I admired him and felt a desire to pat him—that is all!"
"Oh, yes! oh, yes! I've heard that before! They make believe to pat our dogs, and then, when no one is looking, they carry 'em off under their cloaks. Pont-Neuf is always crowded with a pack of pickpockets, sneak thieves, cutpurses!"
"Monsieur! I believe that you are insulting me! Do I look like a sneak thief? I couldn't put your dog under my cloak, because I have none."
"Why did you put your hand on him? You don't look as if you had any too much cash; go and have your elbows patched—that will be better than patting other people's dogs!"
The owner of the spaniel walked away with his animal, and Bahuchet returned with a crestfallen air to Plumard, who had deemed it prudent to stand aloof.
"Did you hear that clown, that clodhopper, that pig?—If I had not held myself in check, I should have gashed his face!"
"You did well to restrain yourself; that man would have made but one mouthful of you!—It's a shot that missed fire, that's all!"
"Yes, let us try to find something better. Bigre! how cold I am!"
"Fichtre! how hungry I am!"
The two comrades walked on, exploring Pont-Neuf with famished eyes. Suddenly Bahuchet stopped and uttered an exclamation of delight.
"It is he! it is certainly he!"
"Who, pray? do you see another dog?"
"I see someone who, unless we are fools, will pay for our breakfast, and perhaps even more than that."
"Who is it?"
"Look, over yonder! Do you see that long beanpole dressed in apple-green? Don't you recognize him?"
"Yes, indeed; it's our heir, the Chevalier de Passedix; but it seems to me that he has changed his color."
"Come, Plumard, come; imitate me, second me, talk as I do—and a new fortune will shine upon us!"
Thereupon little Bahuchet doubled the length of his strides, his comrade followed his example, and they soon stood in front of Passedix, who was strutting nonchalantly across Pont-Neuf, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see whether the women who passed admired his bearing and his attire, and casting upon the common herd patronizing glances which seemed to say:
"Stand aside! I am rich—you must make room for me; I require a great deal."
The Gascon chevalier was, in truth, in very comfortable case; six thousand livres at that period were equivalent to fifteen thousand in these times. Passedix, not being a gambler, did not find it easy to spend his income; for the women did not welcome his homage; moreover, his passion for Miretta still smoldered in the depths of his heart and prevented him from falling in love with other charmers. So that he could spend his money only at the table; and, despite his hearty appetite, he could not succeed in eating his whole income, especially as his stomach, as a result of overwork, began to show symptoms of sloth and to demand rest from time to time.
Passedix therefore seemed but little surprised when he saw two persons halt in front of him, bow to the ground, and remain in that humble posture, which prevented him from going forward.
"What is it? what is the matter? what do you want, little fellows?" queried the chevalier, caressing his chin with one hand and placing the other on his hip.
"Monsieur le Chevalier de Passedix, permit us to offer you our respects; we are so happy to have this honor! Does not monsieur le chevalier recognize us?"
"Sandis! how do you suppose that I can recognize you? you show me only your posteriors!—Rise, if you wish me to see your faces!"
Bahuchet and Plumard stood erect, the latter having decided to uncover his head.
"Ah! cadédis! now I recognize you, my knaves!—This is the little bald-head!—It was you who sold me the famous orange costume that you filched from the dealer in second-hand clothes!"
"He was my uncle, monsieur le chevalier—an old skinflint, who gave it to me and then accused me——"
"Oh! it matters little now; I have forgotten that trifle!—But you seem to me, both of you, to be in rather a sorry plight!"
"Alas! monsieur le chevalier, we are without employment. Maître Bourdinard—er—discharged us, on the pretext that we ate too much!"
"The idiot! I would like to be able to eat too much, myself; but for some time past my appetite has fallen off; it is becoming as whimsical as a woman."
"We are looking for places, monsieur le chevalier, and, i' faith! Plumard and I were strolling along Pont-Neuf,when some ladies, as they passed us, cried: 'Oh! see that handsome man over there, dressed all in apple-green! Just see, my dear, what a fine figure! how well he carries that elegant costume!'—Then we looked in the direction in which the ladies were looking, and on recognizing you, monsieur le chevalier, we were not surprised at the outburst of admiration from those bourgeoises."
Passedix's face fairly beamed with pleasure. He placed his hand on Bahuchet's shoulder, murmuring:
"Really! some ladies said that?"
"Yes, monsieur le chevalier;—isn't it so, Plumard?"
"It is the unadulterated truth; and there was one of them—the younger—who stopped and said in a faltering tone: 'Let us walk toward him!' but her companion, who was older, dragged her away, saying: 'No, no; I see that that cavalier has turned your head; come, you will do some foolish thing!'"
This time Passedix patted the second clerk's skull.
"Ah! capédébious! that young woman was attracted to me.—Ha! ha! these two little rascals are very nice fellows. I rather like this bald head, it reminds me of Dutch cheese, of which I am very fond.—Speaking of cheese, tell me, young men, have you breakfasted, or dined?"
"Neither, monsieur le chevalier; we have fasted since yesterday noon."
"And we have a devilish appetite."
"Why didn't you say so at once!—Come with me; at the end of Rue Saint-Jacques there's a wine shop where the wine is excellent; you will tell me what you think about it."
"Oh! with great pleasure, monsieur le chevalier; but what a beautiful cloak, what an exquisite doublet you have!"
"And these short-clothes! how dainty they are!"
"How this color becomes you! See! there is another fine lady stopping to look at you!"
"Sandis! I am accustomed to it.—Come, my friends, and put on your caps; I give you leave! Parbleu! I propose to regale you in the good old way!"
The two ex-clerks walked beside the Gascon chevalier, like two soldiers escorting a marshal of France. They arrived at the wine shop at the end of Rue Saint-Jacques. Passedix was known there, and, as he was now a good customer, the waiters served him with the greatest zeal. The chevalier selected a table, ordered three covers to be laid, and seated himself between his two guests, saying:
"What vexes me is that I cannot eat with you. I have already breakfasted twice, and I do not feel capable of dining at this moment. Formerly it would have been easy for me. On my honor, it is pitiful! When one becomes rich, one's capacities should be enlarged accordingly. But it is just the opposite! When I had not a sou, I ate four times as much; to be sure, I didn't eat every day. However, one can always drink, and that is something."
Bahuchet and Plumard conducted themselves in such wise as to augment the chevalier's regret for his lost appetite. The dishes simply appeared and disappeared before the ex-clerks; their plates were no sooner filled than they were as clean as if they had been washed; and this lasted for a considerable time. The two friends hardly took time to drink.
"Bravo! sandioux! this is magnificent! it is superb!" cried Passedix; "this is what I call eating—this is the way I used to work! It spurs one on! it sets one on edge! I am sure that in your company I should soon recover my former appetite!"
"Nothing prevents it, monsieur le chevalier; we are entirely at your service; and there is a very simple way to make sure that we shall always be at hand."
"What way is that, little one?"
"Attach us to your illustrious person! I believe that you have no esquire; you need one—a chevalier of your rank cannot do without an esquire; give me that post, and I will show myself worthy of the honor, on the faith of Plumard!"
"Eh! why, in truth, that is not a bad idea! An esquire—yes, that looks well; I will make him wear my livery."
"And I, seigneur," said Bahuchet, in his turn, "I offer myself as your page; for an esquire is not enough—you need a page to carry your billets-doux, your love messages—for you must send many of them!"
"Oh! to be sure, I send and receive a great many—that is to say, not so many as you might think, perhaps, because—— Look you, I am going to open my heart to you, to make you my confidants."
"That is too much honor for us, seigneur!"
"Understand that I nourish in the depths of my heart a passion which I have tried a hundred times to banish; but it is impossible; the witch constantly returns to torment me night and day!"
"Is monsieur le chevalier in love?"
"Pardieu! I should say as much! So much in love that I have lost my sleep, my wits, and even my appetite! for it probably is this infernal love that weighs on my stomach and impairs my digestion."
"Can it be that monsieur le chevalier's heart is fixed on a cruel fair! That is not possible."
"You are right, Plumard; it is not possible! There can be no cruel fair for monsieur le chevalier!"
"Mon Dieu! my boys,—what nice little fellows they are!—it is an extraordinary case, most assuredly! But if you knew the history of my love!—My heart is set upon a lovely female demon, whom I cannot see when I wish—who eludes me, flies from me! who vanishes when I think that I have her!"
"Monsieur le chevalier, whoever the object of your love may be, if you take me for your page, I will undertake, ere long, to make you the happy vanquisher of your inamorata!"
"And I take the same oath if I become esquire to Monsieur le Chevalier—apple-green—I mean de Passedix; he will see how we will forward his love affairs!"
"Very good! shake hands! it is a bargain; I attach you both to my person; you are my page, and you my esquire."
"Vive monsieur le chevalier!"
"I say nothing of wages—but whatever you receive will be yours."
"That is enough for us."
"Are you still hungry?"
"Always!"
"They are admirable!—Waiter, a succulent dish to close the repast; a fricassée of hare! that is your forte. And let us drink—let us even touch glasses—I will condescend so far.—Moreover, I know that you are young men of good breeding, ex-Basochians; for that reason, when I am alone, I will always admit you to my table."
"And we will give you an appetite, seigneur!"
"I rely upon it!"
The goblets were filled; they touched and drank. At that moment the waiter arrived with the last dish ordered; he came toward them and was on the point of placing it on the table, when Plumard, in a renewed outburst of enthusiasm, raised his arm and his glass so suddenly that he overturned upon Passedix the dish that the waiter had in his hands.
In an instant the chevalier was covered from top to toe with the fricassée of hare; his doublet and his short-clothes were drenched with it. Passedix swore like one possessed, and would have thrashed the waiter, who declared that it was not his fault. Plumard shouted even louder, so that no one should guess that it was his. Bahuchet, who alone had remained calm, observed, when the others had ceased their outcries:
"It was an accident! But since the harm has been done, monsieur le chevalier, it seems to me that, instead of losing your temper, which will do no good at all, it would be much better to think of repairing the disaster."
"Repair the disaster! Sandis! my doublet and my breeches are covered with grease. Such an elegant costume!—spoiled—ruined!—Can I show myself in this condition?—Luckily, I had taken off my cloak; otherwise it would undoubtedly have received its share of the fricassée!"
"I say again, seigneur, that the damage is not so great as you think; I know a dyer and cleanser on Rue Saint-Denis, who is renowned for his skill in removing spots from every kind of fabric; he will cleanse your clothes perfectly, and it will not cost you overmuch."
"Eh! cadédis! what care I for the cost? As if I ever looked at money! That is not what disturbs me! But in order to have my doublet and breeches cleansed, I must certainly take them off; so I shall be left almostnaked—in shirt and cloak—and I cannot go home in that airy costume."
"Another suggestion, seigneur," said Plumard; "suppose we should go to some bathing establishment? You have eaten nothing, so you may safely take a bath; and while you are taking it, Bahuchet will run to the cleanser's with your clothes."
"Ah! that is not badly thought of! I approve my esquire's suggestion; I was just thinking that I should like to bathe."
"Master Hugonnet's baths are on this street, not far away; let us go there, seigneur."
"In that case, I must go out with this sauce all over me! That annoys me!"
"We will walk close beside you, seigneur, one on the right, the other on the left; and with your cloak, in addition, no one will see anything!"
"Very well, so be it!—Let us start at once for the baths; I am in haste to be cleansed!"
Passedix paid the bill and left the wine shop, flanked by his page and his esquire.