Although the old marquis had told Ambroisine to say to Bathilde that she would soon hear from him, thebelle baigneusedid not think it well to tell her of the visit she had made to the father of her friend's seducer. She was afraid of arousing vain hopes in her heart. To no one save the Sire de Jarnonville did she describe her interview with Léodgard's father. The Black Chevalier, who now took a deep interest in Bathilde, said to Ambroisine, when she finished her story:
"Justice will be done! Do not doubt it, brave girl. The old marquis will, first of all, make inquiries about your friend and her relations; he will wish to make sure, first of all, that you have not deceived him in any respect; and when he is certain that all you have told him is true, I repeat, he will see that justice is done."
"But what do you mean by justice, seigneur chevalier? Can he force his son to marry Bathilde?"
"No; and, frankly, I do not think that such is his intention. But if Léodgard has a right to refuse to contract a union which does not meet his views; if, being of full age, and his own master, he is at liberty to defyhis father's desires or his will, his father, who is in very good favor with the cardinal-minister, has but a word to say to induce Richelieu to send Léodgard to the Bastille. As for his victim, I do not doubt that the old marquis will make her independent and take care of her child."
"Money to Bathilde! Her lover in prison!—Oh! that is not what I wanted! Bathilde will refuse the marquis's benefactions. She will blame herself for the punishment he inflicts on his son. And I shall be the cause of it all! Oh! I bitterly repent now that I went to the Hôtel de Marvejols—my poor friend will never forgive me!"
"What was your hope, pray, when you went to Léodgard's father to tell him everything?"
"Mon Dieu!—I cannot say.—In the first place, I wanted him to scold his son—but without sending him to the Bastille! And then, I thought that perhaps Monsieur Léodgard would be ashamed of his conduct, and would try to make up for everything by—by marrying Bathilde!"
"Marry a bath keeper's daughter!—he, the Comte de Marvejols?—Ah! that is just what you must never dream of hoping for!"
Ambroisine cast down her eyes, but a deep flush overspread her cheeks, and her voice thrilled with noble pride as she murmured:
"Ah! then the daughters of bath keepers are of very little account in your eyes, monsieur le chevalier, if you think that they may be dishonored with impunity."
Jarnonville raised his eyes and gazed earnestly at the girl for some time. Never before had he examined her so closely. He was impressed by her beauty, for at that moment the flush which suffused her face, the pride and the grief that could be read upon her brow, gave to all her features an expression which made them even more charming than usual.
The chevalier was surprised beyond measure; he had never noticed that Hugonnet's daughter was so beautiful, or that her person possessed so many charms; for the first time in many months a faint smile played about his lips, and he said at last:
"If the daughters of bath keepers were contemptible, you alone would suffice to rehabilitate them. You mistook the meaning of my words. Far from my mind be the thought that there exists a class which may be outraged with impunity! But, in conformity with the passions of mankind, there are prejudices, customs, conventional proprieties; also pride and vanity, which, though they do not commit sin, too often prevent its being atoned for.—But I say again, I had no intention of insulting you, noble-hearted, devoted, generous girl! You, who embody so perfectly all the marvellous tales we are told of the friendships of ancient times!—Come, give me your hand, let me press it in mine, as gallant men do when they are reconciled; and then I shall be quite certain that you no longer bear me any ill will."
The Sire de Jarnonville offered Ambroisine his hand. She seemed to hesitate, her face flushed vividly once more, but its expression was softer and more yielding. At last she made up her mind; slowly she put forth her plump white hand, and laid it, trembling, in the chevalier's. He pressed it as if it were the hand of a friend; but it is doubtful whether these two experienced at the contact the same sensations that two friends would have felt.
After a few seconds Jarnonville released Ambroisine's hand, and they parted, the former with a less sombre expression than usual, thebelle baigneusereflecting upon what she had done for Bathilde, and perhaps also upon the grasp she had just exchanged with the Black Chevalier; for women have a meaning in all that they do, whereas a man often yields unreflectingly to a sudden impulse.
Six days had passed, and nothing had occurred to disturb the peaceful life that Bathilde was leading in her room at Master Hugonnet's. Ambroisine had not ventured to tell her of her visit to the old Marquis de Marvejols. But she was constantly preoccupied and anxious; at the least unexpected sound in the house, she ran to inquire if anyone had come. So that now it was Bathilde's turn to be surprised at her restlessness, and she insisted upon knowing its cause.
But Ambroisine confined herself to replying:
"Nothing is the matter! I assure you that nothing is the matter! But I was thinking—I am surprised that theSire de Jarnonville has not been to our shop for several days, to ask me about you, as he has been accustomed to do for some time."
"Why, Ambroisine, he must have much else in his head! Why should he think so often of a poor girl whom he does not know?"
"Upon my word! I would like to see him forget you! After he promised to take care of your child—especially now that——"
"That what?"
"Why, that the time is approaching when you will be a mother.—Oh, no! he will not forget you. He is not like most of the young nobles of the court, I tell you! And as he doesn't come, there must be something to prevent; for he put his hand in mine; that means that he is my friend, that I may rely on him under all circumstances; and he is not the man to break his engagements."
Toward the close of that day, a servant in the Marquis de Marvejols's livery appeared at Master Hugonnet's shop, bearing two large letters sealed with the crest of that noble house.
Ambroisine, who was with her father at the moment, turned pale and began to tremble when the servant entered, for she instantly recognized the livery.
"Master Hugonnet, bath keeper?" said the man, addressing the master of the house.
"That is my name, monsieur; what do you wish?"
"I am instructed to hand you this letter from my master—Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols."
Hugonnet glanced at the letter that was presented to him; he hesitated about taking it, and said to the valet:
"Are you not making a mistake, monsieur; I have not the honor of knowing Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols, and——"
"Yes, father, yes, it is surely for you," interposed Ambroisine; "take it—take it, I say!"
"Ah! you are sure that there is no mistake?"
"Yes, yes; you will see.—And that other letter, monsieur?"
"It is for a certain Demoiselle Bathilde Landry, who lives with you. Will you have the kindness to hand it to her?"
"Yes, monsieur, oh, yes! I will take it to her at once."
"Then my errand is done."
And the valet went away, after bowing very respectfully to the bath keeper and his daughter.
"So you know what all this means, do you?" said Hugonnet, looking at his daughter with a surprised expression.
"Yes, father; I will explain it to you. But break this seal first, I entreat you, and see what he has written to you."
"Break the seal! that would be a pity! It is magnificent—just look!"
"But, father, seals are made to be broken. How else do you expect to know what anyone writes to you?—Break it! please break it!"
"Oh! how impatient you are!—Well! if I must——"
The seal was broken, and the bath keeper unfolded a large sheet of paper, on which he read:
"The Marquis de Marvejols requests Master Hugonnet, bath keeper, and his daughter Ambroisine to accompany Bathilde Landry to his house to-morrow.
"He will expect them at two o'clock in the afternoon, all other affairs being put aside."
"What does this mean?" said Hugonnet, glancing at his daughter.
"It means, father, that I went, all alone, to see the old Seigneur de Marvejols, that I told him the whole story of his son's treatment of Bathilde, giving him as proof of what I said a letter that Monsieur Léodgard once wrote to my friend; and that I demanded justice at his hands for the victim of the seduction.—That is what I did, father, without asking Bathilde's permission."
"Nor mine either, I believe?"
"That is true, father. Are you angry with me for doing it? Do you think that I did wrong?"
Hugonnet reflected a moment, then cried:
"I' faith! no! You did not do wrong. But you should have told me.—No matter; kiss me; you are a goodgirl, a true friend.—Well! we will go to the marquis's to-morrow, and we will see what he has to say. After all, he cannot make it out a crime in us to take a poor child in, who was without a home and without means."
"Oh! no, father! on the contrary, he thanked me for doing it."
"Go now, and take your friend her letter. It probably contains the same invitation as this one."
"Yes, father, I am going. But if you knew how excited I am! What will Bathilde say when she learns that I went to her seducer's father and told him everything?"
"Why, you are not afraid of her scolding you, are you? I have forgiven you."
"Oh! that is not the same thing."
"True; with me, you are always sure of being in the right. But you acted for Bathilde's good—and, above all, for her child's! Go—go; if the friend blames, the mother will pardon you!"
Ambroisine left her father and went to her friend's room, concealing beneath her neckerchief the marquis's second letter. She tried to assume an indifferent, cheerful air as she walked toward Bathilde; but the latter was not deceived, and after looking into Ambroisine's eyes for an instant she said, somewhat sharply:
"You have something to tell me, and you are afraid to speak; what makes you afraid? Cast out and cursed by my parents, abandoned by the man I loved, it seemsto me that I can defy fate now. What more have I to dread?"
"It is true that I have something to tell you; but it is no new misfortune that threatens you—far from it!"
"What is it, then, and why do you hesitate to say what you have to say?"
Ambroisine took from her bosom the letter sealed with the marquis's crest, and handed it to Bathilde, saying in a faltering tone:
"Here—here is a letter that was just brought here for you."
"A letter!—Oh! it is from him; yes, nobody but he can have written to me. So he is still thinking of me—and you did not give it to me at once!"
Bathilde had already snatched the letter; she broke the seal, unfolded the sheet, and read:
"The Marquis de Marvejols requests Demoiselle Bathilde Landry to come to his house to-morrow, at two o'clock, accompanied by Master Hugonnet and his daughter Ambroisine."
"What does this mean?" murmured Bathilde, whom the reading of the letter had terrified beyond words. "It is his father, that old man, who does not know me, who writes me this!"
Thereupon Ambroisine sat down beside her friend, took one of her hands in hers, and in her softest voiceconfessed to her the course she had adopted in conferring with Léodgard's father.
Bathilde shuddered as she listened; and when her friend had finished, she said to her, weeping bitterly:
"I cannot scold you for what you did, for you hoped to put an end to my trials! And yet, if you had consulted me, I should have dissuaded you from this plan; for the result can only be to increase my misery, if the marquis punishes his son. He will hate me all the more intensely; he will be furiously angry with me, for he will think that it was I who asked you to tell his father all.—Ah! as if his desertion were not enough! Must I endure his hatred in addition?—The old Seigneur de Marvejols will take care of my child, you say. But suppose that, in order to keep a closer watch on the child, to give it an education worthy of the blood that will flow in its veins, it should occur to him to take it into his own house! Then I should be compelled to part with it—never to see it again, perhaps!—Oh! the mere thought turns my heart to ice! I, part with my child, my treasure, my hope, the only living thing that still attaches me to life!—Never! never! far better to die!"
"Who says that anyone thinks of separating you and your child?" cried Ambroisine, raising her head proudly. "Do you think that I would allow it? Oh! have no fear; if I did wrong to go to your seducer's father without consulting you, never fear, I will see to it that no misfortune comes to you on that account!—On thecontrary, something tells me that you will not blame me long for having done so.—Courage, Bathilde, courage! the Marquis de Marvejols is a just and honorable man. Have confidence in him."
The next day, at noon, the large hall in the Hôtel de Marvejols was arranged as if for a solemn ceremonial. Chairs were placed in rows on each side. At one end a large table, covered with a velvet cloth with gold fringe, stood before three handsome armchairs, each provided with a sumptuous silken footstool. On the table were papers and writing materials.
Several valets in rich livery, among them old Hector, went in and out of the hall, making sure that everything was prepared in accordance with their master's orders.
As the clock struck two, one of the doors opened, and three persons were ushered into the hall. They were Bathilde, Ambroisine, and Master Hugonnet.
Bathilde, whose aspect was made even more interesting by her condition and her suffering expression, leaned on her friend's arm, trembling from head to foot, and seemed to lack courage to raise her eyes.
Ambroisine walked forward with a confident step, although, in the depths of her heart, she was intensely excited. Then came the master bath keeper, who entered the hall with a respectful demeanor, cap in hand, saluting all the servants and even the articles of furniture as he passed, because the magnificence of the hôtel made a profound impression upon him.
Old Hector stepped forward at once to meet the young women, and escorted them to one side of the hall, where he gave them seats, saying:
"Pray be seated; monsieur le marquis will come very soon. Pray be seated, and your companion also."
Bathilde and her friends had been in the hall hardly five minutes, afraid to do more than exchange a few words in whispers, when another door opened and the Marquis de Marvejols entered, accompanied by two gentlemen, one of whom, almost as old as the marquis, had a venerable, benevolent face which inspired respect and confidence; while the other, who was much younger, had a noble, severe expression, and a glance that seemed determined to read one's inmost heart.
"That is the marquis!" whispered Ambroisine to Bathilde; but she, instead of looking up, cast her eyes on the floor and felt as if she were about to swoon.
She rose, however, on the entrance of the three gentlemen, as did her friend and Master Hugonnet. The new-comers bowed graciously to the persons who were in the hall before them; and the marquis, walking forward alone toward Ambroisine, said to her, looking at Bathilde:
"This is your friend?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
Bathilde tottered; fear and excitement made her heart beat furiously. But, despite her prostration and her extreme pallor, her beautiful and refined features were stillfascinating, and the old man seemed impressed by the sweetness and charm of her face.
He gazed at her a few seconds in silence, then placed his hand on the girl's arm and said:
"Do not tremble, my child; calm your emotion; you are not here as an accused person."
With that, the marquis returned to the two gentlemen who had come with him, and they all took their seats in the armchairs at the end of the hall.
In a moment a man clad in the black costume then worn by men of the law took his place in front of the table, on which papers and parchments were strewn.
Old Hector appeared at one of the doors and made a slight motion with his head to his master, who said:
"You may admit him now."
Hector left the hall by the door through which Bathilde and her friends had entered; a few moments later, a man appeared at that door; he was pale and his emotion was apparent, but his glance was stern. He had donned his old uniform, which he had ceased to wear except on solemn occasions. He carried his head erect, and his step was firm as he walked into the hall without turning his eyes in the direction of Bathilde, who shuddered at sight of him, and hid her face against Ambroisine's bosom, murmuring:
"My father! it is my father!"
It was, in fact, the old trooper of Henri IV who had passed within a few feet of his daughter. He walkedtoward the marquis, and said to him in a tone in which, although perfectly respectful, there was a slight tinge of bitterness:
"Seigneur, you request me to come to your house; you inform me that you will make known to me the seducer of my—of her who was once my daughter; you might well be certain that I would not decline that invitation; but permit me to say that I did not suppose that this information would be given before so many witnesses; I did not think that it was necessary that my shame should be so public!"
"Master Landry, do not accuse us before you know what we propose to do," replied the Marquis de Marvejols; "we know that you are a most honorable man; the fact that you served under King Henri honors you in our eyes no less than the most ancient quarterings of nobility on your arms could do; you cannot believe, therefore, that in requesting you to come before us our purpose was to humiliate you. On the contrary, we propose that justice shall be done you; and if your shame has been public, the reparation shall be equally public.—Be kind enough to take a seat—on this side."
The marquis pointed to the side opposite that where Landry's daughter was seated; and the old soldier, whose features had softened somewhat as he listened to the words of the Seigneur de Marvejols, seated himself on a bench, caressing his grizzled moustache, but taking pains not to look toward Bathilde.
She had been hardly able to control herself since she had been in her father's presence.
"He does not deign even to cast a glance at me!" she whispered to her friend.
"Because he is afraid of breaking down. He knows very well that you are here! If he saw you so pale and distressed, do you suppose that he could continue to be angry?—Wait, and hope."
The sound of a curtain drawn noisily back, and of spurs jangling loudly on the floor, attracted the attention of the two girls. A new personage had entered the hall; he made his appearance there as a master; and his manner was proud and arrogant as he strode toward the old marquis, passing disdainfully before the persons assembled there.
Bathilde instantly recognized Léodgard; she pressed Ambroisine's hand, murmuring:
"It is he! O mon Dieu! what is going to happen?"
"You wrote to me to come to you, seigneur, with respect to a matter which concerns the honor of our family, you say," said Léodgard, halting in front of his father; "but what is the meaning of such an assemblage as this? Are you about to sit in judgment? Have you sent for me to come here as an accused person?"
"Perhaps," replied the old marquis, in a solemn voice, fastening his eyes upon his son with a look which compelled him to turn his away.
But Léodgard, looking at the persons who surrounded him, speedily recognized them all. At sight of Bathilde he turned pale, and could not master his confusion; but when he recognized Landry, an expression of annoyance, of anger, appeared on his face, and he waited, quivering with impatience, to hear what was wanted of him.
"Comte de Marvejols," said the old marquis, "when a sin—I might say, a crime—has covered an old man's brow with shame and brought despair into a family, reparation should not be made in darkness and secrecy. Therefore I have requested Monsieur le Duc de Montaulac and Monsieur le Baron de Freilly to be kind enough to assist me with their presence to-day; for, in the presence of such gentlemen, one must do his duty or be adjudged unworthy to wear a sword."
"I do not understand you, seigneur," rejoined Léodgard, while his features assumed an arrogant and scornful expression. "If anyone here considers that I am unworthy to wear a sword, let him come forward and tell me so, and I will show him how I handle it."
"Honor, monsieur, does not consist simply in being able to fight with skill; if it were so, bandits, highwaymen, cutthroats, would all be men of honor, and would be rewarded rather than punished.—But a truce to discussion.—Comte Léodgard, cast your eye upon this young woman who is here, by your side,—upon this old soldier, who has never been recreant to honor, and who no longer dares to look upon his child, because she has broughtthe flush of shame to his brow—those are your two victims."
"What! he is the man! he! the mise——"
And Landry, leaving his sentence unfinished, put his hand to the hilt of his sabre. But a glance from the old marquis recalled him to himself; he restrained his passion and confined himself to glaring at the young man in a fashion which was sufficiently indicative of what he proposed to do.
The marquis resumed, still addressing his son:
"You seduced Bathilde, Landry's daughter; you deceived a young girl, innocent until then. She put faith in your promises and your oaths. And after ruining her, you abandoned her in the most dastardly manner when she was cursed and cast out by her parents!—Comte Léodgard, was it because you belong to an illustrious house, because you bear a noble name, that you deemed yourself entitled to bring misfortune and infamy upon a family of lower rank, a family which had as its possessions only honor?—Answer me!"
Profound silence reigned for a moment in the hall. Landry toyed with the hilt of his old sabre with a trembling hand. Bathilde scarcely breathed. Ambroisine waited anxiously for what was to follow; and all the other witnesses of the scene seemed to share her anxiety.
After a brief interval, Léodgard, who had turned his head away to avoid Bathilde's glance, said, trying to give an ironical accent to his voice:
"Really, monsieur le marquis, I did not expect to be haled thus before a court of honor, for an act in which, I must confess, I had not detected so many crimes, so many terrible disasters!—From the way in which you reprove what is, after all, only a peccadillo, a youthful escapade, one would think that I had done something that no gentleman had ever dared to do before! By Notre-Dame! he who thinks that has but little acquaintance with our young noblemen of to-day! There is not one of them who has not been guilty of five or six offences of the sort for which you reproach me!—But, far from blushing and repenting of them, they, one and all, pride themselves thereon! And since when has it been forbidden to us young men of the court to make love to thepetites bourgeoises, to the young girls of the lower orders? After all, if they wish to remain virtuous, it is their business not to listen to us! But, instead of that, they incite our advances by their glances, their allurements! They would be sorely disappointed if we did not try to seduce them!"
Landry uttered a sort of hollow growl which presaged a storm on the point of bursting. Bathilde hid her face in her hands, and Ambroisine squeezed her father's arm, murmuring:
"How horrible! how shameful!—Oh, no! she did none of that!"
But the old marquis rose and interrupted Léodgard, exclaiming in a voice of thunder:
"Enough, monsieur, enough! your defence is simply an additional insult to the woman you have outraged!—We know that there are women who invite seduction, who even provoke it; they do not deserve our pity! But do you dare to place this unhappy creature here among those girls who have neither modesty nor morals?—In that case, why did you need, in order to seduce her, to employ the most sacred oaths, to write her that you would take her for your wife?"
"I!—write such things to her!"
"See, here is your letter; do you deny your own signature?"
And the marquis handed his son the letter which he had written to Bathilde long before, and which he had long ago forgotten.
When he recognized his own handwriting, Léodgard was confounded.
A ray of joy gleamed in Ambroisine's eyes. As for Landry, a sudden change transformed his features; they lost in an instant all their severity, and turning his eyes upon his daughter the old soldier gazed at her, no longer in anger, but in sorrow. Pity had found its way into his heart, and it was easy to see that pardon was not far behind.
But Léodgard was not long in recovering from that first moment of surprise.
"After all, seigneur," he demanded, with an impatient gesture, "what is your purpose? For heaven's sake, letus put an end to this scene! Why did you summon me here?"
"That you might restore the honor of this girl, whom you have made a mother; and to do that, you must marry her, give her your name."
Léodgard stared at his father as if he doubted his ears; it was the same with all those present, except the two noblemen seated with the marquis.
"If you consent to this union, Léodgard," continued the latter, "I will this very day convey to Bathilde Landry this house and the revenue of two other houses which I own in Paris; moreover, I will settle my entire fortune, after my death, on the child that is soon to be born. I myself will retire to my estate of Champfleury, and end my life there; life in the city is no longer congenial to my years or my tastes. If you refuse to take Bathilde for your wife, then, monsieur, there is another satisfaction which her father has the right to expect; I read in his eyes that he is burning to demand it, and I cannot blame him!—Choose, therefore, Bathilde's hand, or a duel with her father."
"My choice cannot be doubted!" cried Léodgard. "The Comte de Marvejols will not marry a bath keeper's daughter! And if the bath keeper desires to measure swords with me, I am willing to consent to do him that honor."
A low groan was heard from the direction of the two girls, while Landry, proudly twisting his moustache, said calmly:
"Monsieur le comte, King Henri IV tapped me on the shoulder and called me hisbrave! I do not think that you will dishonor yourself by measuring your sword with my rapier!"
"And so," rejoined the marquis, with a grief-stricken glance at his son, "you expect, by shedding her father's blood, to efface the shame with which you have sullied this maid's honor! Let it be as you choose, monsieur! Henceforth God will attend to your punishment.—But be not alarmed, my poor girl, poor mother, whom your seducer spurns; whatever the result of the combat about to take place, I will henceforth take care of you as if you were my own child.—And you, Landry, you, her father—now that you see her grief, her suffering, her repentance, you will forgive her for her sin; yes, you will forgive her—I see it in your eyes; and then you will thank this other maid, her friend, of whose devotion you are not as yet aware.—Come forward, Ambroisine, and receive the praise which you deserve; let your father hear it; let us bring joy to one heart at least!"
Master Hugonnet, flushing crimson with pleasure, gently pushed Ambroisine forward; she walked a few steps, being in dire embarrassment, and said, lowering her eyes:
"Monsieur le marquis is too kind; what I have done was quite natural—I should have been so happy to find that Monsieur le Comte Léodgard still loved Bathilde!—And so, before making up my mind to tell the wholestory to monsieur le marquis, I went many times to the house in Rue de Bretonvilliers, to try to speak with monsieur le comte; and yet I confess that I was a little afraid when I went to that quarter alone at night. And then, as they always told me that Monsieur Léodgard was not in, I sometimes passed a great part of the night waiting for his return; and once—oh! I was so frightened—I had such a horrible experience!—But I beg pardon, monseigneur; that cannot interest you—excuse me."
Within a few seconds, Léodgard's face, as he listened to Ambroisine, had become deathly pale, and great drops of sweat stood on his brow; but he remained motionless in his place and affected to make light of what she said.
The old marquis motioned to Ambroisine as she was about to turn away, saying:
"Go on, my child; what happened to you in your friend's service cannot fail to interest us. What was this experience?"
"Mon Dieu! monsieur le marquis—excuse me—it was like a ghost.—This is how it happened. I was waiting for monsieur le comte to return; the clock had struck twelve; as I did not know what to do to kill time, instead of standing still in front of the gate, I walked now and then along the walls on one side or the other—for the hôtel stands entirely by itself. That night, as I stopped at the end of the wall, behind the hôtel, a man suddenly appeared; I had neither heard nor seen him; it was as if he came out of the wall.—But imagine my terror; by hishairy cap and his olive-green cloak, I had no doubt that it was Giovanni the brigand, whom I had heard described so often; and then——"
"It is all over! I will atone for everything!" cried Léodgard in a hoarse voice, roughly pushing Ambroisine aside, to approach Bathilde. "Monsieur le marquis, I surrender, I consent, I will marry Bathilde; I am ready to lead her to the altar!"
It would be impossible to describe the effect of these words, which everyone was so far from expecting.
The keenest delight was depicted on every face. Bathilde uttered a cry of joy. Landry went to his daughter and took her in his arms. Ambroisine and her father were in ecstasies.
The old Marquis de Marvejols offered his son his hand as a sign of reconciliation.
And no one thought to ask for the end of the adventure which thebelle baigneusehad begun to narrate.
One beautiful day in spring, Valentine de Mongarcin sat in the salon where her aunt Madame de Ravenelle preferred to pass her time, amusing herself by picking out chords on her zither and singing the words of a new virelay.
Madame de Ravenelle, reclining on an immense couch, listened to her niece, keeping time gently with her head, and smiling with the contented expression of a person whose digestion is good and who has no cares.
The fair Valentine was a long way from displaying a countenance as placid as her aunt's; her brow often contracted; her mouth expressed melancholy rather than pleasure, and her eyes, which she turned constantly from side to side, indicated that her mind was deeply preoccupied.
"Well! go on, Valentine; why have you stopped singing?" inquired the old lady.
"What do you say, aunt? was I singing?"
"Well! this is charming! do you mean that you did not know it? that you sang without being aware of it?"
"I assure you, aunt, that I was not thinking of music at all!"
"Is it possible? However, you have been so distraught, so pensive, for some time past, that if I did not know you, I should really believe that you had some passion in your heart!—But I am not at all alarmed in that direction; I know that you love no one!"
"That is true, aunt: I have no love for anyone."
"Still, you will have to decide some day. You do not lack suitors, at all events; there are more than ten gentlemen, rich and of noble birth, who seek your hand. I say to them all: 'Wait, be patient; she will come to it.'"
Valentine made no reply. But, a few minutes later, she asked:
"Did you hear anything last evening, aunt, at Madame de Brissac's reception, of a very—a very extraordinary occurrence?"
"No, niece, no; and I prefer not to. Extraordinary events sometimes cause keen emotion, and I dislike anything that disturbs my delightfully quiet life."
"Well, I heard two young gentlemen talking within a few feet of me—not so low that I could not hear their words. One of them said: 'Yes, my friend, Léodgard de Marvejols is married.'—'That is impossible,' the other replied; 'why should his marriage be kept secret?'—The first one answered; but just then he and his friend walked away, so that I could learn nothing more."
"You must have heard wrong, niece; or else the young gentleman was amusing himself at his friend'sexpense.—A man of the Marvejols blood does not contract a marriage without letting it be known beforehand in society! That would in truth be most extraordinary!"
At that moment a servant appeared and announced the Baron de Germandré.
The old lady ordered him to be admitted, and soon a little, wizened, bald-headed old man entered the salon, saluted the ladies with all the grace of a courtier, and, after presenting his respects with a sprightly air, dropped upon a sofa, saying:
"Great news, mesdames! great news! I am always among the first to learn the news, you know. I like that; early fruits are always agreeable: ha! ha! ha!"
"What is it, Monsieur de Germandré?" asked Madame de Ravenelle, half raising her head; "is the king making love to his wife? is Richelieu out of favor?"
"No, no, to-day's news does not concern the court, but a gentleman of noble lineage, of a very ancient family.—Why, it is utterly inconceivable! And if I had not had my information from the old Duc de Montaulac, who was one of the witnesses, I should refuse to believe it; but one must yield to evidence!"
"When you are willing to explain yourself fully, baron, we shall be very glad; for thus far you have confined yourself to most ambiguous phrases."
"That is true, mesdames—I beg pardon; this is the authentic news: the son of the Marquis de Marvejols, young Comte Léodgard, is married!"
"Married!" cried Madame de Ravenelle, unable to control a movement of surprise; and she glanced at her niece; but the latter remained impassive and simply pressed her lips tightly together, like one who was not at all surprised by what she heard.
"That would be perfectly natural," continued the baron; "the count's marriage was sure to come, and it would surprise no one if he had married someone of his own rank, a person of noble birth, of an illustrious family. But if you knew to whom he has given his name!—why, it is beyond belief; such a thing was never seen!"
"Really, baron, you are intolerable! You keep us in this suspense!"
"Oh! a thousand pardons,belle dame!—Well, the descendant of the house of Marvejols, Comte Léodgard, has married a girl of the common people—the daughter of a bath keeper. That is the sort of people with whom that noble gentleman has allied himself."
Valentine clenched her fingers on the chair on which her hand rested, but she strove to retain her self-control.
For the first time in her life perhaps, Madame de Ravenelle uttered an exclamation, and seemed deeply moved; she could hardly murmur:
"It cannot be so, baron; there must be some mistake; such a marriage is impossible!"
"Mon Dieu! I said exactly the same thing, madame, when I heard of it; but since the Duc de Montaulac and the Baron de Freilly were present as witnesses to themarriage, and since they have confirmed the report, how can you entertain any further doubt?"
"And the old Marquis de Marvejols consented to this marriage?"
"He not only consented, but—and this may seem to you even more incredible—he forced his son to contract it, so to speak."
"He? the marquis?"
"Yes, madame.—You know that he is a very strange man, is the dear marquis! He has certain ideas, certain principles, on the subject of honor, which are worthy of much respect, no doubt; but still there are cases when one may well make an exception to the rule."
"And the Duc de Montaulac and the Baron de Freilly consented to act as witnesses to a marriage which violates all the proprieties, which is almost an insult to the nobility?"
"What would you have? It seems that it is quite a romantic story. They say that the girl, who was a model of virtue, was seduced by that scapegrace of a Léodgard—for the gentleman is said to be a sad rake. And then, the affair having had certain—er—consequences, the girl was turned out of doors by her parents, and but for a friend who assisted her and gave her shelter she would probably have died in the street; for the dashing Léodgard had abandoned her!"
"That was very wrong! He should have given her money—a great deal of money!"
"He has never had any too much for himself; though now, they say, he spends as much as a sultan!—To make my story short, the father learned all from the girl's friend, who went to see him. He summoned all the parties before him, and it was then that the Duc de Montaulac and Monsieur de Freilly were present. He told his son that he owed reparation to the father of the girl he had seduced. This father is an old soldier, so it seems; the marquis gave the count his choice between marrying the girl and fighting a duel with her father?"
"And Léodgard preferred the marriage? It is inconceivable!"
"He refused at first; he even rejected the proposition with contempt. Then, all of a sudden—no one knows how it came about—he changed his mind and consented to marry. The ceremony took place instantly, in the chapel of the Hôtel de Marvejols. A venerable priest had been summoned. Everything was ready. The rite was performed."
"I cannot get over my surprise! No, it passes my understanding. The new bridegroom will not have the audacity to present his wife at court, I presume?"
"It seems that after the marriage the bride's parents gave up their bathing establishment and went to live in the provinces."
"What a pity! we might have gone to the Comte de Marvejols's father-in-law's place to bathe! That might have become the fashion."
"As for the old marquis, he has given his mansion on Place Royale to the young bride, so they say. It seems that he has lavished gifts upon her; he has settled an enormous income upon her. But he has arranged it so that his son cannot touch it; in short, he has determined that the young woman shall have an independent fortune.—It is certain that with the sort of life that Comte Léodgard is leading now few fortunes could stand the strain.—Finally, the old marquis has left Paris; he has gone to his fine estate of Champfleury, announcing that he does not propose to leave it again."
"That is a very strange series of events!—Do the new husband and wife live happily?"
"Oh, yes! for they do not live together. On the very day of his marriage, Comte Léodgard left his wife and returned to hispetite maisonin Rue de Bretonvilliers. As for the new countess, she has taken up her abode in the Hôtel de Marvejols, and I am assured that the count, her husband, has not set his foot inside the door since she took possession."
"All that you have told me is so astounding—it has excited me too much.—I am afraid that I am going to be ill, baron; this is contrary to all my habits."
"You will resume them again,belle dame; after all, no matter what happens, it seems to me that it is a matter of indifference to us. So much the worse for people who make fools of themselves! The idea of marrying a woman whom you leave on your wedding day and whomyou refuse to see again! I declare that, had I been in the count's place, I would have fought a hundred times rather than enter into such an absurd alliance!"
"You would have done well, baron; you would have done very well! Ah! you do not belie your blood!"
"What the devil! one is a gentleman or one is not; I know no other distinction!—But I must leave you, mesdames; receive my respects. I confess that I am in haste to go to several other houses to tell the story of the Comte de Marvejols's extraordinary marriage."
"I can understand that. Go, Baron de Germandré, go; we will detain you no longer."
The old baron took his leave.
Madame de Ravenelle glanced at her niece; Valentine simply said, in a curt tone:
"Well, madame! you see that I heard aright, do you not?"
The old lady made no reply; but, after so severe a shock, after such an excess of fatiguing emotion, it was plain that she wished to enjoy a little repose, for she stretched herself out on her couch as she did when she proposed to sleep.
Thereupon Valentine at once left the salon and went to her own apartment.
"Send Miretta to me!" she said to a servant whom she met; then, having no longer any motive for concealing her feelings, she abandoned herself to chagrin, wrath, mortification; she tore whatever was within reach of herhand; she spurned and broke everything that came in her way.
Miretta soon appeared before her mistress. For some time past, Miretta had been sad and pensive. Wherever she might be, her brow was pale and anxious, and her eyes expressed grief and discouragement; she was no longer the pretty and piquant brunette who fascinated all eyes. Grief soon works havoc with beauty.
"Mademoiselle sent for me, and I am here," she said in a low tone, bending her head before her mistress.
"Yes, come in; close that door, so that I may speak, so that I may at last give full vent to my feelings, without constraint."
"Mademoiselle is much agitated! Has anything happened to grieve her?"
"Oh, yes! yes! I am suffering acutely; I feel deeply humiliated! I cannot tell you all that I feel; I do not know myself what is taking place in my heart; but I would like to be able to avenge myself!—Miretta, that man who was to be my husband—at least, such was the wish of both our families—that Léodgard de Marvejols, is married—married to the girl Bathilde, the daughter of a bath keeper! he, the descendant of an illustrious family! Do you understand?—do you realize what a terrible affront he has put upon me?—To marry Mademoiselle Bathilde Landry, he disdained, he refused, the hand of Valentine de Mongarcin!—Ah! that thought drives me frantic—it suffocates me, it makes my nervestingle! Give me water—water—quickly! It seems to me as if I were choking."
Miretta waited upon her young mistress with the most zealous attention. Valentine soon became calmer, and even smiled at her maid, saying:
"I feel better now—thanks, Miretta! In truth, I was very foolish to make myself ill over that man; that is not the way to be avenged! But to marry that Bathilde—who would ever have believed it of him?"
"And the white plume you sent her, mademoiselle?"
"I believe that instead of ruining the girl, it simply helped to make her a countess!—She! she! Comtesse de Marvejols! I cannot accustom myself to the idea. And yet, it would seem that he no longer loves her. Just imagine that on the very day of their marriage Léodgard left this Bathilde! She lives in the hôtel on Place Royale, and the count continues to occupy his house in Rue de Bretonvilliers; and since the day that he contracted that shameful marriage he has not been once to visit his wife!"
"That proves, mademoiselle, that Monsieur le Comte Léodgard did not marry willingly; and that he must certainly have been forced into this marriage with the bath keeper Landry's daughter."
"No, he might have refused; he is old enough to control his own actions. He had his choice between this marriage and a duel with this Bathilde's father, and he dastardly declined the duel!"
"Oh! mademoiselle, it is inconceivable that it was from lack of courage. Everybody agrees in saying that Monsieur le Comte Léodgard is the bravest of the brave!"
"Yes, yes, you are right; but, in that case, why did he consent? There is some mystery underneath all this—something which I would give all the world to discover!"
And Valentine, resting her head on one of her hands, half reclining on a sofa, lay for several minutes deep in thought. Miretta, kneeling on a cushion by her mistress's side, was equally motionless, and, wholly engrossed by her thoughts, evidently had no idea what she was doing.
Valentine emerged from her reverie at last, and said, passing her hand through Miretta's lovely black hair:
"Poor girl! you too are in trouble, and you have nobody to whom to confide your sorrows. But I have noticed your depression for some time; your face is careworn, and when you try to smile there are tears in your eyes—tears which you try in vain to conceal!—Come, tell me your troubles; has the man whom you loved so dearly betrayed you?"
"Alas! mademoiselle, I do not know whether he has betrayed me; yet I can but think that he has ceased to love me, as he no longer tries to see me. Days, weeks, months have passed, and I never see him—I cannot succeed in meeting him!"
"Poor Miretta, I understand your melancholy; but do you know whether he is still in Paris? Perhaps he hasbeen compelled to absent himself, to take a journey, and had no time to send you word?"
"Oh, no! he is still in Paris, mademoiselle, I am very sure; for I—I sometimes hear of him."
"Those persons from whom you hear of your lover should be able to tell you where he is, where you might find him."
Miretta lowered her eyes and replied, after a moment's pause:
"No, mademoiselle; for he will not tell where he lives, he does not wish me to go to see him.—Mon Dieu! what have I done to him that he should forget me, avoid me thus? He knows very well that I came to this country only because he was here! I only asked to be allowed to see him now and then, at long intervals; was I so unreasonable? And yet, the last time that I saw him, he was so far from being cold to me that one would have said that he loved me more than ever. He came with me to this door, he pressed my hands lovingly, he looked at me as one looks with the heart; and can he have ceased to love me? No, it is impossible! Oh! there are times when I should believe that he was dead, if I did not know that he has been seen, in Paris, within the fortnight."
"Look you, Miretta, you are childish to be alarmed, to distress yourself; you have no real reason for it; your fears are as vague as your suspicions; whereas I—I feel that I must have revenge for the affront put upon me.But to whom shall I look for my revenge? Not to my aunt; she was considerably moved, I admit, when she learned of this monstrous marriage; but in a moment she went to sleep, in order to forget all about it. So that I must depend on myself alone for my vengeance, yes, on myself! But a young girl does not count in the world; she can do nothing. It is better—yes, she must be able to maintain her rank, to show herself, to make a sensation, and perhaps——"
Valentine's features became animated, her thought seemed to embrace the whole future. She remained for a long while buried in meditation, then said to Miretta:
"You must have seen here all the noblemen who aspire to my hand. I wish you to tell me what you think of them; what you may have heard about them. Pages and esquires are never dumb when their masters are mentioned. Answer me frankly. You cannot hurt me, for I love none of these gentlemen.—The Sire de Vergy?"
"He is a very handsome cavalier, perhaps a little too much in love with himself; he thinks of nothing but his dress, he adores perfumery——"
"Let us pass to another;—the Comte de Brillancourt?"
"He is a very fine-looking man; he is most anxious to be considered a roué, a seducer, a man who makes conquests every day; but his servants declare that he boasts of more than he makes, and that he never finds anybody at the rendezvous which he claims to have received."
"He must be a fool! he would be a very depressing companion.—The Sire de Montaubry?"
"He is considered an agreeable gentleman, who adores pleasure and passes his life in merrymaking. He is generous to prodigality; he rewards his esquire when he has invented some pleasant occupation for his time. Cards, dancing, music, the table, horses—these are what he must have every day."
"The man must be insufferable with his high spirits!—The Baron d'Arcelle?"
"He is no longer young, but he is enormously rich! He is a great stickler for etiquette; he dismissed his coachman one day because he allowed the carriage of a farmer of the salt tax to pass him."
"They who ascribe so much importance to little things are incapable of great things!—The Marquis de Santoval?"
"Oh! there is a man in whose glance there is something that inspires fear! He has a handsome face; but such a black beard, and eyes that shine with a smoldering fire, and heavy eyebrows that almost join. His servants say that he is very just to them, but that he punishes inexorably the slightest fault. He is a widower; his first wife was very pretty, and Monsieur de Santoval is terribly jealous; they say that he did not make her happy. He adores the chase, and passes a large part of the year on his estates, hunting wolves."
"Enough, enough! my choice is made!—Go, Miretta, see if my aunt has finished her siesta."
Miretta returned and informed her mistress that Madame de Ravenelle was quite ready to listen to her. So Valentine left her apartment and went to her aunt. After saluting her with great gravity, she said:
"Madame, I have decided at last to take a husband; it is time for me to occupy my rightful place in society."
"Ah! you have decided, niece? Very good! Mon Dieu! what a multitude of events for a single day!—Well, Valentine, it only remains to make a choice among all the noble suitors who have asked for your hand."
"My choice is made, aunt."
"Indeed! it is extraordinary how rapidly everything happens to-day!"
"My choice has fallen on the Marquis de Santoval. I accept him for my husband."
"The Marquis de Santoval!"
And the old lady uttered another exclamation of surprise, then fell back on her couch, saying:
"Everybody seems determined to kill me to-day by exciting me beyond endurance!"
The magnificent Hôtel de Marvejols had changed masters. In the place of the old marquis, Bathilde, Comte Léodgard's lawful wife, was installed in the vast apartments, and gave orders to the numerous servants whom the marquis had left with her as a nucleus of her household.
An abrupt change seemed to have taken place in the young woman's mind, manners, and bearing. Nature, seconding her newly acquired fortune, lavished upon her a multitude of gifts, which, previously to that time at least, had been hidden by her timidity and the retirement in which she had lived.
On receiving a name and a title which raised her in her own esteem, the modest and trembling girl had become an excellent woman, humane and beneficent to all those about her.
She wore without embarrassment, even with dignity, the richer garb which her lofty position demanded. Far from being awkward and ill at ease in the rich attire of a noble dame, Bathilde displayed new graces; her refined and fascinating features seemed made to go with silk fabrics and velvet cloaks.
Nothing offended the eye, nothing seemed out of place, in the young woman suddenly transported from a modest little chamber to a luxurious mansion; and no one, seeing her in her salon, dressed as a wealthy countess should be dressed, would have suspected that he had before his eyes the daughter of a bath keeper.
When Bathilde, on leaving the chapel, saw Léodgard hasten away without bestowing a glance upon her or addressing her a single word, her heart felt a cruel pang; but she succeeded in dissembling her pain; she said to herself that, after the honor that she had received, and now that her child had a name, and that she could look her father in the face without blushing, to abandon herself to her disappointment in love would be pure weakness, and that it behooved her thenceforth to show that she was worthy of the rank to which she had been raised. She said to herself, too, that the seduced girl, the mistress, must disappear before the legitimate wife; and she found strength in her soul to force back her suffering, and to show to those about her a tranquil brow, a self-possessed glance, and a pleasant smile.
Perhaps, in the depths of her heart, Bathilde hoped that her spouse would not always bear her ill will, that he would some day desire to see her to whom he had given his name.
But when weeks and months passed without a sight of Léodgard, she understood that his mind was definitely made up; that he had married her to satisfy his father'swishes, but that he proposed, by living apart from her, to prove to her that he had not contracted the marriage of his free will.
After installing Bathilde in the noble mansion on Place Royale, after handing her the documents which assured to her, and to her unborn child as well, an independent fortune, the old marquis had imprinted a kiss on the brow of his new daughter, and had left Paris for his estate in the country, taking with him old Hector and several of his oldest servants; the others had remained in the young countess's service.
As for Landry, his daughter's new position in the world satisfied his honor without dazzling his mind. But his good sense told him that the father of the Comtesse de Marvejols ought not to carry on a bathing establishment, and he lost no time in selling it.
On the day following her marriage, Bathilde went to her mother to ask her pardon and to entreat a renewal of her affection. But Dame Ragonde could not forgive even her own child. After listening coldly to her daughter's entreaties, she replied in a harsh, dry tone:
"I congratulate you on having become a countess; but I trust that it will not encourage other girls to imitate you!"
With that, she turned her back on Bathilde, who was fain to be content with her father's warm embrace.
Soon after, the old soldier and his wife started for Normandie.
Although Bathilde had had to renounce the hope of recovering her mother's favor,—in truth, her mother had never manifested the least real affection for her,—by way of compensation there were some persons whom her new fortune made very happy, and who did not attempt to conceal the joy and satisfaction which that unhoped-for event caused them.
Is it necessary to name Ambroisine and her father?
But Ambroisine especially was overjoyed, because, as she contemplated Bathilde in her fine clothes, and in that superb mansion which had become hers, she could justly say to herself:
"This is my work; she owes it to me that she is in this place, that she has a name and a handsome fortune!"
The sweet-natured Bathilde did not show herself ungrateful. Her first care when she found that she was the mistress of large means was to beg Ambroisine and her father to share her wealth with her. At first, she asked them to live in her house; then she insisted upon enriching Master Hugonnet, and begged him to accept as a token of her friendship a handsome sum which would assure his well-being for life, so that he need work no more.
But Ambroisine and her father refused everything.
"Keep your wealth, my dear young lady," said Hugonnet, pressing Bathilde's hand in his; "I have no use for it! I am well to do, my trade is prosperous, all goes well! I have no idea of ceasing to work. My health isgood, and I am not too old. Besides, I should die of ennui, if I had nothing to do; and to avoid being bored to death, I should probably get tipsy every day, which would be too often!—So you see that I must refuse this money that you offer me—for I do not believe that you mean to pay me for the pleasure it gave me to be of use to you, to offer you a shelter under my roof; such things are not to be paid for, and you know it!—Oh! if I were unfortunate, if some unlucky accident should happen to me, I would come without a blush to ask your assistance, and I should consider that I insulted you if I applied first to others. But I flatter myself that that won't happen.—Meanwhile, continue your friendship for us; look upon us still as your best friends. That is the way to make us as happy as yourself.—As for my daughter, you offer to keep her with you; but it would cost me too much to part with her. Ten thousand hogsheads! I am fond of my daughter, you see! and I hope that she cares a little bit for me!"
"Oh, yes! my dear, good father!" cried Ambroisine, throwing herself into Hugonnet's arms. "Never fear, I will not leave you! I will come to see Bathilde—madame la comtesse—often, very often——"
"But you will never call me anything but Bathilde, your friend, your sister, who owes everything to you! If you do, I shall think that you no longer love me!"
"As you please, as you please, dear Bathilde!"
"Look you, my dear young lady," continued Hugonnet, "I will tell you all that I can do for you. In the firstplace, I promise that Ambroisine shall do no more shaving; no, that is all over! for when one visits a countess one must keep to one's place!"
"But I have not shaved anybody for a long while, father."
"Hum! now and then. In the second place, she will no longer look after the details of the shop; indeed, she need never enter it at all, if she prefers not to. I can do without her, and she will have more time to come to you."
Ambroisine kissed her father once more; and that was all the share that those excellent people consented to accept of the handsome fortune of the girl whom they had made welcome, entertained, and comforted when she was without a home and without food.
But a new being was destined ere long, on receiving life, to revivify, to enliven, and to embellish all its surroundings.
Bathilde brought into the world a daughter, who bade fair to be as lovely as her mother. When she heard her child's first cry, and gave her the first kiss, the young mother felt as if she had been transported to Paradise.
Ambroisine was with her friend when, by the young countess's orders, a messenger was sent to Comte Léodgard to announce the birth of his daughter and to receive his commands with respect to her baptism.
The steward to whom that commission was intrusted soon returned to the Hôtel de Marvejols. Bathilde sent for him and bade him deliver his report to her in person.
"Did you see monsieur le comte?" she asked, taking her eyes for a moment from her child, who lay beside her on the bed.
"Yes, madame; I requested to be allowed that honor, as one who had something of great importance to say to monsieur le comte, and I was ushered into his presence."
"And you told him——?"
"That madame had brought into the world a daughter, as beautiful as the day."
Bathilde smiled, and glanced at the child with an expression that seemed to say:
"He told the truth, my child! there is nothing on earth more beautiful than thou art!"
Then she motioned to the messenger to continue.
"I had the honor to say to monsieur le comte that madame la comtesse desired to receive his commands relative to the ceremony of baptism."
"Well! what was monsieur le comte's reply?"
"Monseigneur first asked me what persons were with madame la comtesse at this moment?"
"And you told him that no one was with me save my loyal friend Ambroisine and my servants?"
"Yes, madame; and then monsieur le comte remained for a long time absorbed in thought, so that he probably forgot that I was there; for he suddenly looked up and said to me: 'What are you doing here?'
"'Monseigneur,' I replied, 'I am waiting to know what I am to say to madame la comtesse.'
"'Tell her,' said monsieur le comte, 'that she may do as she pleases, that I leave her entirely at liberty, that I have no orders to give.'
"And monseigneur dismissed me with a wave of his hand."
"That will do," said Bathilde, heaving a sigh, which died away over her child's cradle; and she motioned to the servant to leave the room.
When he had gone, she glanced sadly at Ambroisine.
"He will not come here," she said, "even to see his daughter!"
"Console yourself! he will come some day, and when he has once seen this little angel you will no longer need to send messages to him!"
"You are right!" said the young mother, letting her eyes rest once more on her child. "Yes, I must place all my confidence, all my hope, on this little darling; and, in truth, when heaven has sent me such a treasure, it is no time for me to indulge in lamentations. But still, Ambroisine, who will hold my daughter over the baptismal font?"
"Does not the grandfather always act as sponsor for the firstborn?—Send a courier to Monsieur le Marquis de Marvejols, at Champfleury; it is near Chartres—about forty leagues from here, I believe. You will receive a reply within a week."
"You are right, Ambroisine; yes, it is my duty to turn now for guidance to that venerable man who has been sokind to me. But I am still too weak. Act for me, give the necessary orders, see that the courier is despatched."
Ambroisine made haste to carry out the young countess's commands. By her direction, an intelligent man was sent to the old marquis, and he promised to bring back an answer as soon as possible.
But in those days promptitude was very slow. Post routes were not established until the reign of Louis XI, and then only for the king's service. Not until the reign of Louis XIII, in the year 1630, did the service assume some regularity, with the inauguration of the system of relays, and the appointment of inspectors to superintend the service. But, for all that, as couriers intrusted with despatches by private individuals were still very rare on the highroads, the roads were, for that reason, in very bad repair; and the relay stations often had in their stables only a few gaunt nags, or donkeys masquerading as horses.
However, the time did not seem long to Bathilde, for she had her daughter—her daughter whom she nursed herself, unable to conceive that a mother could intrust that duty to a stranger when nature had not denied her the means to perform it herself. Thus the hours passed like minutes, and the days flew by with surprising rapidity in the eyes of that young wife, who took such intense delight in nursing and rocking and caressing her child.
After several days the courier returned; he was the bearer of a letter which the old Marquis de Marvejols had delivered to him for the countess.
She hastily broke the seal; and as she knew how to read,—a rare accomplishment at that period among the daughters of the common people,—she soon knew the contents of the letter, which was thus conceived: