Volume I Part 38 (1/2)

”You restore my hope, my life!”

”O mon Dieu! I think I hear my father coughing! adieu! fly!”

Bathilde hurriedly left the balcony, closed the window, took her lamp, and returned to her room, without giving a thought to the poor rosebush, which was the pretext of her nocturnal venture. We are ungrateful creatures; in our happiness, we forget all those to whom we owe it.

And Bathilde was so happy now! he still loved her, he had not for one instant ceased to think of her! His tender oaths intoxicated her heart with joy and love. The love that possessed her was so true, so pure, so sincere, that she no longer felt strong enough to contend against it.

Leodgard went his way no less happy than she; being perfectly certain now of her love, he had but one thought: to possess her person whose heart was already his; and with the young count it was a short interval between the desire and its gratification.

The next night, about half-past eleven, Leodgard was in front of Landry's house. He listened attentively; everything was quiet; not a light was to be seen, and the night was as dark as the preceding one.

But the young count was well acquainted with the position of the balcony, and he had measured its height from the ground beforehand.

Taking from beneath his cloak a short silk ladder to which a strong iron hook was attached, he dexterously threw the hook over the balcony rail, satisfied himself that it was firm, then climbed the ladder with the agility of a squirrel, stepped onto the balcony, drew up the ladder, and softly opened the window. On the preceding night, Bathilde in her haste had closed the window without fastening it, so that everything favored Leodgard's audacious enterprise.

But although he was in the linen closet, he must still find the girl's bedroom. He opened the door, stepped into the hall, and cautiously felt his way along, stopping frequently to listen. Something told him that Bathilde herself would point out the direction he must follow.

And so it proved; he heard a sweet voice singing an old villanelle with a slow and melancholy refrain.

Leodgard walked in the direction from which the sound came, and soon spied a light s.h.i.+ning through the crack of a door not entirely closed.

It was Bathilde's bedroom.

Suddenly she saw the door open and Leodgard appear before her; she screamed, but her lover fell at her feet; she tried to fly from him, but he already held her in his arms.

Poor Bathilde! she loved him too dearly to be capable of defending herself.

The next morning her rosebush was dead.

Let us allow two months to elapse, during which the lovers rarely pa.s.sed a night without meeting. The silk ladder remained in Bathilde's room, and she herself fastened it to the balcony at the hour agreed upon with Leodgard, who no longer appeared in the morning in front of Master Landry's abode.

Thus the lovers were able to enjoy their happiness in peace; no one was in their confidence, therefore they feared no treachery.

Ambroisine had come more than once to see her friend, and had asked her if she was beginning to be consoled, to forget Comte Leodgard. And Bathilde had lied; for her lover had told her that their liaison must be kept a profound secret until the time when he could mention it to her father; and to obey Leodgard, Bathilde had pretended, in answer to her friend, to be cured of her love.

But at the end of the two months which had pa.s.sed so swiftly for Bathilde, a message arrived for Landry: he learned that his wife, having finished her litigation at last and received the amount of her inheritance, was returning to Paris, and that she would arrive in two days.

The thought that she was about to stand once more in her mother's presence made the guilty girl tremble; it seemed to her that her mother would read her shame on her forehead; and on the night following the receipt of the news, being with her lover, she looked up at him with her eyes full of tears, and said:

”Save me! My mother will be here to-morrow! If she learns of my fault, I shall be undone! Oh! I implore you, delay no longer! Ask my father for my hand; avow your love to him, so that I may be your wife, so that I may love you without blus.h.i.+ng! Otherwise, my mother will find a way to prevent me from seeing you; and I shall die of shame and grief combined!”

Leodgard tried to allay Bathilde's terror and grief; he did not seem deeply afflicted to learn that Dame Ragonde's return would put an end to those pleasant nocturnal meetings. But for two months he had had nothing more to wish for, and he was only waiting for an opportunity to break off an intrigue in which he had obtained all that he sought.

However, he concealed what was taking place in his mind from the girl, who wept bitterly; he pretended to share her chagrin; he was most lavish of oaths and promises, and swore that before long they would meet to part no more.

The next day Dame Ragonde returned home, bringing the funds which she destined for her daughter's marriage portion.

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