The Bath Keepers Volume I Part 37

But when the young count changed his plan of attack, when he ceased entirely to appear on Rue Dauphine, a new form of torture, a pang sharper than all the rest, tore the poor child's heart.

A whole day pa.s.sed, and Leodgard did not appear. At first she flattered herself with the thought that he had come just at the time when she was not peering from behind the curtain; for, with the best will in the world, one cannot pa.s.s every moment with one's face glued against a window.

But on the following day there was no lover on the street, and so on the day following that.

Bathilde's heart was heavy and oppressed; the tears longed to flow, but she forced them back; she was pale; she was consumed by fever and she could not eat.

Landry noticed his daughter's depression and was disturbed by it; he asked her if she was in pain, if she felt sick.

"Nothing is the matter with me, father, nothing!"--Such is the invariable reply of a maiden whose suffering has its source in her heart.

But Ambroisine was determined not to leave her friend without consolation, and one morning she paid her a hurried visit. She was alarmed by her pallor, her prostration, and the grief-stricken expression of her face.

When she saw Ambroisine, however, Bathilde strove to conceal the misery that was devouring her.

"I came to find out if you have been brave, if you have kept the promises you made me?" said Ambroisine, as she embraced Bathilde, who submitted to her friend's caresses without responding to them.

"Yes," she faltered, "I have done what you ordered."

"Ordered!--As if I gave you any orders! don't you know that it is my affection which leads me to advise you, to keep watch over you?--But how pale you are! Are you so very unhappy?"

"I? oh, no!"

"You have not been on the balcony again?"

"No; but I might as well go there now; for it is all over; he doesn't come any more; he has not pa.s.sed the house, not once, for four days."

"How do you know? So you have been looking out of the window, have you?"

"Indeed! I was in father's room, and I could not help seeing. Besides, I wanted to be certain that he was not there.--It is all over; he has forgotten me!"

As she said these words, Bathilde, despite all her efforts, could no longer restrain her tears; she let her head fall on Ambroisine's shoulder and gave free vent to her sobs.

Hugonnet's daughter mingled her tears with her friend's, for at that moment she could think of no better way to comfort her. A grief which is able to find a vent always loses its force; it is a torrent changed into a brook.

Bathilde recovered her courage to some degree, and wiped her tears away, saying:

"I will be sensible; I will forget him, too; I will imitate him!--Ah!

you were right, Ambroisine, his letter contained nothing but falsehoods; for he told me that he would die rather than cease to love me. Yes, it was nothing but lies, false oaths--so I never want to read it again; you may burn that letter, which deceived me so, you may destroy it; I must not keep anything to remind me of that--that fatal meeting."

"What you say is very wise, my dear child; yes, I will burn his letter this very day--as soon as I go home.--Ah! he well deserves to be roasted, too, the villain! who has caused my poor Bathilde so much misery!"

"Oh, no! you must not wish him ill, Ambroisine! On the contrary, I wish that he may be happy! And when I pray, I will beseech G.o.d to watch over him too, and to give him every felicity!"

"Upon my word! you are too kind! But heaven will take pity on you; and before long, I am sure, it will have banished from your memory, from your heart, everything that can possibly recall that seducer! If you could come to see me--if you could go out a little to divert your thoughts.--But, no! no! that would be dangerous; he might be on the watch for you and follow you again! I will come here; I will come whenever I have a moment to myself. I would have liked to bring my other friend with me,--Miretta, the girl I have spoken to you about; she is very agreeable, and she has so many interesting things to tell about Italy! But she never comes to see me, except in the evening; and father will not let me go out after dark, because there is a very dangerous brigand in Paris who attacks everybody, and whom they cannot succeed in arresting. So that many people declare that he is not a natural person at all, that he has dealings with the devil! Indeed, there are some who say that this Giovanni is the devil in person! As if that was not absurd! Why should the devil amuse himself robbing and stripping people in the streets?--But my friend Miretta is no coward, I tell you. She isn't afraid of the brigand, for she sometimes stays at our house quite late; and when father hasn't gone out to drink with the neighbors, he always offers to take Miretta home to the Hotel de Mongarcin, but she will never accept anybody's escort. Several times father has said to her: 'Beware! you will fall in with Giovanni, and he will attack you!'--But she simply shakes her head and replies: 'I am not afraid of robbers.'--I am not very timid myself; but I confess that I haven't as much courage as Miretta, that I would not dare to go out alone so late, especially as they say that this Giovanni is horrible to look at. It seems that his head is all covered with bristling black hair like a wild beast, and that he has a beard that reaches to his breast.--He must be a frightful creature, mustn't he?"

Bathilde, who had ceased to listen when her friend no longer spoke of Leodgard, answered with a sigh:

"Look you, Ambroisine, I have been reflecting. You must not burn his letter; I prefer to keep it, because it is a proof--because it shows that men tell us things that they don't mean! Oh, no! you must not burn it, but you must give it back to me, after a while, when I can read it without danger, you know!"

Ambroisine shrugged her shoulders; and finding that it was useless to try to divert Bathilde's thoughts, she decided to leave her.

"Very well," she said; "I will not burn that wicked letter, since you wish to treasure it!--Adieu! you no longer listen to my words of consolation, but I trust that time will have more power than I have."

And the _belle baigneuse_ took her leave.

It was midnight; the hour which it is said that lovers and burglars select for their enterprises.

Everything was quiet in Landry's house; it was the hour of repose. But one does not sleep at eighteen, when one's heart is torn by the torments and pangs of love.

Bathilde was in her room; she had risen because it was impossible for her to find rest on her solitary couch; she opened her window, which looked on the yard, and after standing there for a moment left it because there was no air; only that which came from the street could do her any good.

Suddenly the girl remembered her rosebush, which she had neglected for a week; she thought that it must be dying for lack of water, or that it must at least be very sickly; and taking her lamp, which was still burning on the table, she softly opened her door and went to the linen closet, delighted to have found a pretext for going out on the balcony.

Bathilde placed her lamp in a corner, then opened the window without noise, and in a moment was on the balcony, beside the rosebush. But instead of examining the plant, she gazed into the darkness that surrounded her.

The street was dark and seemed entirely deserted. Now and then she could hear shouts in the distance and shrill whistles that seemed to answer one another--signals far from rea.s.suring to the belated bourgeois, who quickened his pace as he hurried homeward preceded by a hired torchbearer.

At other moments the silence of the night was disturbed by the songs of students and pages, a.s.sembled to make an uproar and break windows.

But these lasted only an instant, then everything became quiet once more.

The girl could see nothing in the dark street; there was no moon to dissipate the gloom; and yet, she could not make up her mind to leave the balcony. She felt better there; it seemed to her almost as if she were with him of whom she thought constantly.

Suddenly she heard her name; the voice came from beneath the balcony.

She shuddered, but not with fear; she listened--her name was called again. The voice was soft and supplicating.

"Who is there?" faltered Bathilde.

"He who thinks only of you, who cannot exist without you!"

"Oh! that is not true, monsieur; for you have not been here for four days, you have not even tried to see me; therefore, you no longer think of me!"

"Oh! you were so cruel, Bathilde! Not a word in reply to my letter; but, instead of that, you ceased to come out, you no longer appeared on the balcony!--Yes, I tried to forget you, to return here no more! But that was impossible; my love is stronger than your disdain!"

"Ah! if that were true! But, no, I must not believe you! You seduce all the women--Ambroisine told me so."

"Ambroisine simply repeats what she hears. Ought you to give credit to the a.s.sertions of people who do not know me? Dear Bathilde, you should believe your heart alone, for the heart never deceives."

"But I must not listen to you, for you are a great n.o.ble and I am only a poor girl."

"You are an angel! and angels so rarely appear on earth!"

"Ambroisine told me that you were making sport of me when you swore that I should be your wife!"

"Why have you more confidence in another person's word than in my oaths, Bathilde?"

"Ah! I should be very happy if I could believe you!"