The Barber of Paris Part 30

"How good you are, mademoiselle?"

"She has a very pretty voice," cried Blanche, immediately. "Don't you think so, Marguerite? A voice which I seem to have heard before; it is very singular, I can't recall where I've heard it."

"You are mistaken, my child," said Marguerite, "for myself I think that Ursule's voice is a little rough. But remember that we have not much time to keep her here and she is going to tell us a certain thing."

"One moment," said Blanche, "let her rest for a minute, she looks tired. Do you need anything?"

"No, I thank you," said Urbain, raising his eyes on the amiable child, and immediately abasing them, for he feared that she would read in them all the love which consumed him and it seemed to him that the moment was very ill-chosen to make it known; besides, he was so happy near Blanche that he wished to prolong the time, and, thanks to his disguise, he could see the sweet girl practise her graces, her amiability, and learn her character much better than if he had appeared to her in his true form. Before a lover the frankest girl is always timid, embarra.s.sed, reserved, while with a person of her own s.e.x she expresses without constraint the feelings which she experiences.

"And so you are looking for a place?" said Blanche, seating herself near Urbain.

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"Have you been long in Paris?"

"A fortnight, mademoiselle."

"And your parents?"

"I have none, mademoiselle. I am an orphan."

"Poor girl! that's like me, I am an orphan also, and if M. Touquet had not taken care of me I too should have had to go to work to earn my living."

"You, mademoiselle," said Urbain ardently, but he restrained himself and finished in a low voice, "that would have been very unfortunate."

"My dear Blanche," said Marguerite, "it was not that you might tell her your history, but that she might acquaint us with the secret she is keeping that she came here. Now, Ursule, speak my child!"

Urbain sighed; he would much rather have listened to Blanche than have talked to Marguerite; but it was necessary to satisfy the old maid, he needed her; and it was by exciting her curiosity that he hoped often to see Blanche. He commenced his recital, disguising his voice, and while he spoke the beautiful child fixed her eyes on him, a favor which he owed to his costume, but which often made him lose the thread of his discourse.

"You have doubtless heard tell of Jeanne Harviliers, so famous a century ago for her witcheries and sorceries."

"No, never," said Marguerite, drawing her chair nearer and stretching her neck, because the word sorcery had already produced its electrical effect upon the old servant. "Tell us the history of this sorcery, my child, and try not to omit a single fact."

"Jeanne Harviliers was born at Verberie in the year 1528. Her mother, they say, was a wicked woman, who dedicated her child to the devil as soon as she came into the world.

"When Jeanne was twelve years old the devil presented himself to her in the guise of a black man, armed and booted."

"Dear nurse," said Blanche, "can the devil then take any form he pleases?"

"Yes, of course, I've told you so a hundred times; he changes as he wishes."

"You've always said, dear nurse, that he shows himself as a black cat."

"A cat or a man, what does it matter?"

"I was only afraid of cats before, now I shall be afraid of men also."

"Come, mademoiselle, if you interrupt this young girl like that we shall never know her story. Go on, my child!"

Urbain glanced quickly at Blanche and resumed his narration.

"The black man told Jeanne that if she would give herself to him he would teach her a thousand secrets by which she could work good or evil to people according to her will. Jeanne Harviliers yielded to the proposition of the devil, and p.r.o.nounced the formula which he dictated; she soon became a famous magician, riding to the witches' sabbaths on a broomstick.

"Jeanne practised her art near Verberie, but, being accused of sorcery, she was for some time obliged to hide herself. She had a neighbor who disclosed her whereabouts, and Jeanne asked the devil to give her a charm, that she might revenge herself. He gave her a powder, telling her to place it in a road where her enemy was about to pa.s.s, and it would give the latter a malady of which she would die. Jeanne did as the devil had told her, and placed the charm; but another person pa.s.sed first over the road, and it was she who was the victim. Jeanne, distressed at seeing the sick woman, confessed to her that she had caused her misfortune and promised to cure her, but she could not do as she wished for she was then arrested and thrown into prison. They questioned her; she confessed that she was a sorcerer, and was condemned to be burned alive. She was executed on the last day of April in the year 1578."

"How is that? She was a sorcerer and she let them burn her?" said Blanche with astonishment.

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"How funny that is, and what use was it to her to be a sorcerer then?"

"Blanche you are far too young to argue like that," said Marguerite.

"And the devil, did they burn him also?"

"No, mademoiselle, they could not do that."

"That's a pity, for then we should not need to be afraid of him. Perhaps the devil has been burned now."

"The demon will always exist, my child!"

"You've told me, dear nurse, that St. Michael fought with him and vanquished him."

"Yes, of course he vanquished him, but that is as if he had done nothing. Now, Ursule, go on; for I do not yet see in all that you have told us anything relating to yourself, since this Jeanne was burned close on sixty years ago."

"I am coming to it, mademoiselle," said Urbain, recalling his ideas, which Blanche's beautiful eyes had turned to other things than sorcery.

"Since the time of Jeanne Harviliers, they talk of nothing in Verberie and its neighborhood except the witches' sabbaths which were held at the Pont-aux-Reine on the highway to Compeigne, in the wood of Ajeux; and where noises were heard of hors.e.m.e.n riding in squads, witches going to their sabbaths, and wizards of all kinds. The good inhabitants of the country, wishing to put themselves on their guard against these emissaries of the devil, went to Charlemagne's chapel, which is now known as the church of Saint-Pierre, and asked the good religious to give them something which would guarantee them against sorceries of all kinds."

"A very good idea, truly," said Marguerite, "they could not have acted more wisely, and what did they give them, my child?"

"The good fathers gave them a robe which had been worn by a pious hermit, who during his life had always made the demons flee from any place where he came. A tiny morsel of that robe was sufficient to ward off all danger from the one who carried it. You may imagine how anxious everybody was to have a piece of it."

"Oh, I can well believe it. If I had been there there's nothing I wouldn't have given to obtain a piece."

"Well but dear nurse," said Blanche, "is it like mine."

"Hush! let Ursule finish, my child!"

"Finally, mademoiselle, one of my ancestors, who lived then had the good fortune to get a morsel of the pious hermit's robe. She left it to her daughter after her, who left it to my mother, from whom I have it; and that is how this talisman came to me and it is that which makes me afraid of nothing in Paris, and with which I dare risk myself alone in the streets at night."

"Oh, how singular!" cried Blanche, "that's like me; I also have a talisman which preserves me from all danger, however, they won't even let me look out of the window. That's because my protector, the barber, does not believe in talismans."

"He's very wrong, mademoiselle," said Urbain.

"Yes, a.s.suredly he is," said Marguerite, "but, my dear child, have you yours on you now?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. Oh, I always carry it."