The Bath Keepers Volume Ii Part 18

he, the descendant of an ill.u.s.trious 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 nerves tingle! 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 Leodgard left this Bathilde! She lives in the hotel 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 Leodgard 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 Leodgard 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, pa.s.sing her hand through Miretta's lovely black hair:

"Poor girl! you too are in trouble, and you have n.o.body 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 pa.s.sed, 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 has been 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 n.o.blemen 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 pa.s.s to another;--the Comte de Brillancourt?"

"He is a very fine-looking man; he is most anxious to be considered a roue, 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 pa.s.ses 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.ses 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 mult.i.tude of events for a single day!--Well, Valentine, it only remains to make a choice among all the n.o.ble 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!"

x.x.xVII

BATHILDE'S CHILD

The magnificent Hotel de Marvejols had changed masters. In the place of the old marquis, Bathilde, Comte Leodgard'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 mult.i.tude 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 t.i.tle 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 embarra.s.sment, 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 n.o.ble dame, Bathilde displayed new graces; her refined and fascinating features seemed made to go with silk fabrics and velvet cloaks.