Chapter XXXIX: The Marquise De Santoval

While these things were taking place, a scene of a different sort was being enacted in a superb mansion in Rue Sainte-Avoie, which mansion belonged to the Marquis de Santoval, who had become the husband of Valentine de Mongarcin several months earlier.

When she married, the heiress had been compelled to leave her abode on Rue Saint-Honoré, to follow the spouse whom she had chosen. She had parted from her aunt, Madame de Ravenelle, without any very poignant regret, for their temperaments were in no respect sympathetic; nor did the old lady display any deep emotion when her niece left her.

Selfish people are happy in that they refer all their sensations to themselves alone; they love themselves too much to waste any love on others.

Valentine had taken Miretta with her, whom she treated as a friend rather than as a lady's-maid, and with whom she would not willingly have parted for anything on earth. This arrangement had been made without any difficulty. Monsieur de Santoval, proud of the preference which Valentine had accorded him over his numerous rivals, displayed the greatest zeal in gratifying his lovely wife's lightest wish; and he had lavished diamonds and other valuable gifts upon her.

He left her entirely at liberty, feeling sure doubtless that she would not abuse the privilege; perhaps, too, he had reserved the means of satisfying himself whether she did abuse it or not.

The marquis had one of those faces which always make one shudder when they assume to express confidence in a person.

The young Marquise de Santoval was in her dressing room, standing before a large Venetian mirror, which, in those days, filled the place of the modern psyche. She was trying the effect against her hair of a new set of rubies which her husband had brought her that morning. And as the reddish gleam of the stones harmonized perfectly with the brilliant gloss of her raven locks, Valentine could not restrain a smile of satisfaction at finding herself so lovely.

"This is becoming to me, is it not, Miretta?" she asked, turning to her pretty maid, who stood behind her gazing at her with a sad expression.

"Yes, madame, it is admirable; it is perfectly suited to you. I do not think that it is possible to be more lovely."

"Aha! flatterer!--But it is possible to be less lovely and more attractive!"

"Monsieur le marquis is very gallant; his presents are magnificent!"

"He does no more than he should do! I think that he was much flattered by the preference I accorded him."

"Can it be that madame regrets it now?"

"Hush, Miretta, hush! there are some things that must never be said!--However, I have no regrets; I did what I was determined to do. It was not a caprice that guided my action. Nor, as you may imagine, was it love--although Monsieur de Santoval is still young, and a very handsome man. Indeed, there are some women who consider him superb. Not long ago, Madame de Grangeville whispered in my ear: 'I congratulate you on your choice! Monsieur de Santoval is one of the handsomest cavaliers at court!'"

"Did that flatter you, madame?"

"Flatter me? Bah! what difference do you think that it makes to me? When one has no love for a man, what does one care what people say about him?"

"Monsieur de Santoval seems to be very much in love, himself!"

"In love with me?--Hum! yes, perhaps he is; but he is very proud, very haughty, and, above all, very jealous of his honor!"

"And of madame too, probably?"

"Why, of course, as the two go together!--What a strange thing!"

"What is strange, madame?"

"Nothing! nothing!"

And Valentine smiled, as if she had had the thought which Beaumarchais many years later put into the mouth of Comte Almaviva in _Le Mariage de Figaro_.

"Has not Joseph returned, Miretta?"

"No, madame, not yet."

"How long a time that fellow takes to do such a simple errand! I sent him to Madame de Ligneulle's, only a few steps away, to ask if she expected to go to the Baronne de Beaumont's this evening; and it is more than an hour since he went! He amuses himself by the way, it seems."

"It surprises me, madame, for Joseph is usually very zealous and very prompt in the execution of madame's orders."

"I know it, and that is why I employ him. But Madame de Ligneulle's house is within five minutes' walk--and to take more than an hour in going there and returning!"

"They kept him waiting, no doubt."

"When a messenger comes from me, she never keeps him waiting."

"Does madame mean to go to Madame de Beaumont's this evening?"

"Yes, I shall go."

"Madame enjoys society since her marriage."

"You think so, because I go out a great deal. I have not yet found--what I am seeking; but it must happen sooner or later."

The portière of the dressing room was softly put aside, and a servant in rich livery showed his face, asking respectfully if he might enter.

"Ah! you have returned at last, Joseph!" cried Valentine. "Have you had an accident, pray, that you have been away so long?--Come in, and speak."

"Oh! yes, madame!" the valet replied, entering the room. "That is to say, I have not actually had an accident; but there was such a crowd in the street, so many people had collected to see him pass--they crowded and pushed----"

"What was the reason of the crowd? what was there to see that was so interesting?"

"Oh! can it be that madame does not know?--He is arrested, he is caught at last! It was high time, too!"

"Who is arrested at last?"

"The famous Italian brigand--the dreaded Giovanni!"

"Giovanni is arrested, you say?" cried Miretta, who had suddenly turned deathly pale; and she seized the valet's arm and pressed it violently. "Giovanni taken! Are you sure of it?"

"Certainly, mademoiselle; for they were taking him to the Petit Châtelet, and everybody crowded to see him."

"Ah! unhappy wretch that I am!"

And the girl, with a loud shriek, darted from the room, entirely forgetting her mistress and everything about her. In two or three seconds she had rushed through the salons, the vestibule, and the courtyard, and was hurrying along the street, roughly pushing aside everybody who came in her way.

But, as the orange chevalier drew near the Petit Châtelet, where many malefactors were then confined, three young noblemen, having just crossed the Petit Pont, noticed the crowd, and, hearing it said that Giovanni had been arrested, forced their way through the spectators until they reached the Gascon, at whom everybody was pointing, saying:

"That is the famous bandit!"

Thereupon, to the vast amazement of the multitude, the three young gentlemen roared with laughter; then they seized the malefactor's hands and pressed them cordially, while he exclaimed:

"Gad! this is very lucky! Sandis! here are some friends who know me, at last! It's Sénange and Monclair!--Can you believe, messieurs, that these people absolutely insist that I am the celebrated robber Giovanni?"

"You, Giovanni? Poor Passedix!"

"Poor! Deuce take it! he has not been poor since he inherited a fortune!"

"Who is it that is fool enough to take you for the Italian brigand?"

"That infamous little clothes dealer yonder! But, by Roland! I will have satisfaction for his insults!"

"Pardieu!" said Sénange, "it happens that Captain Raynold is on duty at the Châtelet, and he knows our friend Passedix."

A captain of archers came from the prison at that moment to inquire the cause of the commotion; when he saw Passedix, with whom he had more than once drunk and played cards at wine shops, he offered him his hand, which fully satisfied the crowd that they had made a mistake and that the prisoner was not Giovanni.

The captain administered a sharp rebuke to the men who had made the arrest, calling their attention to the fact that the orange chevalier's face and figure bore no resemblance whatever to the well-known description of Giovanni.

"But," cried the little dealer, in dire distress because of his error, "it is none the less true that those very noticeable garments came from my shop, and that they were stolen from my nephew, to whom I delivered them to be sold."

"One moment, old Jew," said Passedix; "what is your nephew's name?"

"Plumard; he is clerk to Maître Bourdinard, solicitor."

"Very good; now we are on the track; and he has a friend, another little villain, even smaller than you, whose name is Bahuchet?"

"That is true."

"And one of them has a plaster on his head, which makes him look like a sick cur?"

"It's my nephew who wears that plaster--in place of hair."

"Well, you damned clothes man, if you had listened to me, I would have told you that your nephew and his friend Bahuchet came to my Hôtel du Sanglier on Place aux Chats, and, knowing that I desired a complete new outfit and that I had inherited a large property, they brought me this orange costume, for which I paid them thirty pistoles in honest crowns."

"Is it possible? You gave them thirty pistoles?"

"I swear it on my honor! And these gentlemen will bear witness that I am to be believed."

"Yes, yes! palsambleu! Thirty pistoles--why, that is nothing to him now, for he doesn't know what to do with his doubloons."

"Pardon! a thousand pardons, monsieur le chevalier! Then it must be my nephew who robbed me."

"That is very probable. That little rascal, with his plaster, looked to me like a consummate knave, and I fancy that that Bahuchet is little better; but when I meet them, I will administer salutary chastisement to them. As for you, dealer in old clothes, I ought to shave your ears a trifle! You called the fine flower of chivalry a robber!"

As he spoke, Passedix seized the little man by one ear and shook him roughly. The young noblemen, who were highly amused by the scene, urged the chevalier to enforce all the rights of the victor; the terrified tradesman was beginning to whine and beg for mercy, when suddenly the Gascon's face became radiant, his eyes flashed fire, and he released the little man's ear, crying:

"There she is! it is she! I find her again at last!--Adieu, my noble friends! Do not follow me, I beg!"

It was indeed Miretta whom Passedix had espied; Miretta, who, after running hither and thither a long while, had succeeded at last in forcing her way through the crowd, and at the very moment when she expected to see her lover had heard people saying all about her:

"They have made a mistake."

"It isn't Giovanni that they caught."

"Oh! what a misfortune!"

"Who was it they arrested, then?"

"No one! Oh, yes! they arrested that tall, lank man dressed in orange; but it seems that he isn't a thief, as all those gentlemen know him, and the captain of the archers himself came up and shook hands with him."

"That old idiot of a second-hand clothes dealer is the cause of it all!"

"Down with the old clothes man!"

"To the gallows with the old clothes man!"

Miretta's heart swelled when she heard all these remarks, and, as she had run a long way, she leaned against a post and began to breathe more freely.

Then it was that Passedix appeared and struck an attitude in front of her, with a courteous bow, saying:

"At last, I see thee again! star of my soul, firmament of my heart, moon of my thoughts, planet----"

"Tell me, monsieur le chevalier, did they really take you for Giovanni?" said Miretta, breaking in upon her adorer's compliments.

"Yes, fascinating brunette! Can you understand such a thing?--I am not acquainted with the famous robber, but it is impossible that he should have this elegant figure, this noble carriage, in a word, this distinguished physique which I possess!"

"Oh! surely not! he does not resemble you!"

"What? Do you know him, siren?"

"No, but I have heard him described so often!"

"And Giovanni is not likely to have a costume like this, is he, my dear?--But we have said enough of this brigand. Pray tell me, adorable brunette, what has become of a certain Comte de Carvajal, whom you know rather intimately, I believe?"

Miretta was disturbed by the question, but she made haste to reply:

"I do not know what you mean, monsieur le chevalier; I know no one of that name."

"Really? But all those rustics, with the wrist of steel, with whom I have met you,--and notably the one who, I know not how, caused Roland to fall from my hand,--were devilishly like the foreigner who lodged at the Hôtel du Sanglier."

"What do you want with that foreigner?"

"What does it matter to you, if you do not know him? But you know that is not true, naughty wench!"

"Adieu, monsieur le chevalier! I can stay here no longer."

"What! deprive me of your company already! I will escort you to Rue Saint-Honoré."

"I no longer live there; since Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin became Marquise de Santoval, we live on Rue Sainte-Avoie."

"Aha! so your lady is now Marquise de Santoval! And that is the reason why my vigils in front of the Hôtel de Mongarcin have led to nothing!"

"Take my advice, monsieur le chevalier, and make no further attempt to see me."

"Ah! I am rich now, Miretta; I will cover you with fine pearls!"

"You might offer me all the treasures of the Indies, and I would still say to you: 'You are wasting your time; I do not love you; I shall never love you.'"

"Then it must be that mysterious Carvajal whom you love. But, by death! if I ever meet him!"

"Ah, me! I would like right well to meet him!"

As she said these words, Miretta darted away so swiftly that she soon disappeared from the eyes of Passedix, who pulled his cap over his forehead, muttering angrily:

"Mordioux! she defies me still. I must forget her! I must show my dignity! Let us get tipsy!"

Miretta hurried back to the Hôtel de Santoval; she remembered how precipitately she had left the house, and she feared that her mistress would be displeased with her for absenting herself at a time when she required her services; so that Miretta was almost trembling when she returned to the house.

She had no sooner entered than a servant informed her that her mistress wished to see her.

Valentine was alone in her bedroom; her expression was not at all stern, but it denoted profound reflection.

When she saw Miretta, she motioned to her to lock all the doors with care, then beckoned her to a seat on a stool by her side.

Miretta walked toward her and began to falter some words of apology; but Valentine placed a finger on her lips and again pointed to the stool.

The girl seated herself, speechless with surprise, and waited anxiously to hear what her mistress could have to say to her that demanded so much mystery.

Valentine fastened her great velvety dark-gray eyes on those of her maid, who looked down at the floor; then she said to her, taking care to speak low:

"Miretta, swear that you will answer frankly the question I am about to ask you; swear that you will not lie to me!"

The girl looked up, glanced at her mistress, and, seeing nothing in her expression to indicate anger, answered:

"I swear, madame."

"That is well; now, listen to me. I have just discovered a secret of great importance to you, which we must not let anybody else discover! I know who your lover is--the man whom you love."

"You know, madame?"

"Yes, I tell you; and you are going to tell me if I am mistaken. The man whom you have not seen for so long a time, the man for whose sake you came to France, of whom you are constantly thinking, and who causes you so much anxiety--is Giovanni!"

"O madame! you think----"

"It is Giovanni! Contradict me if you dare!--Have no fear of me, Miretta; you should know me well. But remember your oath: the man you love is Giovanni, is he not? Answer--answer!"

Miretta fell on her knees before her mistress, clasping her hands, and murmured at last:

"Yes, madame, yes--it is Giovanni who is my lover.--Oh! forgive me!"

"Rise, rise, my child! Your frankness makes me more fond of you. Do you think, pray, that I asked you for your secret with the intention of reproaching you? You loved this Giovanni, doubtless, before he became a brigand?"

"Oh! yes, madame."

"And since you have known the trade he was plying, you have not ceased to love him!--I understand that. I understand all that love can lead one to do. Under the sway of that passion, is it possible to reason, to reflect?--And then, this man must be very brave; the reputation he has made for himself, the very terror inseparable from his name--yes, there is something in all that which almost makes one forget his crimes."

"Oh! if you knew, madame, how earnestly I have begged, implored him to renounce his pursuit! And he promised to do it.--'Only a few months more,' he said, 'and we will return to Italy, and no one will recognize in me the dreaded bandit.'--But, alas! it is more than a year since he told me that, and I have not met him since."

"But he has not been arrested, as Joseph said.--Another servant, whom I sent out to make inquiries, has just returned and told me that they made a mistake, that the man who was arrested was not the famous robber."

"That is true, madame. Thank heaven, my fears were unfounded! Ah! if you knew what a feeling of despair took possession of me!"

"Do you think that I did not see it, poor girl? Do you think that I was not struck by your pallor, by your confusion, by that grief-stricken cry which you uttered, when Joseph said: 'Giovanni is arrested'?--It was that that revealed your secret to me. Luckily, the servants saw nothing but curiosity in your precipitate exit--nothing but the desire to see a man who spreads terror throughout Paris.--Now that you know that he is not arrested, you are calmer and happier. In future be more prudent; be careful not to betray yourself."

"Oh! you are right, madame; I will try to conceal my feelings."

"But, look you, Miretta--try more earnestly than ever to meet the man you love; and the first time that you see him, remember to tell him this: that I wish to see him and speak with him; that I have need of his services; that he can safely trust me; that I will go, alone with you, to whatever place of rendezvous he may appoint; and that I will reward him generously for what he does for me.--Will you tell him all that, Miretta? Do you promise?"

"Yes, madame, I will do whatever you command. But, alas! in order to tell Giovanni this, I must see him; and, as you know, I cannot succeed in that."

"Do not despair; you will see your lover again. Chance often serves us better than we serve ourselves, and our wishes are gratified at the moment when we least expect it.--Look at me: since I have been Marquise de Santoval, I have been to all sorts of festivities, balls, and receptions, and yet I have not met the man I seek. He avoids me doubtless, but it is useless; he will be obliged to see me again, for I am determined that he shall.--But I hear the Marquis de Santoval's step!--Go, take this secret door!--It is as well that he should not see you, for you are still perturbed, and he has eyes that read deeper than our faces.--Go."