Chapter XL: A Fête at Camilla's

The courtesan Camilla occupied a charming little house near Porte Saint-Honoré; it was in the city, and yet it was almost in the country.

A garden of lilacs, syringas, and roses was behind the wing of the house in which its mistress spent most of her time; and in summer it seemed a continuation of a delightful salon on the ground floor, the portières of which were drawn aside in graceful folds, affording a view of the flowering shrubs and the well-kept paths, where the dense foliage of numerous lovely sycamores made the air as cool by day as by night.

It was midsummer; a heavy, oppressively hot atmosphere had relaxed the nerves of the people of Paris.

Camilla had chosen that time to give an evening party; for evening was the only part of the day when one could breathe with any pleasure, when the air was made somewhat cooler by gentle breezes, and it was delicious to stroll in the garden and rest under the shrubbery.

The fascinating courtesan had chosen her time with most excellent judgment. What could be more voluptuous in summer than a garden intersected by vague gleams of light, beneath a sky thickly strewn with twinkling stars!

Not far from a brilliantly illuminated circle of velvety turf, a dark path wound among darker thickets.

The strains of the instruments, the perfume of the flowers, the bouquet of the wines and liqueurs of all sorts which were served to the guests, charmed and intoxicated the senses. Everyone was at liberty to do only what he pleased--constraint and etiquette were not admitted to Camilla's abode; and they who did the most extravagant things were considered the most agreeable.

But it was not solely to display her gardens, her flowers, the furniture of her salons, and the magnificence of her toilet, that Camilla was giving this fête. For some time past, Léodgard's favorite had observed a noticeable abatement in the ardor of the count's passion; her lover was still as generous, as magnificent as ever in his dealings with her, but he felt no pleasure in seeing her and left her without regret; and when he passed a few hours with her, those hours seemed interminable to him, for his eyes expressed ennui rather than enjoyment.

A woman seldom mistakes these symptoms; vanishing love is even more visible than dawning love; for the latter does at least observe the proprieties, while the other is sometimes most discourteous.

Camilla tried to keep her lover with her, in some slight degree from love perhaps, but largely for selfish reasons: a young and comely lover who throws money about lavishly is not always easily replaced.

In those days, as to-day, there were men who dealt magnificently with their mistresses, but they were for the most part old and ugly.

After employing many methods of seduction to rekindle a flame that was on the point of dying out, Camilla determined to resort to that final method, which sometimes succeeds, but which destroys all hope when it fails of its effect. She determined to try to make Léodgard jealous.

In that multitude of young noblemen, brilliant dandies, and confessed libertines whom she had invited to her evening party, it was inevitable that there should be more than one who made love to her and aspired to take her away from Léodgard, or at least to induce her to be unfaithful to him.

"I will be more fascinating, more coquettish than ever," said Camilla to the fair-haired Flavia, her friend and confidante. "I will accord a very marked preference to some of my adorers, so that Léodgard must notice it! He will be annoyed--he is so hot-blooded, so passionate! perhaps a scene will result--sword thrusts--a duel!--Oh! that would be delicious! for then he would come back to me, more in love than ever."

"And suppose he should be killed in the duel?" rejoined Flavia.

"So much the worse! What would you have? he who risks nothing obtains nothing.--But, no--Léodgard is as brave as he is skilful; he would be the victor."

"In that case, the other will be killed."

"Well, my dear! I shall have given him the sweetest of hopes all the evening! Will he be so very much to be pitied?"

That is how courtesans loved in those days; and even among the _grandes dames_, there were some, you know, who cast their glove into an amphitheatre filled with lions and said to their lovers:

"If you really love me, you will go there and pick it up."

What affection, great God! What a melancholy idea of love that would give one!

Luckily, to comfort our hearts, we have Philemon and Baucis, Pyramus and Thisbe, Hero and Leander; but they are fabulous characters, and the others are historical.

It was midnight, and almost all Camilla's guests had arrived. The apartments were resplendent with light, the gardens exhaled the sweetest perfumes, and an orchestra, which certainly was not equal to those of our time, but which seemed very tuneful then, executed sarabands, chaconnes, and bransles.

There was card playing in one room, drinking in another; those who did not dance went out into the garden to chat and stroll. The heat was not insupportable, but the guests sought the outer air, the cool evening breeze; the ladies had been careful to wear the lightest of gowns, which did not conceal their charms, and which gave them the aspect of nymphs or of hamadryads, at least, as they flitted about the garden paths.

Camilla wore a seductive costume of irresistible effect. She had donned a gown similar to those worn by the lovely Spanish girls who dance boleros and cachuchas with so much ardor and supple grace. The dress, which was of puce-colored satin, trimmed with rich black lace, and rather short, permitted the spectator to admire a shapely leg, a well-arched foot, and a charming figure; it left almost entirely bare a dazzlingly white breast and shoulders worthy to serve as models for a sculptor.

In her hair, which was dressed in an original fashion, were sprays of foliage, and long gold pins with pearls and diamonds for heads.

Beneath this fanciful costume, the courtesan, whose eyes flashed fire, and whose least movement, least pose, was full of voluptuous suggestion, could not fail to add to the number of her conquests; and even the women did her justice; to be sure, they were almost all pretty, and envy could hardly find a foothold among them.

Léodgard had arrived but a short time before. When he caught sight of Camilla, he simply smiled at her, but she stood in front of him and asked in a low tone:

"How do I look?"

"Beautiful, very beautiful, as always," the count replied, and walked into another room.

"As always!" muttered Camilla, biting her lips in vexation; "I look as I always do! Whereas all these other young gentlemen do not tire of telling me that I have never been so beautiful, so seductive! Why, he did not even look at my hair, or notice this Spanish costume! He no longer loves me, and yet I do not think that he loves another."

"Of what are you dreaming, divine Manola?" said the Marquis de Sénange, as he approached Camilla, taking her hand and passing it through his arm.

"Why--of you, perhaps!" replied the courtesan, displaying a double row of teeth of irreproachable whiteness.

"Of me! of me! Ah! if I could believe it!--Look you, Camilla--your eyes and this costume were quite enough to turn my head; but the words you have uttered make me mad with love!"

"Well! what harm would it do, after all, if you were a little mad? It would not change you much, I should say."

"Camilla, I would gladly endure all possible tortures, pass through every conceivable trial, if you would reward me by allowing me to love you!"

"Love me! why, what prevents you? Have you not as much right to love me as another man?"

"But let us understand each other, adorable siren! It is not cheerful to love all by one's self! Love is increased twofold when it is shared."

"Indeed! What a pity that it is not so with everything! I would become very charitable!"

"Look you, Camilla, have you not been faithful to Léodgard long enough? Frankly, you cover yourself with ridicule! A woman with such a wealth of attractions is a flower; it is not fair that a single man should inhale all her perfume!"

"Ah! marquis, you wish to plunder your friend's garden!"

"There are no friends where a lovely woman is concerned! Besides, Léodgard is becoming very unamiable of late--you must agree to that."

"Why, he is married, poor dear! and that is quite enough to change a man's expression!"

"Oh! little he cares for all that! Moreover, you are well aware that, although he is married, he lives absolutely as if he were a bachelor! But, I say again, he is no longer the roué, the jovial scapegrace, of the old days; one would say that he had grown fifteen years older; his features are altered, his face is always careworn or gloomy, he has forgotten how to laugh and drink; he must also have forgotten how to love!"

"Ah! do you think so? You may be mistaken. Léodgard always was of a fantastic humor."

"I have known him only as a man who was always laughing and singing!--Give me some hope, Camilla."

"Well! we shall see. The night is young yet. But here are more people coming; I must go to receive them."

The young marquis left Camilla, but he deemed himself sure of his triumph, and his face expressed his delight.

Flavia went to her friend a moment later and whispered:

"So it is the fascinating Sénange whom you have chosen for your victim?"

"Why not he as well as another?"

"Rather he, for he is very agreeable, and it would be a pity if anything should happen to him!"

"Nothing will happen to him. See how indifferent Léodgard is to me! He passed us while I was on the marquis's arm, and did not even notice us!"

"Oh! do not torment yourself!--Think of nothing but your fête--it is simply delicious! There are great numbers of very attractive gentlemen here; you expect nobody else, I suppose?"

"I believe that everybody has come.--Oh, yes! I did also invite--but I suspected that it would be useless; he will not come."

"Who is it?"

"Do you remember that gentleman in black, whom we tried in vain to rouse one night, at a fête given by Léodgard?"

"The Sire de Jarnonville, was it not?"

"Precisely."

"Oh! what a pity that he is not here! I considered him very original. Why should he not come?"

"Because for some time past he has not been seen at any festivity; he no longer drinks, no longer gambles, no longer fights, even! In short, he is a lost man, so far as his friends are concerned! That is why I feel sure that he will not come."

At that moment a servant appeared at the door of the salon and announced:

"The Sire de Jarnonville!"

"Well, this is strange!" cried Flavia; "at the very moment when we despaired of seeing him!"

"He confers a great favor on me! And I am proud of it, I assure you!"

As she spoke, Camilla went to meet Jarnonville, who was just entering the salon. Everybody was impressed by the advantageous change that had taken place in his appearance; his face was expansive, amiable, almost smiling; even his costume had undergone some modification; although his doublet and short-clothes were still black, his girdle was pale blue, and his cloak was of velvet of the same color. In short, the chevalier's person no longer wore that stern and sombre aspect which caused pleasure and love to flee at his approach.

"It is most amiable of you, Sire de Jarnonville," said Camilla, "to accept my invitation. I am the more sensible of your kindness, because you are seen very seldom now in society, at our parties."

"Yours, _belle dame_, certainly deserved that I should make an exception in its favor."

"Can it be that you have renounced misanthropy, chevalier? Have you ceased to be the Chevalier de Verglas, as you used to be called?--So much the better! in that case, you are one of us once more."

"I have never renounced anything, not even the pleasure of telling you that you are ravishingly beautiful in this costume."

Having achieved this compliment, Jarnonville bowed to the courtesan and lost himself in the crowd that thronged the salons and gardens.

"Why, he is becoming a charming cavalier!" said Camilla; "he told me that I was ravishingly beautiful; _he_ noticed my costume! He is more gallant than Léodgard.--I believe that we can make a conquest of him now, Flavia."

"Oh! I no longer care about it; I preferred him when he was all in black and looked like a bear."

While the two ladies exchanged their opinions concerning Jarnonville, the new-comer was being discussed also in a group of young gentlemen.

"Did you see Jarnonville, Monclair?"

"Yes, I have just bade him good-evening."

"Don't you think that he cuts an entirely different figure from what he used?"

"Why so? because he wears a blue cloak instead of a black one?"

"No, it is not that; but because he no longer has that gloomy, unhappy expression that he used to carry with him everywhere."

"That is true," said young La Valteline; "I noticed the change; it impressed me when Jarnonville entered the salon."

"Well, messieurs, what is there so surprising in that?" said Monclair; "after all, grief is not eternal! After the rain comes the sunshine! And Jarnonville's coming here proves that he is no longer a foe to pleasure."

"I tell you, messieurs," said the Baron de Montrevert, shaking his head with an air of importance, "that a change in humor, in disposition, never happens without a cause."

"Well! do you know what the cause is, Montrevert?" inquired Sénange.

"Oh! perhaps! perhaps!"

"He knows it, messieurs, he is going to tell us what it is. Speak, my dear fellow, speak, we will not lose a syllable!"

"I will tell you, messieurs, what someone told me--the reports that are current; I vouch for nothing, however."

"The preamble is perfect! Come down to the facts, advocate."

"Well! this is what people say: for several months past, Jarnonville has been a frequent visitor at the Hôtel de Marvejols, where the young countess lives."

"Oh! the deuce! is it so? And what does he go there for?"

"Why, it seems to me to be very easy to guess; he goes to see our friend Léodgard's wife."

"The bath keeper's daughter!"

"Hush! you wretch! Suppose Léodgard should hear you! He will not allow anyone to speak of his wife, either kindly or unkindly. Only a few days ago, the young Vicomte de Saunois ventured in his presence to jest about ill-assorted marriages; he threw his glove in his face, and the next morning he killed Saunois by running him through with his sword."

"What do we care for all that?--Let us return to Jarnonville; so he goes to pay court to the little countess, eh?"

"I cannot tell you absolutely why he goes to the Hôtel de Marvejols, but he goes there very often; and they say that, despite her low birth, this young countess is extremely pretty."

"Indeed!"

"And it is since Jarnonville has been going to see that young woman that his melancholy has vanished, that his eyes have lost their savage expression."

"And that he has worn a blue cloak! Ha! ha! this is delicious!--Pardieu! messeigneurs, I consider it most diverting that this ill-tamed ex-bear should hunt on Léodgard's preserves, who, by the way, has become far from agreeable since he became rich!"

"Oh! that would be a most excellent joke!"

"It is possible to hunt on another part of his domains," said Sénange, playing with his moustache; "but I take that task upon myself."

"Ah! is it so?" rejoined the young men, laughingly; "it is evident that the Comte de Marvejols is beset on all sides."

The two persons who were the subjects of this conversation were in the garden at the time. Léodgard, pausing beside a basin surrounded by flowers, with which lights of all colors were mingled, gazed gloomily at the reflection of the hyacinths and lilies in the water; it is probable that he did not appreciate the charm of that portion of the garden, where the water cooled the air, where the illuminations were not so brilliant as to tire the eye; yet he remained there, musing, lost in thought.

Jarnonville, after walking through the salons without meeting the Comte de Marvejols, had also stepped into the garden; for it was with no intention of taking part in the thousand and one amusements which Camilla's guests anticipated that the chevalier had accepted the courtesan's invitation. But since he had acquired the habit of visiting the young countess, since he had been able to admire and caress the charming little Blanche, who, while recalling the child he had lost, had transformed his sombre humor into a not ungracious melancholy, and had opened his heart to gentler sensations, Jarnonville had more than once heard Bathilde express her regret that Léodgard did not know his daughter. And the chevalier, who too believed that it was impossible to know Blanche without loving her, had said to himself:

"If Léodgard should see the child, he would long to see her again, and the little angel would bring him back to that young wife who is so worthy of his love."

But in order that Léodgard should wish to see his daughter, it was necessary to speak to him of her, to arouse in his heart a desire to know her; and for that it was necessary to see him.

Jarnonville had been several times to the little house in Rue de Bretonvilliers; but he had never succeeded in finding Léodgard, who was absent or was unwilling to receive him.

Then it was that Camilla's invitation reached the chevalier. He knew that Léodgard could not fail to attend a fête given by his mistress, and the reader will understand the purpose which had led the chevalier thither.

At the end of a path Jarnonville found himself in the circle of which the basin formed the centre. He saw before him the man he was seeking, and, as Léodgard did not see him, he went to him and touched his arm gently.

"You seem very pensive in the midst of so hilarious a gathering, Comte de Marvejols!"

Léodgard started; but on recognizing Jarnonville, he replied, with an air of surprise:

"Ah! is it you, Jarnonville? How does it happen that we see you at this fête? You have not been seen lately at any card party, or in any affray with the rabble. People say that you are becoming virtuous! that you are no longer the mischief-maker, the intrepid swordsman, of the old days! It is too bad, i' faith! it is too bad! and for my part, I regret the Black Chevalier, with his rough hand and his lusty blows with sword and dagger!"

"My sword and dagger will never fail to respond to a friend's call, and will strike, I trust, as lusty blows as of old! But I must needs know first whether the cause that I defend be just, or whether I am asked to fight to forward some despicable intrigue."

Léodgard drew his heavy eyebrows together, and said in an ironical tone:

"You see, chevalier, you are no longer the same man. You desire now to make inquiries before you fight! Whereas, formerly, you would throw yourself head foremost into the mêlée, without disturbing yourself concerning the motive of the quarrel, and sometimes dealing blows on both sides. You were admirable then."

"Perhaps so.--Yes, I do not deny that I am no longer the same. The hatred that I once felt for the whole human race has vanished and given place to gentler sentiments. When I felt my heart beat again, I realized that all sensibility had not died within me. I have found my heart anew, I have felt sensations which I never expected again to know. And the gloom and despair which consumed me are transformed into touching memories."

"What can have produced this miraculous change in you, I pray to know?"

"A child!"

"A child?"

"Yes. The loss of my daughter made me the man you described so well just now. Another child--an angel like the first--has restored me to myself. This child is not mine; but she is so affectionate, so lovable! Dear little one! she smiles at my caresses, she already manifests affection for me, and I imagine that my own daughter is given back to me!"

"Who is this marvellous child, pray?"

"Yours, count. I am speaking of your daughter, your little Blanche.--Ah! I am entitled to love her, to lavish my affection upon her, for I, representing your father, had the honor to act as her godfather. I tell you again, your daughter is an angel; it is not only the beauty of her features that people admire in her; young as she is, her eyes already have a sweet and gentle expression which charms, attracts one, while her pure and noble brow denotes unusual intelligence!--Do you not wish to see her, count? Will you never imprint a kiss on that angel's brow? You have no suspicion that you possess such a treasure; but I am convinced that to see her for an instant will suffice to make you love her?"

"Was it to tell me all this, to speak to me of that child, that you came hither, chevalier?" asked Léodgard, with a sombre expression.

"You have said it, count: it was for that purpose that I came to this festivity. I was anxious to see you; I had been to your house several times in vain; I thought that I should be more fortunate here."

"If that is so, I regret that you have taken so much trouble. You would have done better not to mix with a company of courtesans and rakes. Frankly, it is not becoming in a man who has renounced Satan."

"Is this the only reply that I can obtain from you, count? Will you not go once at least to see and embrace your daughter? Ah! if you had seen her! if her eyes had rested on yours! if her soft little voice had fallen on your ears! You would agree that all that I have said is far below the truth."

"Chevalier, do not recur to this subject. It is useless for you to attempt to lead me back to a person--whom I do not choose to see. For I understand that the little girl is only a pretext; you talk to me of the child, in order to reconcile me with the mother."

"And if that were true, count? The time is not so far away when I met you one night keeping watch under her windows. Oh! then she was an angel, you adored her, you could not live without her! and to-day----"

"Enough, Jarnonville, enough!"

Léodgard raised his voice as he uttered these last words in an angry tone; and several of the guests, who happened to be walking in that part of the garden, hurried to the spot, thinking that a quarrel was on.

"What is it, messieurs, what's the matter?" asked the Baron de Montrevert, who was one of the first to arrive. "Are you at odds here? What! two excellent friends--Léodgard and the Sire de Jarnonville!"

"No matter!" cried Sénange; "if you need seconds, here we are!"

"But first you must tell us the cause of your falling-out."

"You are mistaken, my masters!" rejoined Léodgard, calm once more. "There is neither quarrel nor falling-out between us; I was talking with the chevalier, and I may have become a little heated and have raised my voice. But we have no inclination to fight, for we have no reason to cease to be friends."

"Oh! that's a pity!" muttered Monclair, walking away. "It would have amused me to see them cross swords."

"He did not choose to tell us the truth," said Montrevert, leading his friends away. "But we are not his dupes. He probably has got wind of Jarnonville's visits to his wife, and he was saying two words to him on the subject."

"In that case, they will fight at the first opportunity."

"That is inevitable!"

"Ah! here is Flavia!"

"And pretty Nadina! Come with us for a stroll, enchantresses!"

The two courtesans to whom these words were addressed turned back toward the salons, saying:

"No, indeed, we will not walk in the gardens with you, seigneurs; you have too pronounced a penchant for the dark paths."

"Besides, I want to dance!" said little Nadina, who was rather stout for her short stature, but who carried her premature embonpoint with such graceful abandon and such a saucy expression that the men felt drawn toward the _Little Ball_, a sobriquet which her female friends had given her.

"She wants to dance, in order to melt her fat!" whispered Flavia to one of the gentlemen.

"Why so? for my part, I think her very comely as she is."

"Bah! one cannot see any figure!"

"I assure you that one can see some very pretty things!"

"As if men knew anything about it!"

"Ah! that remark is characteristic of a woman! They try to captivate, to seduce men, and then they declare that men are not capable of judging them!"

"Messeigneurs," said Camilla, approaching a group of gentlemen, among whom she saw Léodgard and Sénange, "the supper is served under the great arbor of lilacs yonder. If it is your pleasure to serve us as cupbearers, we will take our places at the table.--Come, mesdames."

As she spoke, the fair courtesan led her friends away, and they ran like a swarm of butterflies in the direction of the supper table.

"On my honor, that Spanish costume is marvellously becoming to Camilla!" said Sénange, exalted to the seventh heaven by a smile which the courtesan had bestowed upon him. "I do not believe that it is possible to find a more fascinating woman.--I am going to supper."

"Camilla is certainly very good-looking; I do justice to her attractions," said Montrevert, remaining behind to chat with a number of young men. "But as for saying that there is no more fascinating woman--Sénange goes too far! What would he say if he had seen the young Marquise de Santoval? Ah! she is what I call a beauty that eclipses all others! And, with all Camilla's charms, I will bet that no one would notice her if she stood beside the marchioness!"

"Who is this Marquise de Santoval? where does she come from?" asked Monclair.

"It is plain that you spend all your time in wine shops, Monclair; otherwise, you would know that the Marquis de Santoval married Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin, the daughter of an illustrious family."

"Oh, yes! I remember now.--And it is this young woman who is so beautiful, you say?"

"Montrevert does not exaggerate," said La Valteline. "A few days ago, I was at a ball at Madame de Beaumont's, and the young Marquise de Santoval was there. Her entrance caused a sensation; the whole salon joined in a cry of admiration!--That young woman turned everybody's head. In addition to her beauty, there is an expression on her face which it is impossible to describe--coquetry, pride, languor, irony--and the combination is simply ravishing!"

"Well, well! it would seem that this Santoval is a very lucky man!"

"He is far too much so, messieurs! He is in great danger!"

"The devil! we must take precautions, then. For this husband is a veritable wild boar, supplied with nasty tusks."

"Let us go to supper, messieurs."

"Let us go to supper."

The young men walked away; but Léodgard, who had overheard them, remained seated on a bench under the trees, saying thoughtfully to himself:

"Ah! this Marquise de Santoval, who is said to be so beautiful, is Valentine--the woman whom I was to marry! I hardly noticed her, then! I am curious to know if they tell the truth.--And then, it will distract me, and I need distraction."

And the count walked slowly toward the place where the company was assembled.

As for Jarnonville, he had long since left the courtesan's abode, sorely depressed because his attempt to arouse Léodgard's interest had proved fruitless.