Chapter XLII: The Plot Thickens

During the first few weeks after the ball given by the foreign prince, Léodgard tried to forget Valentine's image, to banish her from his mind; he said to himself that it would be madness on his part to fall in love with a woman whose husband he had refused to be.

But the young marchioness's tender and expressive eyes were not the kind that one easily forgets, especially when they have seemed to say to one:

"Love me, I insist upon it!"

Tired of fighting against a sentiment which gave him no rest, Léodgard said to himself at last:

"Well! I will love this woman!--She will love me in return, I am certain of it; I saw it in her eyes. What do the obstacles that lie between us matter to me? Two lovers, when they understand each other, admit no obstacles!--She does not love this Marquis de Santoval; I saw that too. There are things which a glance suffices to reveal to us.--Now, I wish to be in Valentine's company again. I will go wherever she is likely to be; ere long she will cease to doubt my love. Yes, that woman shall be mine. I will trample under my feet anyone who may seek to prevent me from obtaining her."

A few days later, a brilliant reception was given by a great personage. Léodgard attended; he wore a costume the magnificence of which heightened the beauty of his face and his soldierly figure. A diamond of great value held the plumes that waved above his cap; his sword hilt and the aglets that glistened on his shoulders were incrusted with gold and precious stones.

As he passed, the Comte de Marvejols might have gathered more than one loving glance bestowed upon him by lovely and noble dames, whose conquest many a cavalier struggled to achieve. But Léodgard paid no attention to them; he had come there for but one woman--all others were indifferent to him; he passed unscathed through the fire of their glances.

At last he spied her who engrossed all his thoughts.

Valentine was seated among a number of ladies of the court, whom she dominated by the power of her charms as the majestic oak dominates the slender saplings that surround it.

The young marchioness's toilet was noble in its simplicity; it was less ornate than those of her neighbors, and yet hers was the one that was observed and admired; for veritable beauty imparts a charm to everything that it wears.

Léodgard stopped in front of Valentine and fastened his eyes upon her; he made no attempt to conceal the admiration she aroused in him.

Valentine, on her side, had perceived Léodgard at once, and a faint smile played about her lips, while her eyes expressed the keenest satisfaction.

Léodgard stood on the same spot, gazing at Valentine longer than strict propriety permitted. But suddenly the marchioness's lovely eyes ceased to respond to his burning glances, and seemed, on the contrary, to do their utmost to avoid them.

He sought to discover the cause of the change and soon succeeded: as he turned his head, he saw the Marquis de Santoval standing within a few steps and watching what was taking place.

The Comte de Marvejols decided, albeit regretfully, to leave his position. He did not lose sight of Valentine, however; he waited, hoping and seeking constantly to approach her; but Monsieur de Santoval remained near his wife; when Léodgard thought that he had gone into another room, he suddenly reappeared like a ghost, like a threatening spectre; for his brow was dark, and his eyes emitted ominous flashes which seemed the precursors of a violent storm.

At last the marchioness left her seat, to walk through the salons on her husband's arm. Seizing a moment when they were surrounded by people, Léodgard approached Valentine and said in her ear:

"I am dying with love for you, madame!"

"It is very late!" murmured the young woman, with a glance of flame at him who had addressed her.

"What? what did you say, madame?" demanded the Marquis de Santoval, turning to his wife.

"I said that it was very late, monsieur."

"You are right, madame; it is time to leave this function, which, in truth, offers little in the way of recreation."

The marquis took Valentine away; and Léodgard, as soon as he was certain that they had left the party, made haste to follow their example.

But Valentine knew that he loved her, and the words that she had let fall were not calculated to discourage him, even if they had not been accompanied by a soft glance.

A few days later, a ball was given by one of the king's favorites. Léodgard did not fail to attend, but in vain did he wander through the salons looking for her whom he burned to see again. The Marquis de Santoval and his wife did not appear; they had been invited, however; for the noble duke who gave the fête expressed more than once his disappointment that the lovely marchioness was not among his guests.

Several parties, several large receptions followed, and Léodgard did not miss one; but she whom he always hoped to meet did not appear.

The time passed; and love, which is intensified by separation, so long as it has not been rewarded, became every day more violent in Léodgard's heart.

It was evident that the Marquis de Santoval was jealous, that he had noticed the impassioned glances which the Comte de Marvejols had bestowed on his wife and, above all, a certain expression of satisfaction, of triumph, that shone in Valentine's eyes while Léodgard made himself drunk with love by gazing at her.

To prevent a repetition of that pantomime, the husband could devise no better means than to cease taking his wife into society.

But Léodgard said to himself that Valentine was not the woman to allow herself to be sequestered, to live without the pleasures suited to her years. In that case, it must be she herself who did not choose to be thrown with him again. Was it because she detested him? Was it not rather because she was afraid that she might love him?

"Her efforts will be vain; I will see her!" thought Léodgard; "I will find a way to approach her; indeed, her soft glances seemed to say that that would not displease her."

Several more weeks passed. At last Léodgard, who continued to go into society, found himself one evening in the same room with the Marquis de Santoval and his wife. There was a melancholy, melting expression on Valentine's features, which was not habitual to them; but her beauty was far from being diminished by the soft languor that dimmed the brilliancy of her eyes; on the contrary, their power was increased thereby.

Léodgard did not dissemble his sensations when he saw the marchioness again. She looked at him only an instant, but in the glance that she gave him there was the wherewithal to overturn the reason of the most virtuous man; and Léodgard was mad with love already.

But the Marquis de Santoval did not leave his wife for an instant; it was impossible for the most enterprising lover to say a word to her in secret, for there was no crowd there to facilitate a private interview.

The Comte de Marvejols was obliged, therefore, to allow the marchioness to go away without exchanging a single word with her. But he no longer doubted that she was alive to his passion, and he determined to resort to other methods of seeing her.

The Hôtel de Santoval was situated on Rue Sainte-Avoie. During the next few days, Léodgard passed and repassed that hôtel, the great gate of which was always closed. He renewed the occupation of seducer, which he had abandoned of late; but the servants who went in and out had one and all a surly air of the sort that does not inspire confidence; they either answered by monosyllables the questions that were put to them, or walked away without answering at all. The concierge, too, who sometimes appeared for a moment in the gateway, had a crabbed look far from encouraging to lovers.

"By hell! I must find a way to send the lovely Valentine a note!" said Léodgard to himself, stamping the ground in vexation.

Then as his eye happened to fall on a wretched little wine shop, within a gunshot of the Hôtel de Santoval, he decided to enter.

Although enveloped in an immense brown cloak, it was easy to recognize a _grand seigneur_ in the individual who entered the dark and smoky common room of the wine shop; so that the proprietor, who was not in the habit of receiving such guests, outdid himself in salutations, and invited Léodgard to walk into a small room behind his shop, where he could be alone, if such were his pleasure.

But Léodgard, preferring not to lose sight of the street and of Valentine's abode, took his seat at a table near the window, saying:

"I am very comfortable here; I will not move."

"What shall I serve monsieur?"

"A bottle of your best wine."

The host bowed again; for in those days wine served in bottles was not common, and was correspondingly dear. Only noblemen or rich merchants indulged in that luxury at wine shops.

The room in which Léodgard was seated contained but few drinkers at that moment. At the rear, two old soldiers were discussing their campaigns over their wine; there were also three workmen, who were breakfasting very frugally and singing snatches of ballads.

The latter soon left the wine shop, to return to their work. A few moments later, two young men arrived; their attire was very modest, but they talked very loudly.

As they made their entrance into the room, the shorter one exclaimed:

"Ah! ten thousand names of devils! It isn't so brilliant here as at the famous tavern of the Loup de Mer--eh, Plumard? This place is a regular hole!"

"It's large enough for what we have to spend!" muttered the second clerk, removing his cap to scratch the bit of plaster which was still attached to his scalp, and which, by dint of patience and by working with his nails, he had succeeded in reducing to about the size of a crown piece.

Bahuchet--the reader will ere this have recognized the two Basochians--approached the table next to Léodgard's, saying:

"Let us sit here, my dear boy; we shall be very comfortable here; we shall be able to see a little something--that is, if our proximity does not annoy his lordship?"

These last words were addressed to the count, who, having pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes, simply moved his head; whereupon the two clerks took their seats at the next table.

"What shall I serve you, gentlemen?" the host asked the new-comers.

"He calls us _gentlemen_!" muttered Plumard.

"The shrewd knave flatters us, hoping to induce us to spend more; but he will have nothing to show for his compliments and his reverences!--We have no choice--eleven sous between us; that is rather meagre, but we can't go beyond it!"

The host was still waiting. Bahuchet beckoned to him to come nearer.

"Listen carefully, good host, and do not exceed our order; we came here simply to eat a morsel--between our meals. Serve us three sous' worth of bread, six of wine, and two of good meat."

The host made a wry face and replaced his cap on his head.

"What kind of good meat do you expect me to serve for two sous?" he retorted.--"Make it six at least, messieurs, and you shall have a dish."

"We will not add a single denier--we have our reasons for it. Go, cabaretier, and serve it hot."

"Hot! you will have cheese!--I am not in the habit of serving it hot!"

"Ah! poor Bahuchet! where are your days of bluster?" muttered Plumard, digging his nails into his plaster.

"What would you have, Plumard? The days follow, but do not resemble one another!--Your skull is the only thing that persists in not changing; it is infernally obstinate about it."

"Do you remember, Bahuchet, when we regaled ourselves on the costume of my uncle the clothes dealer?--Ha! ha! thirty pistoles--no less; and what a spree we had at Le Roule, for two or three days!"

"I should say so; they had to take you to the hospital; you nearly died of indigestion.--Those were the good times!"

"To be sure, that great idiot of a Gascon chevalier was the cause of our having a scene with my uncle afterward!"

"Yes, but your uncle could never make us give back the money.--Ah! here comes our banquet. Fichtre! the good meat they are bringing can be smelt a long way off!"

"It's cheese--very well done."

The two clerks concluded to attack their breakfast. They stuffed themselves with bread and cheese. But after a moment Bahuchet observed, with a sigh:

"Ah! what a pity that Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin is married! She used to give me famous commissions! and she paid handsomely."

Léodgard, who up to this time had heard the lamentations of his two neighbors, but had paid no heed to them, suddenly became very attentive and did not lose a word of what followed; for Valentine's name had reached his ears, and nothing more was needed to arouse his curiosity.

"Oh, yes!" replied Plumard, making a wry face as he tasted the wine that had been brought them; "you used to receive well-filled purses in those days; and you used to treat me. I remember the commission about the white plume; I came near receiving a cudgelling."

"I would run the risk often now, to obtain the wherewithal to pay for a sumptuous repast."

"Why do you not go to the Hôtel de Mongarcin any more?"

"I do go there sometimes, as Maître Bourdinard, our employer, is still Madame de Ravenelle's solicitor and has charge of her affairs. But Mademoiselle Valentine doesn't live with her aunt since she married the Marquis de Santoval."

"The result being that you never see her."

"Faith! the other day the old aunt came within an ace of sending me to her niece to obtain her signature to a document concerning the sale of a piece of real estate; but some formalities had been omitted, and I had to carry the document back to the office, where they prepared another.--Sacrebleu! what beastly wine!"

"Messieurs," said Léodgard, turning to his neighbors, but without removing his hat, which partly concealed his face, "would you like to taste this? you may not think it bad."

And the count raised the bottle to fill the two clerks' goblets. They both made a gesture of surprise, which ended in the most gracious of smiles. They did not wait to be asked twice to hold their goblets.

"Really, my gentleman, we are deeply touched by your courtesy!" said Bahuchet, losing no time in emptying his goblet.

"Excellent! it is excellent!" cried Plumard, who would have been glad to salute his generous neighbor without uncovering his head, and who constantly put his hand to his cap, taking pains to reveal only half of his forehead.

"If you like it, you must fill again.--Holà! landlord, two more bottles!"

"Ah! my dear fellow," Plumard whispered in his comrade's ear, "what an agreeable gentleman! he has ordered two more bottles! we evidently have made a very favorable impression on him."

"Oh! there is something behind all this," Bahuchet replied, with a half-smile; "this young nobleman does not look to me like a fool, or a new arrival in Paris. If he treats us so generously, it means that he has need of us! But I snap my fingers at him! Let us accept his treat first, and let us not be bashful. It seems to me that I know this young dandy; and you, Plumard?"

"How do you expect me to recognize him? I can see only the end of his nose."

"Messieurs," said Léodgard, "would you not like to take something besides cheese with your wine?--Look you, I know what young men are; their purses are not always well filled."

"That is true!" said Plumard; "we will not play at pride with you, seigneur; we will admit frankly that we have but eleven sous; to be sure, we are clerks to Maître Bourdinard, solicitor, but he pays so little."

"In that case, allow me to offer you some breakfast."

"You invite us so graciously, that we cannot refuse."

"Landlord, bring us some ham, an omelet, cutlets--in short, the best of everything that you have!"

The tavern keeper stared in amazement at Léodgard and the two clerks; but the count had tossed a gold piece on the table, and such things were seen so rarely in that poor shop that the host took it up, gazed at it a long while, and rang it on the table to be sure that he was not mistaken.

Reassured at last with respect to the quality of the metal, he tossed his cap in the air and ran off to his kitchen, overturning all the tables that stood in his path.

The breakfast was soon brought. Léodgard ate something, so that his conduct might seem less extraordinary to his guests, whose glasses he was careful to fill frequently; and as they never refused, they were speedily in the best of humors. But Plumard did not carry his wine so well as his friend; he began to find difficulty in expressing himself, while Bahuchet was only a little giddy.

Léodgard leaned toward the latter and said to him in an undertone:

"If I should ask a service at your hands, and should offer to pay for it its weight in gold, should you be inclined to render it?"

"Altogether inclined, my gentleman; indeed, I am the one who would be greatly obliged. But move away a little, if you please; it is unnecessary that my comrade should hear you; when there is money to be earned, I prefer not to share it. To be sure, if he should hear now, he wouldn't understand. He is drunk! he doesn't know how to drink!"

The count pushed his seat away, and Bahuchet moved nearer to him. Plumard, his goblet having been filled once more, emptied it and began to talk to himself.

"Do you know the Marquis de Santoval's young wife?" asked Léodgard, taking pains to speak so that only Bahuchet could hear.

"Yes, seigneur, yes; but----"

"Your master attends to her aunt's business?"

"He does."

"You have a document to carry to Madame de Ravenelle's niece for her signature?"

"I say--you know that?"

"When you carry that document, you can take charge of a letter which I will give you for the marchioness; but you must hand that letter to no one but herself, and without allowing any other person to see you."

"Very good; I understand."

"Will you find a way to perform this commission?"

"Will I find a way! Never fear, I have done more difficult things."

"The husband must not suspect anything."

"He will know nothing about it."

"And you will try to get a reply. If she will not write one, remember exactly what she says to you."

"Word for word."

"Now, can you do all this to-day?"

"To-day? impossible! the document has to be copied; but to-morrow--to-morrow, I can go to the Hôtel de Santoval."

"To-morrow, then, at one o'clock in the afternoon, I will await you here, I will give you my letter, and you will return here and report to me the result of your mission.--See, take this money; I will give you as much more if you serve me adroitly and with discretion!"

"You will be content with me, my gentleman, for I am most desirous to serve you often.--Pardon, I think that I cannot be mistaken--you are the Comte de Marvejols?"

"Possibly--but try to forget it; I do not wish to be known here, or by your comrade."

"Never fear, monseigneur; I no longer know you."

"Until to-morrow, then!"

Léodgard left the wine shop. Bahuchet, with the keenest delight, counted the gold pieces which he held in his hand, but carefully concealed them from Plumard, who asked him why their new friend had gone away.

"Because he had business to attend to, had that most excellent gentleman! It seems to me that we too shall do well to leave the table. It is high time to return to the office."

"To the office? what! do you intend to work to-day?"

"Why not? Come, Plumard, off we go, my boy! The air will do you good."

And Bahuchet led his comrade from the shop; but when they were in the street, as Plumard stumbled at every step instead of going forward, Bahuchet deposited him on a stone bench, and hastened back alone to the solicitor's office.

The next day, Léodgard and the little clerk arrived at the wine shop at almost the same moment. The former handed Bahuchet the note for Valentine which he had prepared; and the clerk, who had had no breakfast, promised to perform his mission adroitly.

Valentine was alone in her bedroom, buried in meditation. Her brow was stern, and the young woman's thoughts were certainly not of a frivolous description. She did not hear her maid, who had just entered the room, until she said to her:

"A young clerk is here, and wishes to know if madame will receive him. He is sent by Madame de Ravenelle. I recognize him--it is the same young man to whom madame intrusted a white plume, before her marriage; it is Monsieur Bahuchet."

"Bahuchet!" cried Valentine, in whose mind that name evoked a thousand memories. "Is that little fellow here?"

"Yes, madame."

"Admit him at once."

The little Basochian was ushered into the room; he bent himself double as he entered, retaining, however, the mocking, self-sufficient air which was customary with him, and which was intensified at that moment by the importance of the commission with which he was charged.

"My aunt sends you to me, you say, monsieur?" said Valentine, gazing fixedly at the messenger. "What does she want? or rather, with what message are you intrusted?"

"Madame, it is a matter of a parcel of real estate--a house that belonged to a second cousin on your mother's side; the said cousin having deceased without issue, and the estate descending to her collateral heirs----"

"Enough, enough, monsieur, I beg you! I understand nothing about inheritances, and I do not care to have my brain confused with all these details, which I find horribly wearisome. Come to the point. What am I to sign? a power of attorney?--Come, tell me quickly!"

"I was coming to the point, madame. Yes, I have a document in my pocket, which you will be good enough to sign, perhaps; but not until you have first read it carefully, for one should never sign anything without reading it."

Bahuchet accompanied his words with such an expressive pantomime, that it was impossible for Valentine not to understand that the little clerk had another message for her, which he dared not deliver before a third person. Her face brightened at once, and she said to the girl:

"Miretta, keep a close watch, be on your guard; and if you hear Monsieur de Santoval coming, move a chair.--And now, Monsieur Bahuchet, explain yourself; no more grimaces. What have you to say to me?"

"Does madame wish that I--before her femme de chambre?"

"I have no secrets from her. Speak at once."

After casting a glance about the room, Bahuchet took from his pocket the letter he had concealed there.

"Madame, the document to be signed was only a pretext to gain access to you. But here is a note which a young and handsome cavalier bade me hand you in secret.--Please to read it; he is waiting for me close by, and hopes for an answer."

Valentine took the letter and read it at once. An expression of joy, of triumph, lighted up her face. The little clerk had respectfully walked away, and could not hear the words which the marchioness, after reading the note, muttered between her teeth:

"Aha! monsieur le comte! you ask for a rendezvous! You are very impatient, now! But you go too fast!"

She beckoned Bahuchet to her side.

"Where was this note given to you?"

"Near by--at a wine shop."

"Do you know the person who gave it to you?"

"No, madame; but it was easy to guess that he was a nobleman."

"And he is waiting for you now?"

"Yes, madame; at the same place where he gave me his letter. What reply shall I take to him?"

"None."

"What, madame! no letter, and no word?"

"You will simply tell him that I smiled when I read his letter, and that I placed it--here."

Valentine, as she spoke, slipped the letter into her bosom.

At that moment, Miretta hurriedly moved a chair.

"My husband is coming--let me have the paper--quickly!"

"Here it is, madame; also a quill and an inkhorn; we always have them about us.--Omit one of your baptismal names," he added, in an undertone; "that will give me a pretext for coming again, and I fancy that it may be necessary."

The Marquis de Santoval entered his wife's room and scrutinized the little clerk, who bowed to the floor. The marquis paused in the middle of the room, saying:

"I disturb you, madame; you have visitors."

"Not at all, monsieur. My aunt, Madame de Ravenelle, has sent her solicitor's clerk with this document for me to sign. It is nothing very interesting, as you see--the sale of an old house, I believe, is it not?"

Bahuchet hastened to reply in his shrill falsetto:

"Yes, madame, the sale of the estate described herein, situated on Rue de la Parcheminerie, which street takes its name from the guild of workmen who once lived there, as the custom formerly was; so that we have Rues de la Ferronnerie, de la Heaumerie, de la Coutellerie, and many others. But as Paris increased in size----"

"Very good, young man, very good," said the marquis; "madame has signed, I believe?"

"Yes, monsieur le marquis, that is true; and I have only to take my leave."

And the little clerk pocketed the deed, saluted, and left the room.

Monsieur de Santoval remained for some time talking with his wife. But when he had left her, he called his valet and said:

"Did you see a very small man, with his nose in the air, who went away from the house not long ago?"

"Yes, monsieur le marquis."

"If he comes again to speak with madame, follow him when he goes away; see where he goes, and ascertain whether he speaks to anybody on leaving here. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, monsieur le marquis; and your orders shall be carried out."

"I rely upon it; for I am well aware of your zeal and intelligence."