[1] General collection of the Œuvres et Facéties de Tabarin, Paris, 1725.
This sally was received with the applause and laughter of the assembled crowd, among whom might undoubtedly be found some tireurs de laine, who plied their trade while laughing still louder than their neighbors.
Urbain did not share the general hilarity; however, he lent his ear to a new scene which the buffoon was playing. Tabarin, seeking to introduce himself to the presence of his Isabelle, whom Cascandre kept from sight as an old duenna, found no better expedient than to disguise himself as a woman, and under this costume to seek a tête-à-tête with his mistress. The harlequin mask which Tabarin wore under his feminine costume lent a thousand absurdities which evoked anew the gayety of the crowd and in which decency was not always scrupulously observed; but the public of the Pont-Neuf was not easily abashed, and the women of good standing who viewed this spectacle contented themselves with spreading their fans before their eyes and crying,—
"What unbecoming, scandalous actions; they should at least forbid these gestures."
Urbain, watching the grotesque disguise of the buffoon, conceived a plan. Why should he not use the same means to introduce himself into the barber's house? Was it not Love himself who taught him this strategy by making him a witness of this scene of Tabarin's at the moment when he was racking his brain to find out a way of approaching Blanche.
Whether it were Love, Destiny, or a chance which had led our lover, he was none the less delighted with his idea, and, giving a thousand thanks to Tabarin, he thought of nothing but putting it into execution. Immediately, pushing from right to left, he retired from the crowd. Urbain elbowed a grisette, twisted an old woman's cloak, crushed the foot of a little woman who, supported on the arm of a young student, had slipped among the crowd; but, insensible to the injuries which he inflicted, he continued to make his way and, finding himself free at last, ran to his dwelling without stopping to take breath.
Arrived there the young bachelor opened the drawer of a little walnut-wood secretary and counted his money, for in every affair it is necessary to have recourse to this cursed money in order to abolish obstacles and arrive more quickly at the end which one has in view. His treasury held only sixteen livres tournois, which is very little and would not, in our day, introduce one into the boudoir of a Lais; but when beauty is accompanied by innocence access is much easier.
Besides Urbain would not take the costume of a grand lady. On the contrary he wished to disguise himself as a peasant; his awkwardness in that costume would be less noticeable. He looked at himself in his little glass. No beard, no whiskers, not the smallest hair on his chin. Urbain jumped for joy; although some days previously he had sighed to have mustaches, today he wished to change into a girl. He was delighted also at not being very tall, and exclaimed to himself, while looking at his feet and hands which were small,—
"How fortunate it is that I'm not a strong, robust, fine man!"
He had only to bestir himself to get the necessary clothing. Urbain took his crown and went to a second-hand clothier, where he asked for a dress for a servant from the country, who, he said, was about his height. They showed him all that constituted the feminine costume, petticoat, corset, apron, cap, neckerchief, shoes; they made him pay three times their value, but our young man was delighted.
These little arrangements having taken some time, Urbain went to dinner. Then, at the close of day, he returned home with his little parcel under his arm, as pleased as Jason carrying the Golden Fleece, as Pluto ravishing Proserpine, as Apollo tearing off the skin of the Python, as Hercules bearing off the Golden Apples from the garden of the Hesperides, or as Paris abducting the wife of Menelas,—and certainly all of those men should have been very well pleased.
Arrived in his chamber our lover rubbed his flint, for at that time nothing was known of sulphur matches. Having procured a light he immediately proceeded to change his state, keeping of his masculine costume only the garment which he judged to be very necessary in order not to freeze under his feminine skirt. Urbain put on the skirt, then the corset, which he endeavored to lace, but he did it very badly; he drew one string instead of another, he ripped and pulled, he pricked himself. The poor boy was in despair, he looked at himself in his little glass and saw well that all was not right; he never should come to the end. What could he do? Only a woman knows all the mysteries of the feminine toilet. It was necessary, then, to beg some woman to come to his aid, and he recalled that on the story below him lodged an old bachelor whose servant, polite and intelligent, always made him a graceful curtsey. Immediately Urbain, holding as well as he could the skirt and the corset, ran down stairs as quickly as possible and rang his neighbor's bell. The servant opened the door, and burst into a shout of laughter on seeing this person, half man, half woman; but no matter how he's dressed a pretty boy of nineteen is always interesting, and Urbain's voice was very touching as he said to the maid,—
"Ah, mademoiselle, I'm very much in doubt. I wish to dress myself as a woman, and I shall never come to the end. Would you be so amiable as to help me for a moment?"
"Very willingly," answered the big girl and, without allowing him to beg further, she followed Urbain to his room, where she laughed still more on seeing how he had put on the costume.
"Are you going to a ball?" said she to him.
"Yes, and I wish to be so well disguised that nobody could recognize me."
"All right; wait, I'll dress you, and I promise you you'll look well."
Immediately she commenced undoing all that Urbain had done. Then she examined the garments.
"They're not very elegant," she said.
"They are all I desire, I wish to be very simply dressed."
"But it's necessary to put another skirt on underneath, that one there isn't enough; you haven't hips like us. We must make some for you. And that cap is horrid! I wouldn't go out in it. I'll go and get you one of mine, and everything else that you need. Oh, I'll make you genteel."
And the young servant, without listening to Urbain's thanks, ran to her room, whence she soon returned carrying all that was necessary to turn a young man into a passable looking girl. The new cap was tried, it suited perfectly. Urbain was delighted; he did not know how to testify his gratitude to the young girl. The latter had not finished his headdress, there were some bows to be made and some hair which must be pushed back. She pinned his kerchief closely about his neck, stopped, looked at him, and exclaimed,—
"Truly that does very well! Such a white skin, such a sweet air; anyone would be deceived in him, that's sure. Wait a moment, till I make a false bust."
"Is it really necessary?"
"Is it necessary—why, what a question!"
"But I'm stifling in this corset."
"Well, so do we stifle in them, but that's nothing; it's necessary to suffer a little if one wants to be genteel. Wait, now, I'll pull your waist in, then I'll make you some hips, and then, ah, yes, that's all that's necessary. It's by those things that one distinguishes the sex."
The young servant kept finding something more to do for Urbain, and the latter, in order to be well disguised, allowed her to do as she pleased with the best grace in the world, repeating every moment,—
"How good you are, mademoiselle, how can I ever prove my gratitude?"
Urbain's toilet had lasted more than two hours, at the end of which time the young girl left him, saying,—
"There, that's done, you don't look a bit like a man now; there's not the least thing to make them doubt that you're a girl. At this hour you can go out. Hold your eyes down, look from the side, take small steps, balance yourself straight from the hips, pinch your mouth, throw your nose up a little high, and you won't go to the end of the street without making a conquest. Good-by, monsieur, when you have need don't hesitate to call me if you please."
The young servant departed, and Urbain, after having studied his walk for a little while, decided at last to venture into the streets of Paris in his new costume.
THE bachelor in cap and crinoline felt sufficiently ill at his ease in the streets of Paris. Although he was protected by the darkness of the night, for there were few who carried lanterns, every time anyone passed near him Urbain was afraid that he had been recognized, and fully expected to be taken by the sergeants of the watch, who would doubtless demand the motive of his disguising himself, and fleece him to the extent of a heavy fine or even perhaps lock him up, if he continued to walk in the guise of a woman in the good city of Paris, where it was only by distributing money in handfuls that one was allowed to pass for what he was not; and, as Urbain had not a crown about him, because when disguising one's self as a woman one does not remember everything, even to the putting of money in his pocket, the young lover felt it necessary to avoid the police; at all events, he did not fear robbers; that was much, then, and may still prove something of a consolation to those who have nothing to lose today.
Little by little Urbain grew more assured; he began to feel accustomed to his costume, and certain compliments addressed to him in passing proved to him that people were entirely deceived as to his sex. Urbain was careful not to respond to the gallantries offered him by a few cavaliers, but contented himself by walking faster, escaping with muddied skirts since he did not yet know very well how to hold them up and they greatly embarrassed him in jumping the streams of dirty water. At length he reached the Rue des Bourdonnaise; and then for the first time he reflected that it was very late to try to introduce himself into the barber's house. There was no likelihood of Marguerite's venturing out at this hour; his disguise would therefore not serve him till the next day. His assumption of feminine raiment had been useless so far; but does a lover make such reflections? Besides, as Urbain had to habituate himself to wearing women's clothes, he was not displeased at making his first essay at night. While thus thinking he rambled past the barber's house, ogling Blanche's windows, and sending her a thousand sighs which she could not hear because she was asleep, and which probably she would not have heard any better had she been awake.
Wholly engrossed in the pleasure of sighing under his lady love's casements, Urbain forgot that while it is natural to see a young man waiting and sighing in the street at night, a solitary woman doing the like evokes many conjectures. All of a sudden the young lover was recalled from his ecstacy by some unknown person who pinched him very hard on the knee, and said to him, in a hoarse, rasping voice,—
"It seems to me, little mother, that the one you're waiting for is something late; if you'll only accept my arm we can go and taste some very fair white wine at the merchant's down yonder. I'm a good customer of his, and he has some comfortable private rooms."
Urbain turned sharply round and perceived at his side a big, jolly fellow, in the garb of a chair porter, who was offering his arm and smiling almost to his ears. Without answering, and little pleased by this adventure, the young man began to run, soon leaving his gallant in the lurch. But his troubles were not to end there; some two hundred steps farther on, he was stopped anew by some pages who essayed to kiss him; he disengaged himself from them as speedily as possible, and resumed his course. Later he was in turn accosted by some students, some lackeys, and some soldiers, several of them pursuing him. Urbain, that he might the better escape them, redoubled his agility, and, in order to run faster, gathered his skirts up about his knees; but the higher he pulled them, the greater ardor these gentlemen evinced in following him.
"Hang it," said Urbain, while running, "I didn't disguise myself as a woman to be pinched by all the pages and lackeys of this city. Men are the devil incorporate; I perceive now that it's more agreeable to wear breeches than petticoats, but tomorrow I shall obtain entrance to Blanche's dwelling. Come, courage—they'll leave me alone perhaps."
And Urbain jumped over the puddles, wound among the streets, perspiring and suffocating in his corset, and under the false bosom with which the young servant had stuffed his chest. Turning down the streets at random as he came to them, in order to escape his pursuers, he did not know himself in what neighborhood he was.
At last, not hearing anyone behind him, he stopped to take breath and recognize the place in which he stood. He had passed the bridges and had reached the great Pré-aux-Clercs, in which they had commenced to build houses and open streets; as they had done in the little Pré-aux-Clercs, which towards the end of the reign of Henri the Fourth was entirely covered with houses and gardens.
"Good; here's the new street they call Rue de Verneuil," said Urbain to himself; "and this is the Chemin-aux-Vaches where they've built the Rue Saint-Dominique; I recognize it. But I'll rest for a minute or two, I'm too far from home to return there immediately—I can't walk any farther. Let's get my breath at least. This neighborhood's deserted, and, as night is far advanced, let's hope I shall make no more conquests." Urbain hoisted his skirts and seated himself on a stone. At the expiration of half an hour, feeling rested, he rose and took the way to his lodgings. He walked quietly along congratulating himself that he should meet no one else when suddenly, in passing by the Rue de Bourbon, he saw four men who were leaving it and who, on sight of him, barred the way.
"Who goes there? So late—and the game is still rising?"
"Upon my honor a charming meeting, it's a little country wench."
"Better still. I'm very fond of peasants."
"What the devil, marquis! a peasant who walks about Paris in the middle of the night. That's an innocence which seems to me tremendously adventurous."
"Come, chevalier, your thoughts are always evil. I'll wager the poor child came to Paris for nothing but to sell her eggs."
"Let her have come for what she will, she sha'n't return without the impress of my mustaches on her pretty lips."
Urbain realized by the language and manners of these gentlemen that they were profligates of the higher classes. Unable to make his escape, for he was surrounded on every side, he tried to relieve himself of them by saying in a falsetto voice,—
"Gentlemen, leave me, I beg of you; I am not what you believe."
But his prayers were unheeded; they pushed him, they surrounded him. Urbain, rendered impatient by these manners, saw no means of regaining his liberty save making himself known, and he cried in his natural voice,—
"Leave me, gentlemen, I repeat to you, you are addressing the wrong person."
These words, pronounced by the young bachelor in a manner which left no doubt as to his sex, produced the effect of a head of Medusa on the four young noblemen: they remained motionless for a moment, then they all burst into a shout of laughter, crying: "It's a man. What a unique adventure."
"Yes, gentlemen, it is a man," answered Urbain. "I hope now that you will allow me to continue on my way."
"As for me, I will no longer oppose you," said one of the strangers.
"Come, Villebelle," resumed another, "let the boy go. You can see very well he's not a girl. I believe, deuce take it, that the wine we've drunk didn't allow the marquis to see our mistake. Isn't that so, chevalier?"
"Yes, yes, indeed, gentlemen," answered the Marquis de Villebelle; for it was that nobleman himself, who, as he had said to the barber, made merry with his friends by seeking spicy adventures in the streets of the capital. With a head excited by wines and liqueurs, the marquis, always the leader in the follies and extravagances committed in these escapades, had pressed Urbain most closely, and on the latter making himself known had continued to hold the young bachelor.
"A moment, my boy," said he, stopping Urbain. "We know you're not a girl, that's all very well; but, by all the devils! in this disguise you must necessarily have had some very comical adventures; recount them to us, 't will amuse us, and afterwards you shall be free to go your way."
"Yes, yes," repeated the others; "he must tell us why he's dressed up like a woman."
"I must really tell this adventure at the cardinal's little levée tomorrow morning.
"And I must tell it to Marion Delorme. I'll have Bois-Robert put it into verse for the court."
"Colletel shall turn it into a comedy. Come, speak on."
"Yet, once more, gentlemen, allow me to go on my way; by what right do you interrogate me? I have nothing to say to you, and I wish to depart."
Saying these words, he endeavored to repulse the marquis anew, but the latter barred the way and drew his sword, crying,—
"Upon my honor, this little goodman is very fractious. It's really too droll. You shall speak or we will make you jump under our swords like a spaniel."
"Insolent fellow," exclaimed Urbain, furiously; "had I a weapon you had not dared to use such language to me, or I should already have chastised you."
"Truly? Oh, hang it. I should like to see how you handle a sword. Come, chevalier, lend him yours."
"What, Villebelle, you wish it?"
"Yes, undoubtedly, a duel with a peasant—that will be a joke."
"Come, gentlemen, make a circle."
So saying, the marquis took a sword from one of his companions and presented it to Urbain.
"Hold," said he, "here's a weapon, defend yourself. Guard yourself, girl-boy, and let us see if you are as brave as you're stubborn."
Urbain seized the sword with ardor and immediately attacked the marquis. Though embarrassed by his petticoats and corset he pressed impetuously on his adversary, who, while parrying his strokes, exclaimed at every moment,—
"Well done; very well done, 'pon my honor! Do you see that, gentlemen?—and that parry—and that thrust. Deuce take it, if he goes on in this way I must use all my skill to—"
A stroke of his adversary's sword, which crossed his forearm, cut short the marquis' words; his sword dropped from his hand, his friends surrounded and supported him, while Urbain himself offered his help.
"It's nothing—a mere nothing," said the marquis; "good-by, my friend, you're a brave fellow, and I'm pleased to have made your acquaintance; although I don't know with whom I've fought this duel. As to you, if some day you find yourself in any embarrassment, if you have a bad business or need a protector, come to my hotel, ask for the Marquis de Villebelle and you will always find me ready to oblige you."
DAWN had followed this night so fruitful in events, during which sleep had not touched Julia's eyes; uneasy, impatient, twenty times had she arisen from her sofa to go to the door and listen, in the belief that she could at last distinguish some sound, some disturbance which indicated the approach of the marquis. But though she had heard every hour strike during this to her apparently endless night, the seductive Villebelle had not yet arrived.
The brow of the young Italian was clouded; her eyes, always vivacious and lustrous, under her change of feeling were now animated by a gloomy fire which boded ill for those who had caused it; Julia's breast was oppressed, sighs escaped her lips and she walked aimlessly and angrily about the apartment, the elegance of which no longer delighted her; she passed the mirrors without even looking at herself in them. Her vanity was most painfully mortified and humiliated, she felt insulted by the indifference of this marquis who had led her to compromise herself thus, and now failed to keep his appointment, whose conduct, in fact, was inexcusable. What woman would pardon such neglect?
To allow herself to be abducted with a good grace, and to be forced to spend the entire night following in solitude. Love will excuse many things, but self-love excuses nothing.
As soon as daylight paled the light of the candles, Julia opened the door of the boudoir and, crossing several rooms, ventured into the corridor.
"I don't believe that I can escape," she said, smiling bitterly; "they have taken too many precautions to keep me; but monsieur le marquis and his worthy agent no doubt imagine me to be in a state of ecstatic happiness at the mere fact of having been brought to this house. Patience! One day perhaps they will know me better."
Julia went downstairs. Although it was in the depth of winter the morning was beautiful; the young Italian left by the peristyle and plunged into the gardens, where she walked up and down the long pathways and gave herself up to her thoughts.
Day had surprised Marcel and his guest sleeping near the table where they had supped. Marcel awoke first, recalled his ideas, and could not conceive why his master had not returned in the night. However, the door-bell hung in the room where they had slept, and the marquis was a man who was able to make himself heard.
Marcel pushed Chaudoreille, who opened his little eyes and gazed about him in astonishment, murmuring,—
"By jingo! I am not at home in the Rue Brise-miche nor in the gambling den on the Rue Vide-Gousset. Where the devil have I passed the night? My purse—where is my purse? I had eight crowns in it."
Chaudoreille quickly seized his purse and counted his money, and Marcel said to him,—
"Come, wake up, why don't you? and remember where you are. Do you think me capable of robbing you?"
"Good-for-nothing that I am! that good fellow Marcel—I remember everything now. Forgive me, my friend; but at the first moment I thought I was at a tavern where I sleep sometimes. What the devil! it's broad daylight."
"Yes, and monsieur le marquis did not come in during the night; I can't understand why."
"It is rather singular, and that poor little thing whom we took so much trouble to bring here, what has she done with herself since yesterday?"
"She's slept the same as we have."
"Ah, my dear Marcel, it's easily seen that you have not studied the sex. Sleep!—a woman who is waiting her vanquisher for the first time? She would sooner keep awake all night than go to sleep."
"But when the vanquisher doesn't come, it's necessary for her to do something."
"Never! never I tell you. Wait, here's an example: I had once arranged a meeting with a baroness on the borders of the Seine, near the Tour de Nesle; that also was in winter, and it was horribly cold. Unforeseen events—a duel—prevented my meeting my beauty. I was wounded, and spent eight days in bed. On the ninth, as I passed the neighborhood indicated, by chance, whom should I see there?"
"Your baroness?"
"Exactly. But, the poor woman, she had been frozen for four days, and that because she would not leave the place of rendezvous."
"Our dame has a good fire and everything that she can desire; she won't freeze while awaiting my master."
"What do you say, Marcel; shall I go upstairs and chat pleasantly with her to distract her mind a little?"
"No, indeed, that would be displeasing to monsieur le marquis."
"Well, you're right; I suppose he might take offence at it."
"Don't you think you had much better go and find the person who brought her here, and tell him that monsieur has not come?"
"No, my dear Marcel; Touquet told me to wait here for the marquis' orders, and I must follow his instructions. If he does not come for a fortnight, it's all the same to me; I shall not leave this. You have a good cellar and plenty of provisions of all kinds, and I find it very comfortable here; only, I must go out and get some cards for the coming night, and I'll teach you some tricks which you don't understand."
"All right, I'll go and get our breakfast ready; then I'll go and inquire whether the young lady wants anything."
"That will do; meanwhile I'll take a turn in the garden and make the acquaintance of your Hercules."
Chaudoreille arranged his mantle, put on his new ruff, which he had bought by chance, which pleased him greatly because it came up to his ears. He brushed up his hat, curled his hair anew, and went into the garden whistling,—
| Viens Aurore, |
| Je t'implore; |
a song which good King Henri had brought into fashion. He paused with an air of defiance before the statues, and made a grimace at those which had frightened him the evening before.
At the end of the pathway he perceived Julia, seated in a thicket which, as yet, was devoid of foliage. The young girl was deep in thought, and had not heard him approach. Chaudoreille reflected, uncertain whether he should approach her or whether he should pass on his way. He concluded to do the first, and drew near her, holding his left hand on his hip, and, throwing his body back, already beginning to smile. Julia raised her luminous eyes; but, on recognizing Chaudoreille, a look of humor flashed over her features, and she said sharply,—
"What do you want with me?"
Chaudoreille paused, arrested in the middle of his smile, and could not find words to answer her.
"Why were you coming to me?" resumed Julia; "is the marquis here, or his confidant, the barber Touquet?"
"No, beautiful lady, I am at present alone with you and Marcel in the house. I have passed the night in watching over your safety, believing that the marquis would arrive."
"Who is this Marcel? the servant who opened the door to us, I suppose."
"Precisely!"
"He has served the marquis for a long time in this house?"
"No, I believe he has only been here four or five years."
"And you, when did you come here?"
"I came yesterday for the first time."
Julia was silent and Chaudoreille resumed after a moment,—
"Are you acquainted with my intimate friend, the barber Touquet?"
"What does that matter to you," asked the young Italian, glancing scornfully at Chaudoreille.
"It's nothing to me, certainly—but, since you named him—he's a very worthy fellow, certainly, and I am honored in being his friend."
"That reflects credit on you," said Julia, smiling ironically.
"Yes, most assuredly," resumed Chaudoreille, who had interpreted Julia's smile to his own advantage, "we have seen fire together. He is brave, I'll give him justice for that; he always conducts himself honorably."
"Always? And has he sometimes spoken to you of his parents?—of his father?"
"My faith, no; I don't believe he was born from the higher classes. In that matter I am infinitely before him; the Chaudoreilles are of very pure blood and have a stock which goes back to Noah. Under Charles the Bald one of my ancestors had himself shaved—"
"What does it matter what your ancestors did? I was talking about the barber's family."
"That's all right; but my friend Touquet has spoken very little to me about them. I believe he is from Lorraine and he has told me that he left his country very early and came very young to Paris, for it is only there that talent has a chance of success; also Touquet has made money, and me, thank God, I am—"
Here Chaudoreille's eyes wandered over his doublet, which was stained in many places, and he covered it with his mantle, resuming,—
"I should be very rich if I had not ruined myself for women."
Julia, who had paid little attention to this last phrase, said to herself,—
"He ought to be rich if he has helped the marquis in all his follies."
"He is not married," resumed Chaudoreille, "although he could now find a good match. His house on the Rue des Bourdonnais is a very pretty property. Perhaps it's because of the little one that he doesn't marry; perhaps he is going to marry her, I shouldn't be surprised."
"What little one," inquired Julia, curiously.
"The young girl whom he has adopted and who is now sixteen years old."
"The barber Touquet has adopted a child?"
"Why, yes, of course he has. Why, if you know him, how is it that you are ignorant of that? That's certainly the best act of his life."
"Touquet has done a good action," said Julia, smiling ironically; "I could not have imagined that, and is this young girl pretty?"
"Hang it! is she pretty? Well, I believe you! She is one—but no," said Chaudoreille, correcting himself as if struck by a sudden remembrance, "she is not handsome at all; on the contrary, she is ugly, one might even say that she is disagreeable."
"One minute you say she is pretty and the next you say she is very ugly; you don't seem to know what you are saying, Monsieur Chaudoreille."
"One can easily lose his wits when near you, beautiful damsel; but, by that sword, I swear to you—"
The bell at the garden gate was heard, Chaudoreille stopped; presuming that it was the marquis and that it would perhaps be dangerous for him to be surprised in a tête-à-tête with Julia, he escaped by the first pathway and ran to rejoin Marcel, while the young Italian listened anxiously and her cheeks assumed a more vivid color.
Marcel opened the door, but it was not the marquis, it was Touquet, who came alone.
"Your master fought a duel last night," said he to Marcel, "he was wounded, but very slightly, it seems. I have come to speak to the young girl. She is perhaps anxious to know what all this means. Where is she now?"
"In the garden," said Chaudoreille, "but I assure you she is not at all lonely here. It is true that I have chatted with her—"
"And who gave you permission to do so? You're very bold to converse with a woman on whom a marquis has laid his eyes."
"Yes, I confess that I am very bold—but I believe you say that monseigneur fought a duel; do you know with whom he fought?"
"Idiot! Is that our business? Do you suppose I asked him?"
"It's true, it's not our business, but—"
"You have nothing more to do here, get out."
"Do you wish me to take myself off?"
"Yes, and immediately."
"Without being presented to monseigneur, that is very awkward; but at least—it seems to me that if they have no more need of me they ought to settle with me."
"Wait! here are ten more crowns; it's more than you are worth, a hundred times."
"Very well, but the rosette and the broken pane of glass—"
"Hang it, stupid! you're not satisfied?"
"It's all right, it's all right, I'm very well pleased. I mustn't grumble," added Chaudoreille to himself, "he might happen to remember the shaves that I owe him."
"Go at once," said the barber, angrily, pointing with his finger to the garden gate. The Gascon hastily thrust the sum which he had received into his purse, and placed the latter carefully in his belt, murmuring,—
"Ten and eight, that's eighteen. By jingo, that will make them stare at the gambling place in the Rue Vide-Gousset and at the bank of the Rue Coupe-Gorge." Then he shook Marcel's hand, and wrapping himself in his mantle left by the middle gate, which was hardly wide enough for him since he possessed eighteen crowns.
The barber hastened to acquit himself of the commission with which his master had charged him, that he might return promptly to his house and be there on the arrival of his customers. He walked hurriedly through the garden, and soon met Julia, who felt her hope vanish when she perceived him.
"Madame," said Touquet, bowing to the young girl, "the marquis' conduct doubtless seems to you rather extraordinary, but you will excuse him when you learn that he fought a duel last night in the grand Pré-aux-Clercs and was wounded."
"He is wounded," said Julia, with emotion, "and dangerously?"
"No, madame, it is a very little thing, an arm only. Monsieur le marquis made this event known to me at break of day and ordered me to come and tell you. He hoped to be very soon recovered, and able within four or five days to come and excuse himself; but, if you are wearied in this place, you are free to return to your shop. I will go and warn you when—"
"No," said Julia, interrupting him brusquely; "do you imagine I can return to the dwelling I have left? I will wait for the marquis."
"You are the mistress, and they have orders to satisfy your slightest wishes."
The barber bowed to Julia, and having given Marcel the marquis' orders, left the little house and returned to his home.
Five days had elapsed since the young Italian had entered the luxurious apartments; there she had found a harpsichord, a sitar, books, some pencils, some sketches, and a wardrobe furnished with everything that could add a charm to beauty. Marcel, always obedient and discreet, brought her everything that she desired, without permitting himself the slightest question; nor did Julia address him, except to ask him for what she thought necessary to distract her, for the most magnificent dwelling does not forbid weariness.
It was late on the evening of the sixth day; Julia was attired with coquetry, in the hope that the marquis would come, but her hope was vanishing. She lay down upon the sofa, where her reverie had yielded to a light slumber, when the door of the room opened softly, and the Marquis de Villebelle appeared at the entrance of the apartment. "She's not half bad," said he, looking at Julia, who was lying carelessly on the sofa; then he advanced towards her; the noise awoke the young Italian, and, opening her eyes, she perceived the great nobleman, whose rich and elegant costume increased the grace of his bearing. He seated himself, smiling, at her side. Julia was about to rise.
"Don't move," said the marquis, "you are very well as you are. I reproach myself with having disturbed your slumber."
"Monseigneur, I had about given you up," said Julia, seeking to restrain the uneasiness which she felt at the sight of the marquis. "I have been here for six days, alone in this place."
"Yes, you must hare found it very tiresome I can imagine; but, ma belle, my messenger must have told you that it was not my fault. My arm is not cured yet, but I could not longer resist the desire to see this amiable child who for love of me was willing to live in solitude."
"For love of you, seigneur," said Julia, turning her eyes aside so as not to meet those of the marquis, which were fixed amorously upon her; "and who has made you believe that I am in love with you, if you please?"
"Ah, upon my honor, that is divine. Were you awaiting another here, then, my angel?"
"I was waiting, monsieur, to learn from you what motive you had in inducing me to leave my dwelling."
"Delightful by all the devils—delightful. She does not know why they brought her here. Did nobody tell you, little strategist?"
"It was from you alone that I wished to hear it, seigneur."
"That is correct. Love is ill made by an ambassador; the little god does not love pages and valets. He wishes to do his work himself. Come, a kiss first, and we shall understand each other better afterwards."
Julia disengaged herself from the marquis' arms, which he had wound about her, and withdrawing from him she cried,—
"Please, sir, cease these liberties which offend me!"
"Which offend her!" said the marquis, bursting into laughter, while a vivid color sprang to Julia's cheek. "Come now, what do you mean by that? Are we playing a comedy? You wish to make me pay for the weariness of six days' waiting. Once more, sweetheart, it was not my fault; a duel at the moment when I was least thinking of it. I must tell you all about that for it was very droll. I was returning with four of my friends; we were a little tipsy and were trying to dispute with everybody. We broke windows, we beat the watch, we tore off the good shopkeepers' wigs; what can you expect? one must pass the time and show these gentlemen of the parliament that one does not regard one's self as being comprised in their edicts, which forbid vagabonds, pages and lackeys to make a noise at night in the streets of Paris. Finally, we met a girl, which girl was a boy; he would not tell us why he was disguised, and became angry at our joking; one of the others lent him a sword and we fought. For a youngster, zooks how he went on! it was a pleasure to fight with him. In short, he gave me this cut, which I still feel, and which prevents me from using my arm; so, sweetheart, I beg of you don't be too cruel, for I am not in a state to lead an assault."
And the marquis again approached Julia, wishing to enfold her in his arms; but she disengaged herself and seated herself farther off, while the former extended himself on the sofa and looked at her smiling, while whistling a hunting tune.
The breast of the young girl rose more frequently; she turned her head and carried one of her hands to her eyes.
"What is the matter?" said the marquis, after some minutes. "Are you crying, by chance? Truly, little one, I can't imagine why. They told me that you came here with a very good grace; after which I naturally feel surprised at the severity which you are affecting now; be easy, I will be very virtuous—since you wish it."
So saying, Villebelle seated himself near Julia and took one of her hands, which he pressed between his own. The young Italian raised her eyes to the marquis; there was in the features of the latter something so noble, so seductive, that it was very easy for him to obtain pardon for his audacity; accustomed to triumph, he had trespassed through habit and not through fatuity, and Julia's resistance astonished, but did not anger him.
"Why are you crying?" said he to her.
"I believed that you loved me, and you despise me."
"I despise you? No, beautiful girl; I love you,—as well as I can love; and my love will last,—as long as it will; can you ask better?"
"I wish for love; a constant and sincere love."
"Ha! ha! a constant love; sweetheart, you are exacting. Can we promise that, we others? and in good faith, when the great ladies of the court cannot come by it, to a grisette; should she hope to hold the Marquis de Villebelle?"
"Very well," said Julia, rising proudly and walking towards the door, "the grisette will not yield to the caprice of the great nobleman."
"Upon my honor, she is going, I believe," said the marquis, rushing to retain Julia and gently leading her to the sofa. "Come, no more ill-humor. Is it to quarrel that we are here? Time flies rapidly and carries with it, at every moment, a spark of the enkindling fires of love. One doesn't wait for pleasure to be extinguished before tasting of it. I love you. I adore you, you little wretch; but what do you offer me as the reward of so much ardor?"
"A heart that knows how to love you in a manner in which you have not been loved before today, a heart whose only happiness will be to beat for you, which will not have one thought to which you will be a stranger, nor one desire disconnected from you!"
While saying these words Julia's eyes were animated and she fixed them on the marquis, seeking no longer to hide the passion with which he had inspired her.
"What magnificent eyes," said Villebelle, after a moment, "but a little too exalted in their expression. You are Italian, that is easily seen, the burning skies under which you were born do not allow you to treat love as we French treat it, lightly, jokingly; which is, after all, the best way; the others are too sad."
"Say, rather, that we know how to love truly—while you, seigneur, give the name of love to the most fleeting fancy, your heart being entirely a stranger to the real passion."
"Wait, my dear girl! All your discourses on the metaphysics of love are less convincing to me than one kiss from those lovely lips, and why should you keep up such a show of resistance? Is it generous to profit by my being wounded?"
"Have you always been generous, monseigneur?" said Julia, repulsing the marquis; "and in this place, even, have you nothing to reprove yourself withal?"
"Why, how's this, little girl, do you wish me to follow a course of morals?" said Villebelle, laughing. "It seems to me you are abusing my patience a little. 'Pon my honor those lovely eyes are made to express pleasure rather than wisdom. And sermons from your mouth! a little grisette who wishes to play Lucretia here. Come, sweetheart, leave such twaddling talk. Was it from Tabarin or from Briochée that you learned those sentences?"
Julia rose, her eyes scintillating, her cheeks a vivid scarlet, and looking angrily at the marquis cried,—
"And you, seigneur, where did you learn to murder a father in order to abduct his daughter?"
Villebelle remained as if stunned for a moment; his look fixed on Julia, who, dismayed herself at the change wrought in the whole appearance of the marquis, awaited with fear what he should say to her.
The marquis rose, and murmured in a changed voice,—
"What made you think I had ever committed such a terrible crime? Speak, answer, I command you."
"Seigneur," said the young Italian, "I have heard the story of the abduction of the beautiful Estrelle, old Delmar's daughter, but the barber Touquet was then your agent, and I don't doubt that it was he who wanted you to arm yourself against an old man who was defending his daughter."
"You have heard some one speak of an adventure which has been forgotten for seventeen years and you are barely twenty. You have not told me all—have you known Estrelle? Is she still living? Speak, pray speak, and count on my gratitude if you assist me to recover that unfortunate woman."
"You loved her well, did you not?" said Julia, gazing tenderly at the marquis.
"Yes, yes, I loved her—I should love her still. Pray tell me, is she still living? Answer me."
"I know no more than you, seigneur, I swear to you. I have never met the woman who bore that name, and chance made the adventure known to me. On seeing you and on finding myself in this house, to which Estrelle was brought, the remembrance of these events was presented to my thoughts; forgive me for having recalled them to you—you were then very young; I know, also that old Delmar did not die of his wounds. As to his daughter, I repeat to you I know no more of her than you do. But you had outraged me in comparing me to those women whom you can purchase every day with your riches, while I only desire your love. I am Italian and I revenged myself!"
The marquis did not answer, he walked slowly up and down the room, from time to time sighing and glancing around him; but he did not appear to perceive that Julia was there.
"Yes, I passed a month with her here," said the marquis, looking around the boudoir, "this abode was not what it is today. I have embellished it, changed it, in order to drive away the remembrance of her; but never since have I experienced such entrancing moments as those spent near Estrelle."
A long silence succeeded these words; then the marquis took his hat and cloak and slightly inclined his head to Julia, as he said, in a low voice,—
"I shall see you again tomorrow."
Then he hurriedly quitted the little house in a very different frame of mind from that in which he had entered it.
FOR some few days after his nocturnal adventure of the duel Urbain refrained from wearing his feminine costume. He was not at all anxious to make any further conquests and to thus expose himself to adventures which were hardly likely to always result to his advantage; the young bachelor felt that before he again disguised himself as a girl he should make sure that his stratagem would bring him nearer to obtaining an interview with Blanche.
He began to watch Marguerite again, prowling incessantly around the barber's house, and obtaining all the information he could get as to the character of the old servant; and he promised himself that he would avail himself to the utmost of her credulity and superstition. His plan being carefully considered and arranged, an old messenger, commissioned by him, accosted Marguerite and asked her if she knew of a place for a young peasant, a very pleasant and virtuous girl, who had lately come to Paris and found herself without employment. The kindly old serving woman at once gave two addresses where she said they would perhaps take the young girl, and continued on her way.
The next day while going, according to custom, to buy provisions, Marguerite was stopped by a country woman, very modest in demeanor, but with an awkward air, who curtseyed to her and thanked her with lowered eyes.
"What are you thanking me for, my child?" said Marguerite, "I do not know you."
"Because you interested yourself in me yesterday and tried to find me a place."
"Oh, are you the one they recommended to me?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Did they engage you?"
"No, mademoiselle."
"I am sorry for it, for you seem to me very pleasing, very honest. Where do you come from?"
"From Verberie, mademoiselle."
"Why did you come to Paris?"
"I have lost both my parents and I thought I should find work more easily in a great city."
"Yes, but great cities are dangerous places for virtuous young maids such as you appear to be. They should have told you that, my child."
"Yes, they did, mademoiselle! but I am not afraid of anything."
"Why, you must believe yourself very wary, very strong, to think you can escape the snares they'll set for you."
"Indeed it's not that, mademoiselle, but it is that—I daren't say—it's a mystery, a secret."
Secret and mystery had the same effect upon the old maid as love and marriage have upon a young maid—they aroused all her feelings. Marguerite's little eyes beamed and she cried,—
"What, my child! you have a secret? I am not curious, but you interest me; I should like to be useful to you, but it's necessary that I should know everything that concerns you. What is this mystery that you dare not mention?"
"Mademoiselle, I did not wish to confide in anyone in Paris, for somebody told me there were pickpockets who would steal my treasure."
"You possess a treasure?"
"Oh, yes, mademoiselle; but one with which I could still die of hunger."
"Why, indeed, what does that matter, my child, hasn't every young girl a treasure without price—her innocence, her virtue—and those who guard it the best are not always the richest. When I see shameless women, who live in luxury and abundance, riding in gilded carriages, it makes me feel ill. But about your secret, my child; would you refuse to confide in me?"
"No, indeed, mademoiselle, you appear so respectable, so good, that I cannot refuse you."
Marguerite half smiled and tapped the country woman on the arm, for praise is a flower whose perfume is grateful at any age.
"Out with it then," she said. "What is it?"
"Mademoiselle, I'll tell you with much pleasure; but it's a long story, and I must go into a good many houses this morning. If you would let me tell it to you this evening at your house, that would be better, for I dare not say all that in the street; some one might hear me and take me for a sorcerer, and I'm very much afraid of the Chambre Ardente. God knows, however, mademoiselle, that I understand nothing of magic, and I'm more afraid of the devil than I am of men."
"Oh," said Marguerite, whose curiosity had reached an unbearable point, "this mystery of yours is of itself extraordinary?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Indeed! Well, this is very embarrassing; to receive you in the house is difficult. Where do you live, my child?"
Urbain hesitated for a moment, then replied:—
"Near the Porte Saint-Antoine."
"Oh, good heavens—that's more than a league from here. I could never get there; my master's a very strict man and doesn't wish that anyone should have visitors."
Marguerite reflected for some moments, then her curiosity carried the day.
"Well," said she at last, "come this evening at seven o'clock; it'll be dark; but look well at that house over there—that alleyway."
"Oh, I shall recognize it."
"Don't knock; keep near the door. I'll let you in, and show you up to my room. At that hour my master doesn't ordinarily need my services, and he never leaves the lower room."
"That's enough, mademoiselle, I'll be there at seven precisely."
"What is your name?"
"Ursule Ledoux."
"Above all, Ursule, don't gossip with anybody about this. It's no crime to receive you, but my master's a little ridiculous and might find it wrong. Besides, my child, one must be discreet in everything. You'll tell me your secret this evening, Ursule?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"At seven o'clock, the house over there."
Urbain departed, delighted by the success of his stratagem, breathing with difficulty, partly from the hope of seeing Blanche and partly because his corset impeded his respiration; and Marguerite reached her dwelling, saying,—
"This young girl looks as sweet as she looks honest, and there's no harm in receiving her for a moment—it'll amuse my poor little Blanche a little; she's been rather sad for some days and seems more lonely than usual; and we shall know the secret which—mon Dieu, if seven o'clock would only come soon."
Marguerite hastened to find Blanche. Since the night of the serenade the lovely child had been even more dreamy than before; she sang nothing but the refrain of her dear romance, and the villanelles, the virelays, the old songs amused her no longer. Marguerite drew near to her and said mysteriously, in a low tone,—
"This evening we shall have a visitor."
"A visitor," said Blanche. "Oh, M. Chaudoreille I suppose."
"No, indeed, a very pleasing, very honest young country girl whom you don't know. A poor child who possesses a treasure and who is looking for a place as cook; she wishes to remain virtuous, and for that reason has come to Paris; she is afraid of the devil, but of nothing else."
"But dear nurse, I don't understand."
"Hush! hush! keep still! This evening she will come, and we shall hear her story; there is a question of a very curious mystery, but be silent; it is not necessary that M. Touquet should know anything about that for he might forbid this poor Ursule from coming to chat with us, and that would displease me very much because she will amuse you a little, my child."
"Oh, be easy, dear nurse, I shall say nothing," cried Blanche, and she jumped about her room for joy because the announcement of this visit was for her an extraordinary event. The least thing new is a great pleasure for those who pass their lives deprived of all gayety. It is thus that a storm or even a shower will distract and occupy a poor prisoner; that a bottle of wine will make a feast for a man of small means habituated to drinking nothing but water; that the sound of a Barbary organ appears delightful to the country people; that a ticket for the play crowns the wishes of the poor workwoman of ten sous a day; that a little muslin dress makes an honest grisette happy; and that Sunday is awaited with impatience by those who work all the week; while for many people fêtes, the theatre, music, diamonds, cannot rejoice their hearts. After all, should not the poor be happier than the rich?
At last seven sounded from Saint Eustache's clock. The barber had long since sent Blanche and Marguerite to shut themselves into their rooms. The old servant went softly downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible with her heels, and shielding the light of her lamp with her hand. She opened the street door and saw the country girl, who had been waiting for a quarter of an hour.
"That's well," said Marguerite, "you are here; but hush! don't speak, don't make any noise; let me lead you."
Urbain nodded his head and entered the alleyway, while Marguerite softly closed the door. Then our lover was at the height of his joy. It seemed to him that he breathed a purer air in the house of the one he loved. He believed himself in the abode of highest bliss while going up the little crooked staircase; and the black and crumbling walls that surrounded him had more charm for his eyes than the marbles or the sculptures of the Louvre.
"You are going to see my mistress," said Marguerite, "I have warned her, but fear nothing, she is as amiable as she is good; you can speak without danger before her, she is discretion itself,—besides, she never sees anybody, and never goes out. My master wishes to shield her against the enterprises of these dandies, of these worthless fellows who seek to cajole the poor girls. It is true that my little Blanche is very pretty; she would turn the heads of all our noblemen, you are going to see her, and you can judge for yourself; here we are at her room. Come in, come, don't tremble so; how childish you are."
Urbain was trembling, in fact, and his heart beat so hard that he was obliged to support himself for a moment against the wall. During this time Marguerite opened the door and said to Blanche,—
"Here she is."
Blanche rose and came to meet the young girl whom her nurse had brought, smiling pleasantly at her. Urbain raised his eyes, saw Blanche, and his emotion increased. He had only been able through the panes of the casement to perceive her features very imperfectly, and the charming object which now met his gaze was a hundred times more beautiful than the image which his memory and his imagination had created. He remained for a moment stunned, motionless, not daring to take a step, doubting still whether he could believe his happiness, and looking with delight at the lovely girl, who smiled at him and took him by the hand, saying to him,—
"Won't you come in? Come in and sit down and warm yourself. Why, you're not afraid of me, are you?"
"This is the girl I told you about," announced Marguerite, "but she is a little timid, though she will soon lose that; may she always preserve her modesty in Paris."
Blanche's soft hand slipped into that of the young bachelor and she led him to the fireplace. On feeling the pretty fingers imprinted on his own, Urbain scarcely breathed, and murmured in a feeble voice,—
"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, embarrassed, reserved, while with a person of her own sex 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 pronounced 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 pass, 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 passed 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 Compèigne, in the wood of Ajeux; and where noises were heard of horsemen 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, assuredly he is," said Marguerite, "but, my dear child, have you yours on you now?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. Oh, I always carry it."
"Let us see this precious relic. Only to touch it will do one good."
Urbain felt in his apron pocket and drew forth a small paper folded with great care; he opened it and took out a sample of his breeches which he presented to the old servant, pinching his lips to keep a serious face. Marguerite who had put on her glasses took the little scrap of cloth respectfully, and kissed it three times, crying,—
"That's it, oh, how good that is! that emits an odor all about it, an odor of sanctity."
"Do you think so, dear nurse," said Blanche, who was looking at the little sample of cloth in surprise, "I should never have thought that a little rag like that could have any power."
"A rag! O my dear Blanche, speak more respectfully of this relic."
"My talisman is much prettier than that. It's a little piece of parchment. Wait, here it is." Saying these words Blanche opened her kerchief, and signed to Urbain to look in her corset, half disclosing her virgin neck as she spoke, in order that the supposed Ursule might better perceive her talisman.
"Ah, how charming!" exclaimed Urbain involuntarily.
"Is it not," said Blanche, smiling; "it's much prettier than that scrap of cloth."
Urbain had no strength with which to answer, he remained motionless, his eyes still fixed on the place where the lovely child hid her talisman, while Marguerite, contemplating the fragment of smallclothes, kissed it anew, repeating,—
"The worth of that has been well proven, which makes it all the more precious."
Blanche fastened her kerchief, and Urbain, still moved by what he had seen, sighed deeply.
"What is the matter with you," said the young girl, looking with interest at her whom she believed to be a simple country girl. "You seem grieved."
"Alas, mademoiselle! I was remembering that I was alone and without resources in this city, that I have no parents, no friends."
"Poor girl! Well, we will be your friends. Yes, I feel that I love you already, Ursule."
"Can it be mademoiselle? Ah! if it were only true!"
"Why do you say if it were true? I never say what is untrue; but what I feel I say at once. Isn't that natural? And do you think that you can love me also?"
"Can I love you," said Urbain, warmly; then remembering that Marguerite was there, he resumed less forcibly, but with an accent that came from his heart,—
"Yes, yes, mademoiselle, and all my life."
"Oh, it is so nice to have a friend of one's own age," said Blanche, shaking the bachelor's hand. "At least I shall have some one with whom I can laugh and chat. Marguerite likes to talk very well, but she never laughs and then she never talks of anything but magic and the devil. We shall find other things to talk about, shan't we, Ursule?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"I know very little about anything; always alone in my room, never going out, though I have a great desire to do so; my protector never comes to chat with me; I receive visits from one man only."
"From a man?" said Urbain, anxiously.