Many weeks had elapsed.
The first of March had arrived. The sun, which Dubartas, that classicancestor of periphrase, had not yet dubbed the "Grand-duke of Candles,"was none the less radiant and joyous on that account. It was one ofthose spring days which possesses so much sweetness and beauty, that allParis turns out into the squares and promenades and celebrates themas though they were Sundays. In those days of brilliancy, warmth, andserenity, there is a certain hour above all others, when the facade ofNotre-Dame should be admired. It is the moment when the sun, alreadydeclining towards the west, looks the cathedral almost full in the face.Its rays, growing more and more horizontal, withdraw slowly from thepavement of the square, and mount up the perpendicular facade, whosethousand bosses in high relief they cause to start out from the shadows,while the great central rose window flames like the eye of a cyclops,inflamed with the reflections of the forge.
This was the hour.
Opposite the lofty cathedral, reddened by the setting sun, on the stonebalcony built above the porch of a rich Gothic house, which formed theangle of the square and the Rue du Parvis, several young girls werelaughing and chatting with every sort of grace and mirth. From thelength of the veil which fell from their pointed coif, twined withpearls, to their heels, from the fineness of the embroidered chemisettewhich covered their shoulders and allowed a glimpse, according to thepleasing custom of the time, of the swell of their fair virgin bosoms,from the opulence of their under-petticoats still more precious thantheir overdress (marvellous refinement), from the gauze, the silk,the velvet, with which all this was composed, and, above all, from thewhiteness of their hands, which certified to their leisure and idleness,it was easy to divine they were noble and wealthy heiresses. They were,in fact, Damoiselle Fleur-de-Lys de Gondelaurier and her companions,Diane de Christeuil, Amelotte de Montmichel, Colombe de Gaillefontaine,and the little de Champchevrier maiden; all damsels of good birth,assembled at that moment at the house of the dame widow de Gondelaurier,on account of Monseigneur de Beaujeu and Madame his wife, who were tocome to Paris in the month of April, there to choose maids of honor forthe Dauphiness Marguerite, who was to be received in Picardy from thehands of the Flemings. Now, all the squires for twenty leagues aroundwere intriguing for this favor for their daughters, and a goodly numberof the latter had been already brought or sent to Paris. These fourmaidens had been confided to the discreet and venerable charge ofMadame Aloise de Gondelaurier, widow of a former commander of the king'scross-bowmen, who had retired with her only daughter to her house in thePlace du Parvis, Notre-Dame, in Paris.
The balcony on which these young girls stood opened from a chamberrichly tapestried in fawn-colored Flanders leather, stamped with goldenfoliage. The beams, which cut the ceiling in parallel lines, divertedthe eye with a thousand eccentric painted and gilded carvings. Splendidenamels gleamed here and there on carved chests; a boar's head infaience crowned a magnificent dresser, whose two shelves announced thatthe mistress of the house was the wife or widow of a knight banneret. Atthe end of the room, by the side of a lofty chimney blazoned witharms from top to bottom, in a rich red velvet arm-chair, sat Dame deGondelaurier, whose five and fifty years were written upon her garmentsno less distinctly than upon her face.
Beside her stood a young man of imposing mien, although partakingsomewhat of vanity and bravado--one of those handsome fellows whom allwomen agree to admire, although grave men learned in physiognomy shrugtheir shoulders at them. This young man wore the garb of a captain ofthe king's unattached archers, which bears far too much resemblance tothe costume of Jupiter, which the reader has already been enabled toadmire in the first book of this history, for us to inflict upon him asecond description.
The damoiselles were seated, a part in the chamber, a part in thebalcony, some on square cushions of Utrecht velvet with golden corners,others on stools of oak carved in flowers and figures. Each of them heldon her knee a section of a great needlework tapestry, on which theywere working in company, while one end of it lay upon the rush mat whichcovered the floor.
They were chatting together in that whispering tone and with thehalf-stifled laughs peculiar to an assembly of young girls in whosemidst there is a young man. The young man whose presence served to setin play all these feminine self-conceits, appeared to pay very littleheed to the matter, and, while these pretty damsels were vying with oneanother to attract his attention, he seemed to be chiefly absorbed inpolishing the buckle of his sword belt with his doeskin glove. From timeto time, the old lady addressed him in a very low tone, and hereplied as well as he was able, with a sort of awkward and constrainedpoliteness.
From the smiles and significant gestures of Dame Aloise, from theglances which she threw towards her daughter, Fleur-de-Lys, as she spokelow to the captain, it was easy to see that there was here a question ofsome betrothal concluded, some marriage near at hand no doubt, betweenthe young man and Fleur-de-Lys. From the embarrassed coldness of theofficer, it was easy to see that on his side, at least, love hadno longer any part in the matter. His whole air was expressive ofconstraint and weariness, which our lieutenants of the garrison wouldto-day translate admirably as, "What a beastly bore!"
The poor dame, very much infatuated with her daughter, like any othersilly mother, did not perceive the officer's lack of enthusiasm, andstrove in low tones to call his attention to the infinite grace withwhich Fleur-de-Lys used her needle or wound her skein.
"Come, little cousin," she said to him, plucking him by the sleeve, inorder to speak in his ear, "Look at her, do! see her stoop."
"Yes, truly," replied the young man, and fell back into his glacial andabsent-minded silence.
A moment later, he was obliged to bend down again, and Dame Aloise saidto him,--
"Have you ever beheld a more gay and charming face than that of yourbetrothed? Can one be more white and blonde? are not her hands perfect?and that neck--does it not assume all the curves of the swan inravishing fashion? How I envy you at times! and how happy you are to bea man, naughty libertine that you are! Is not my Fleur-de-Lys adorablybeautiful, and are you not desperately in love with her?"
"Of course," he replied, still thinking of something else.
"But do say something," said Madame Aloise, suddenly giving his shouldera push; "you have grown very timid."
We can assure our readers that timidity was neither the captain's virtuenor his defect. But he made an effort to do what was demanded of him.
"Fair cousin," he said, approaching Fleur-de-Lys, "what is the subjectof this tapestry work which you are fashioning?" "Fair cousin,"responded Fleur-de-Lys, in an offended tone, "I have already told youthree times. 'Tis the grotto of Neptune."
It was evident that Fleur-de-Lys saw much more clearly than her motherthrough the captain's cold and absent-minded manner. He felt thenecessity of making some conversation.
"And for whom is this Neptunerie destined?"
"For the Abbey of Saint-Antoine des Champs," answered Fleur-de-Lys,without raising her eyes.
The captain took up a corner of the tapestry.
"Who, my fair cousin, is this big gendarme, who is puffing out hischeeks to their full extent and blowing a trumpet?"
"'Tis Triton," she replied.
There was a rather pettish intonation in Fleur-de-Lys's--laconic words.The young man understood that it was indispensable that he shouldwhisper something in her ear, a commonplace, a gallant compliment, nomatter what. Accordingly he bent down, but he could find nothing in hisimagination more tender and personal than this,--
"Why does your mother always wear that surcoat with armorial designs,like our grandmothers of the time of Charles VII.? Tell her, faircousin, that 'tis no longer the fashion, and that the hinge (gond)and the laurel (laurier) embroidered on her robe give her the air ofa walking mantlepiece. In truth, people no longer sit thus on theirbanners, I assure you."
Fleur-de-Lys raised her beautiful eyes, full of reproach, "Is that allof which you can assure me?" she said, in a low voice.
In the meantime, Dame Aloise, delighted to see them thus bending towardseach other and whispering, said as she toyed with the clasps of herprayer-book,--
"Touching picture of love!"
The captain, more and more embarrassed, fell back upon the subject ofthe tapestry,--"'Tis, in sooth, a charming work!" he exclaimed.
Whereupon Colombe de Gaillefontaine, another beautiful blonde, with awhite skin, dressed to the neck in blue damask, ventured a timid remarkwhich she addressed to Fleur-de-Lys, in the hope that the handsomecaptain would reply to it, "My dear Gondelaurier, have you seen thetapestries of the Hotel de la Roche-Guyon?"
"Is not that the hotel in which is enclosed the garden of the Lingeredu Louvre?" asked Diane de Christeuil with a laugh; for she had handsometeeth, and consequently laughed on every occasion.
"And where there is that big, old tower of the ancient wall of Paris,"added Amelotte de Montmichel, a pretty fresh and curly-headed brunette,who had a habit of sighing just as the other laughed, without knowingwhy.
"My dear Colombe," interpolated Dame Aloise, "do you not mean the hotelwhich belonged to Monsieur de Bacqueville, in the reign of King CharlesVI.? there are indeed many superb high warp tapestries there."
"Charles VI.! Charles VI.!" muttered the young captain, twirling hismoustache. "Good heavens! what old things the good dame does remember!"
Madame de Gondelaurier continued, "Fine tapestries, in truth. A work soesteemed that it passes as unrivalled."
At that moment Berangere de Champchevrier, a slender little maid ofseven years, who was peering into the square through the trefoils ofthe balcony, exclaimed, "Oh! look, fair Godmother Fleur-de-Lys, at thatpretty dancer who is dancing on the pavement and playing the tambourinein the midst of the loutish bourgeois!"
The sonorous vibration of a tambourine was, in fact, audible. "Somegypsy from Bohemia," said Fleur-de-Lys, turning carelessly toward thesquare.
"Look! look!" exclaimed her lively companions; and they all ran to theedge of the balcony, while Fleur-de-Lys, rendered thoughtful by thecoldness of her betrothed, followed them slowly, and the latter,relieved by this incident, which put an end to an embarrassingconversation, retreated to the farther end of the room, with thesatisfied air of a soldier released from duty. Nevertheless, thefair Fleur-de-Lys's was a charming and noble service, and such it hadformerly appeared to him; but the captain had gradually become blase';the prospect of a speedy marriage cooled him more every day. Moreover,he was of a fickle disposition, and, must we say it, rather vulgar intaste. Although of very noble birth, he had contracted in his officialharness more than one habit of the common trooper. The tavern and itsaccompaniments pleased him. He was only at his ease amid gross language,military gallantries, facile beauties, and successes yet more easy.He had, nevertheless, received from his family some education and somepoliteness of manner; but he had been thrown on the world too young, hehad been in garrison at too early an age, and every day the polish ofa gentleman became more and more effaced by the rough friction of hisgendarme's cross-belt. While still continuing to visit her from time totime, from a remnant of common respect, he felt doubly embarrassed withFleur-de-Lys; in the first place, because, in consequence of havingscattered his love in all sorts of places, he had reserved very littlefor her; in the next place, because, amid so many stiff, formal, anddecent ladies, he was in constant fear lest his mouth, habituated tooaths, should suddenly take the bit in its teeth, and break out into thelanguage of the tavern. The effect can be imagined!
Moreover, all this was mingled in him, with great pretentions toelegance, toilet, and a fine appearance. Let the reader reconcile thesethings as best he can. I am simply the historian.
He had remained, therefore, for several minutes, leaning in silenceagainst the carved jamb of the chimney, and thinking or not thinking,when Fleur-de-Lys suddenly turned and addressed him. After all, the pooryoung girl was pouting against the dictates of her heart.
"Fair cousin, did you not speak to us of a little Bohemian whom yousaved a couple of months ago, while making the patrol with the watch atnight, from the hands of a dozen robbers?"
"I believe so, fair cousin," said the captain.
"Well," she resumed, "perchance 'tis that same gypsy girl who is dancingyonder, on the church square. Come and see if you recognize her, fairCousin Phoebus."
A secret desire for reconciliation was apparent in this gentleinvitation which she gave him to approach her, and in the care which shetook to call him by name. Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers (for it ishe whom the reader has had before his eyes since the beginning of thischapter) slowly approached the balcony. "Stay," said Fleur-de-Lys,laying her hand tenderly on Phoebus's arm; "look at that little girlyonder, dancing in that circle. Is she your Bohemian?"
Phoebus looked, and said,--
"Yes, I recognize her by her goat."
"Oh! in fact, what a pretty little goat!" said Amelotte, clasping herhands in admiration.
"Are his horns of real gold?" inquired Berangere.
Without moving from her arm-chair, Dame Aloise interposed, "Is she notone of those gypsy girls who arrived last year by the Gibard gate?"
"Madame my mother," said Fleur-de-Lys gently, "that gate is now calledthe Porte d'Enfer."
Mademoiselle de Gondelaurier knew how her mother's antiquated mode ofspeech shocked the captain. In fact, he began to sneer, and mutteredbetween his teeth: "Porte Gibard! Porte Gibard! 'Tis enough to make KingCharles VI. pass by."
"Godmother!" exclaimed Berangere, whose eyes, incessantly in motion, hadsuddenly been raised to the summit of the towers of Notre-Dame, "who isthat black man up yonder?"
All the young girls raised their eyes. A man was, in truth, leaningon the balustrade which surmounted the northern tower, looking on theGreve. He was a priest. His costume could be plainly discerned, and hisface resting on both his hands. But he stirred no more than if he hadbeen a statue. His eyes, intently fixed, gazed into the Place.
It was something like the immobility of a bird of prey, who has justdiscovered a nest of sparrows, and is gazing at it.
"'Tis monsieur the archdeacon of Josas," said Fleur-de-Lys.
"You have good eyes if you can recognize him from here," said theGaillefontaine.
"How he is staring at the little dancer!" went on Diane de Christeuil.
"Let the gypsy beware!" said Fleur-de-Lys, "for he loves not Egypt."
"'Tis a great shame for that man to look upon her thus," added Amelottede Montmichel, "for she dances delightfully."
"Fair cousin Phoebus," said Fleur-de-Lys suddenly, "Since you know thislittle gypsy, make her a sign to come up here. It will amuse us."
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed all the young girls, clapping their hands.
"Why! 'tis not worth while," replied Phoebus. "She has forgotten me, nodoubt, and I know not so much as her name. Nevertheless, as you wish it,young ladies, I will make the trial." And leaning over the balustrade ofthe balcony, he began to shout, "Little one!"
The dancer was not beating her tambourine at the moment. She turned herhead towards the point whence this call proceeded, her brilliant eyesrested on Phoebus, and she stopped short.
"Little one!" repeated the captain; and he beckoned her to approach.
The young girl looked at him again, then she blushed as though a flamehad mounted into her cheeks, and, taking her tambourine under her arm,she made her way through the astonished spectators towards the door ofthe house where Phoebus was calling her, with slow, tottering steps, andwith the troubled look of a bird which is yielding to the fascination ofa serpent.
A moment later, the tapestry portiere was raised, and the gypsy appearedon the threshold of the chamber, blushing, confused, breathless, herlarge eyes drooping, and not daring to advance another step.
Berangere clapped her hands.
Meanwhile, the dancer remained motionless upon the threshold. Herappearance had produced a singular effect upon these young girls. Itis certain that a vague and indistinct desire to please th
e handsomeofficer animated them all, that his splendid uniform was the target ofall their coquetries, and that from the moment he presented himself,there existed among them a secret, suppressed rivalry, which they hardlyacknowledged even to themselves, but which broke forth, none the less,every instant, in their gestures and remarks. Nevertheless, as they wereall very nearly equal in beauty, they contended with equal arms, andeach could hope for the victory.--The arrival of the gypsy suddenlydestroyed this equilibrium. Her beauty was so rare, that, at the momentwhen she appeared at the entrance of the apartment, it seemed as thoughshe diffused a sort of light which was peculiar to herself. In thatnarrow chamber, surrounded by that sombre frame of hangings andwoodwork, she was incomparably more beautiful and more radiant than onthe public square. She was like a torch which has suddenly been broughtfrom broad daylight into the dark. The noble damsels were dazzled by herin spite of themselves. Each one felt herself, in some sort, woundedin her beauty. Hence, their battle front (may we be allowed theexpression,) was immediately altered, although they exchanged not asingle word. But they understood each other perfectly. Women's instinctscomprehend and respond to each other more quickly than the intelligencesof men. An enemy had just arrived; all felt it--all rallied together.One drop of wine is sufficient to tinge a glass of water red; to diffusea certain degree of ill temper throughout a whole assembly of prettywomen, the arrival of a prettier woman suffices, especially when thereis but one man present.
Hence the welcome accorded to the gypsy was marvellously glacial. Theysurveyed her from head to foot, then exchanged glances, and all wassaid; they understood each other. Meanwhile, the young girl was waitingto be spoken to, in such emotion that she dared not raise her eyelids.
The captain was the first to break the silence. "Upon my word," saidhe, in his tone of intrepid fatuity, "here is a charming creature! Whatthink you of her, fair cousin?"
This remark, which a more delicate admirer would have uttered in a lowertone, at least was not of a nature to dissipate the feminine jealousieswhich were on the alert before the gypsy.
Fleur-de-Lys replied to the captain with a bland affectation ofdisdain;--"Not bad."
The others whispered.
At length, Madame Aloise, who was not the less jealous because she wasso for her daughter, addressed the dancer,--"Approach, little one."
"Approach, little one!" repeated, with comical dignity, littleBerangere, who would have reached about as high as her hips.
The gypsy advanced towards the noble dame.
"Fair child," said Phoebus, with emphasis, taking several steps towardsher, "I do not know whether I have the supreme honor of being recognizedby you."
She interrupted him, with a smile and a look full of infinitesweetness,--
"Oh! yes," said she.
"She has a good memory," remarked Fleur-de-Lys.
"Come, now," resumed Phoebus, "you escaped nimbly the other evening. DidI frighten you!"
"Oh! no," said the gypsy.
There was in the intonation of that "Oh! no," uttered after that "Oh!yes," an ineffable something which wounded Fleur-de-Lys.
"You left me in your stead, my beauty," pursued the captain, whosetongue was unloosed when speaking to a girl out of the street, "acrabbed knave, one-eyed and hunchbacked, the bishop's bellringer,I believe. I have been told that by birth he is the bastard ofan archdeacon and a devil. He has a pleasant name: he is called_Quatre-Temps_ (Ember Days), _Paques-Fleuries_ (Palm Sunday), Mardi-Gras(Shrove Tuesday), I know not what! The name of some festival when thebells are pealed! So he took the liberty of carrying you off, as thoughyou were made for beadles! 'Tis too much. What the devil did thatscreech-owl want with you? Hey, tell me!"
"I do not know," she replied.
"The inconceivable impudence! A bellringer carrying off a wench, like avicomte! a lout poaching on the game of gentlemen! that is a rare pieceof assurance. However, he paid dearly for it. Master Pierrat Torterue isthe harshest groom that ever curried a knave; and I can tell you, ifit will be agreeable to you, that your bellringer's hide got a thoroughdressing at his hands."
"Poor man!" said the gypsy, in whom these words revived the memory ofthe pillory.
The captain burst out laughing.
"Corne-de-boeuf! here's pity as well placed as a feather in a pig'stail! May I have as big a belly as a pope, if--"
He stopped short. "Pardon me, ladies; I believe that I was on the pointof saying something foolish."
"Fie, sir" said la Gaillefontaine.
"He talks to that creature in her own tongue!" added Fleur-de-Lys, ina low tone, her irritation increasing every moment. This irritation wasnot diminished when she beheld the captain, enchanted with the gypsy,and, most of all, with himself, execute a pirouette on his heel,repeating with coarse, naive, and soldierly gallantry,--
"A handsome wench, upon my soul!"
"Rather savagely dressed," said Diane de Christeuil, laughing to showher fine teeth.
This remark was a flash of light to the others. Not being able to impugnher beauty, they attacked her costume.
"That is true," said la Montmichel; "what makes you run about thestreets thus, without guimpe or ruff?"
"That petticoat is so short that it makes one tremble," added laGaillefontaine.
"My dear," continued Fleur-de-Lys, with decided sharpness, "You will getyourself taken up by the sumptuary police for your gilded girdle."
"Little one, little one;" resumed la Christeuil, with an implacablesmile, "if you were to put respectable sleeves upon your arms they wouldget less sunburned."
It was, in truth, a spectacle worthy of a more intelligent spectatorthan Phoebus, to see how these beautiful maidens, with their envenomedand angry tongues, wound, serpent-like, and glided and writhed aroundthe street dancer. They were cruel and graceful; they searched andrummaged maliciously in her poor and silly toilet of spangles andtinsel. There was no end to their laughter, irony, and humiliation.Sarcasms rained down upon the gypsy, and haughty condescension andmalevolent looks. One would have thought they were young Roman damesthrusting golden pins into the breast of a beautiful slave. One wouldhave pronounced them elegant grayhounds, circling, with inflatednostrils, round a poor woodland fawn, whom the glance of their masterforbade them to devour.
After all, what was a miserable dancer on the public squares in thepresence of these high-born maidens? They seemed to take no heed of herpresence, and talked of her aloud, to her face, as of something unclean,abject, and yet, at the same time, passably pretty.
The gypsy was not insensible to these pin-pricks. From time to time aflush of shame, a flash of anger inflamed her eyes or her cheeks; withdisdain she made that little grimace with which the reader is alreadyfamiliar, but she remained motionless; she fixed on Phoebus a sad,sweet, resigned look. There was also happiness and tenderness in thatgaze. One would have said that she endured for fear of being expelled.
Phoebus laughed, and took the gypsy's part with a mixture ofimpertinence and pity.
"Let them talk, little one!" he repeated, jingling his golden spurs. "Nodoubt your toilet is a little extravagant and wild, but what differencedoes that make with such a charming damsel as yourself?"
"Good gracious!" exclaimed the blonde Gaillefontaine, drawing up herswan-like throat, with a bitter smile. "I see that messieurs the archersof the king's police easily take fire at the handsome eyes of gypsies!"
"Why not?" said Phoebus.
At this reply uttered carelessly by the captain, like a stray stone,whose fall one does not even watch, Colombe began to laugh, as well asDiane, Amelotte, and Fleur-de-Lys, into whose eyes at the same time atear started.
The gypsy, who had dropped her eyes on the floor at the words of Colombede Gaillefontaine, raised them beaming with joy and pride and fixed themonce more on Phoebus. She was very beautiful at that moment.
The old dame, who was watching this scene, felt offended, withoutunderstanding why.
"Holy Virgin!" she suddenly exclaimed, "what is it moving about my
legs?Ah! the villanous beast!"
It was the goat, who had just arrived, in search of his mistress, andwho, in dashing towards the latter, had begun by entangling his horns inthe pile of stuffs which the noble dame's garments heaped up on her feetwhen she was seated.
This created a diversion. The gypsy disentangled his horns withoututtering a word.
"Oh! here's the little goat with golden hoofs!" exclaimed Berangere,dancing with joy.
The gypsy crouched down on her knees and leaned her cheek against thefondling head of the goat. One would have said that she was askingpardon for having quitted it thus.
Meanwhile, Diane had bent down to Colombe's ear.
"Ah! good heavens! why did not I think of that sooner? 'Tis the gypsywith the goat. They say she is a sorceress, and that her goat executesvery miraculous tricks."
"Well!" said Colombe, "the goat must now amuse us in its turn, andperform a miracle for us."
Diane and Colombe eagerly addressed the gypsy.
"Little one, make your goat perform a miracle."
"I do not know what you mean," replied the dancer.
"A miracle, a piece of magic, a bit of sorcery, in short."
"I do not understand." And she fell to caressing the pretty animal,repeating, "Djali! Djali!"
At that moment Fleur-de-Lys noticed a little bag of embroidered leathersuspended from the neck of the goat,--"What is that?" she asked of thegypsy.
The gypsy raised her large eyes upon her and replied gravely,--"That ismy secret."
"I should really like to know what your secret is," thoughtFleur-de-Lys.
Meanwhile, the good dame had risen angrily,--"Come now, gypsy, ifneither you nor your goat can dance for us, what are you doing here?"
The gypsy walked slowly towards the door, without making any reply.But the nearer she approached it, the more her pace slackened. Anirresistible magnet seemed to hold her. Suddenly she turned her eyes,wet with tears, towards Phoebus, and halted.
"True God!" exclaimed the captain, "that's not the way to depart. Comeback and dance something for us. By the way, my sweet love, what is yourname?"
"La Esmeralda," said the dancer, never taking her eyes from him.
At this strange name, a burst of wild laughter broke from the younggirls.
"Here's a terrible name for a young lady," said Diane.
"You see well enough," retorted Amelotte, "that she is an enchantress."
"My dear," exclaimed Dame Aloise solemnly, "your parents did not committhe sin of giving you that name at the baptismal font."
In the meantime, several minutes previously, Berangere had coaxed thegoat into a corner of the room with a marchpane cake, without any onehaving noticed her. In an instant they had become good friends. Thecurious child had detached the bag from the goat's neck, had openedit, and had emptied out its contents on the rush matting; it was analphabet, each letter of which was separately inscribed on a tiny blockof boxwood. Hardly had these playthings been spread out on the matting,when the child, with surprise, beheld the goat (one of whose "miracles"this was no doubt), draw out certain letters with its golden hoof, andarrange them, with gentle pushes, in a certain order. In a moment theyconstituted a word, which the goat seemed to have been trained to write,so little hesitation did it show in forming it, and Berangere suddenlyexclaimed, clasping her hands in admiration,--
"Godmother Fleur-de-Lys, see what the goat has just done!"
Fleur-de-Lys ran up and trembled. The letters arranged upon the floorformed this word,--
PHOEBUS.
"Was it the goat who wrote that?" she inquired in a changed voice.
"Yes, godmother," replied Berangere.
It was impossible to doubt it; the child did not know how to write.
"This is the secret!" thought Fleur-de-Lys.
Meanwhile, at the child's exclamation, all had hastened up, the mother,the young girls, the gypsy, and the officer.
The gypsy beheld the piece of folly which the goat had committed. Sheturned red, then pale, and began to tremble like a culprit before thecaptain, who gazed at her with a smile of satisfaction and amazement.
"Phoebus!" whispered the young girls, stupefied: "'tis the captain'sname!"
"You have a marvellous memory!" said Fleur-de-Lys, to the petrifiedgypsy. Then, bursting into sobs: "Oh!" she stammered mournfully, hidingher face in both her beautiful hands, "she is a magician!" And sheheard another and a still more bitter voice at the bottom of her heart,saying,--"She is a rival!"
She fell fainting.
"My daughter! my daughter!" cried the terrified mother. "Begone, yougypsy of hell!"
In a twinkling, La Esmeralda gathered up the unlucky letters, made asign to Djali, and went out through one door, while Fleur-de-Lys wasbeing carried out through the other.
Captain Phoebus, on being left alone, hesitated for a moment between thetwo doors, then he followed the gypsy.
CHAPTER II. A PRIEST AND A PHILOSOPHER ARE TWO DIFFERENT THINGS.