CHAPTER XIII.
THE CRIMSON RIBBON.
What occupied the mind of the chevalier was neither the denouement ofthe drama where he had chosen so important a part, nor the admirableprudence of the Abbe Brigaud in placing him in a house which hehabitually visited almost daily, so that his visits, however frequent,could not be remarkable. It was not the dignified speeches of MadameDenis, nor the soprano of Mademoiselle Emilie. It was neither thecontralto of Mademoiselle Athenais, nor the tricks of M. Boniface. Itwas simply poor Bathilde, whom he had heard so lightly spoken of; butour reader would be mistaken if he supposed that M. Boniface's brutalaccusation had in the least degree altered the sentiments of thechevalier for the young girl, for an instant's reflection showed himthat such an alliance was impossible.
Chance might give a charming daughter to an undistinguished father.Necessity may unite a young and elegant woman to an old and vulgarhusband, but a liaison, such as that attributed to the young girl andthe bourgeois of the terrace, can only result from love or interest. Nowbetween these two there could be no love; and as to interest, the thingwas still less probable; for, if they were not in absolute poverty,their situation was certainly not above mediocrity--not even that gildedmediocrity of which Horace speaks, with a country house at Tibur andMontmorency, and which results from a pension of thirty thousandsestercia from the Augustan treasury, or a government annuity of sixthousand francs--but that poor and miserable mediocrity which onlyprovides from day to day, and which is only prevented from becoming realpoverty by incessant labor.
D'Harmental gathered from all this the certainty that Bathilde wasneither the daughter, wife, nor mistress of this terrible neighbor, thesight of whom had sufficed to produce such a strange reaction on thegrowing love of the chevalier. If she was neither the one nor the other,there was a mystery about her birth; and if so, Bathilde was not whatshe appeared to be. All was explained, her aristocratic beauty, herfinished education. Bathilde was above the position which she wastemporarily forced to occupy: there had been in the destiny of thisyoung girl one of those overthrows of fortune, which are for individualswhat earthquakes are for towns, and she had been forced to descend tothe inferior sphere where he found her.
The result of all this was, that the chevalier might, without losingrank in his own estimation, allow himself to love Bathilde. When a man'sheart is at war with his pride, he seldom wants excuses to defeat hishaughty enemy. Bathilde had now neither name nor family, and nothingprevented the imagination of the man who loved her from raising her to aheight even above his own; consequently, instead of following thefriendly advice of M. Boniface, the first thing D'Harmental did was togo to his window and inspect that of his neighbor. It was wide open. If,a week ago, any one had told the chevalier that such a simple thing asan open window would have made his heart beat, he would have laughed atthe idea. However, so it was; and after drawing a long breath, hesettled himself in a corner, to watch at his ease the young girl in theopposite room, without being seen by her, for he was afraid offrightening her by that attention which she could only attribute tocuriosity, but he soon perceived that the room was deserted.
D'Harmental then opened his window, and at the noise he made in doingso, he saw the elegant head of the greyhound, which, with his earsalways on the watch, and well worthy of the trust that her mistress hadreposed in her, in making her guardian of the house, was awake, andlooking to see who it was that thus disturbed her sleep.
Thanks to the indiscreet counter-tenor of the good man of the terraceand the malice of M. Boniface, the chevalier already knew two thingsvery important to know--namely, that his neighbor was called Bathilde, asweet and euphonious appellation, suitable to a young, beautiful, andgraceful girl; and that the greyhound was called Mirza, a name whichseemed to indicate a no less distinguished rank in the caninearistocracy. Now as nothing is to be disdained when we wish to conquera fortress, and the smallest intelligence from within is often moreefficacious than the most terrible machines of war, D'Harmental resolvedto commence opening communications with the greyhound; and with the mostcaressing tone he could give to his voice, he called Mirza. Mirza, whowas indolently lying on the cushion, raised her head quickly, with anexpression of unmistakable astonishment; and, indeed, it must haveappeared strange to the intelligent little animal, that a man soperfectly unknown to her as the chevalier should address her by herChristian name. She contented herself with fixing on him her uneasyeyes, which, in the half-light where she was placed, sparkled like twocarbuncles, and uttering a little dull sound which might pass for agrowl.
D'Harmental remembered that the Marquis d'Uxelle had tamed the spanielof Mademoiselle Choin, which was a much more peevish beast than anygreyhound in the world, with roast rabbits' heads; and that he hadreceived for this delicate attention the baton of Marechal de France;and he did not despair of being able to soften by the same kind ofattention the surly reception which Mademoiselle Mirza had given to hisadvances: so he went toward the sugar-basin; then returned to thewindow, armed with two pieces of sugar, large enough to be divided adinfinitum.
The chevalier was not mistaken; at the first piece of sugar which fellnear her, Mirza negligently advanced her head; then, being by the aid ofsmell made aware of the nature of the temptation offered to her, sheextended her paw toward it, drew it toward her, took it in her teeth,and began to eat it with that languid air peculiar to the race to whichshe belonged. This operation finished, she passed over her mouth alittle red tongue, which showed, that in spite of her apparentindifference, which was owing, no doubt, to her excellent education, shewas not insensible to the surprise her neighbor had prepared for her;instead of lying down again on the cushion as she had done the firsttime, she remained seated, yawning languidly, but wagging her tail, toshow that she would wake entirely, after two or three such littleattentions as she had just had paid to her.
D'Harmental, who was well acquainted with the habits of all the KingCharles' dogs of the pretty women of the day, understood the amiableintentions of Mirza, and not wishing to give her time to change hermind, threw a second piece of sugar, taking care that it should fall atsuch a distance as to oblige her to leave her cushion to get it. Thistest would decide whether she was most inclined to laziness orgreediness. Mirza remained an instant uncertain, but then greedinesscarried the day, and she went across the room to fetch the piece ofsugar, which had rolled under the harpsichord. At this moment a thirdpiece fell near the window, and Mirza came toward it; but there theliberality of the chevalier stopped; he thought that he had now givenenough to require some return, and he contented himself with callingMirza in a more imperative tone, and showing her the other pieces ofsugar which he held in his hand.
Mirza this time, instead of looking at the chevalier with uneasiness ordisdain, rested her paws on the window, and began to behave as she wouldto an old acquaintance. It was finished; Mirza was tamed.
The chevalier remarked that it was now his turn to play the contemptuouswith Mirza, and to speak to her, in order to accustom her to his voice;however, fearing a return of pride on the part of his interlocutor, whosustained her part in the dialogue by little whines and grumblings, hethrew her a fourth piece of sugar, which she seized with greater avidityfrom having been kept waiting. This time, without being called, she cameto take her place at the window. The chevalier's triumph was complete.So complete, that Mirza, who the day before had given signs of sosuperior an intelligence in discovering Bathilde's return, and inrunning to the door as she descended the staircase, this time discoveredneither the one nor the other, so that her mistress, entering all atonce, surprised her in the midst of these coquetries with her neighbor.It is but just to say, however, that at the noise the door made inopening Mirza turned, and recognizing Bathilde, bounded toward her,lavishing on her the most tender caresses; but we must add, to the shameof the species, that this duty once accomplished, she hastened back tothe window. This unusual action on the part of the dog naturally guidedBathilde's eyes toward the cause which occasioned it.
Her eyes met thoseof the chevalier.
Bathilde blushed: the chevalier bowed; and Bathilde, without knowingwhat she was doing, returned the salute.
Her first impulse was to go and close the window, but an instinctivefeeling restrained her. She understood that this was giving importanceto a thing which had none, and that to put herself on the defensive wasto avow herself attacked. In consequence, she crossed to that part ofthe room where her neighbor's glance could not reach. Then, at the endof a few minutes, when she returned, she found that he had closed hiswindow. Bathilde understood that there was discretion in this action,and she thanked him. Indeed, the chevalier had just made a masterstroke.On the terms which he was on with his neighbor, it was impossible thatboth windows should remain open at once; if the chevalier's window wasopen, his neighbor's must be shut; and he knew that when that wasclosed, there was not a chance of seeing even the tip of Mirza's nosebehind the curtain; while if, on the contrary, his window was closed,hers might possibly remain open, and he could watch her passing to andfro, or working, which was a great amusement for a poor devil condemnedto absolute seclusion; besides, he had made an immense step:--he hadsaluted Bathilde, and she had returned it. They were no longer strangersto each other, but, in order that their acquaintance might advance, hemust be careful not to be too brusk.
To risk speaking to her after the salute would have been risking toomuch; it was better to allow Bathilde to believe that it was all theeffect of chance. Bathilde did not believe it, but she appeared to doso. The result was that she left her window open, and, seeing herneighbor's closed, sat down by her own with a book in her hand. As toMirza, she jumped on to the stool at her mistress's feet, but instead ofresting her head as usual on the knees of the young girl, she placed iton the sill, of the window, so much was she occupied with the generousunknown. The chevalier seated himself in the middle of his room, tookhis pencils, and thanks to a corner of his curtain skillfully raised, hesketched the delicious picture before him. Unfortunately the days wereshort, and toward three o'clock the little light which the clouds andrain had permitted to descend to the earth began to decline, andBathilde closed her window. Nevertheless, even in this short time thechevalier had finished the young girl's head, and the likeness wasperfect. There was her waving hair, her fine transparent skin, thegraceful curve of her swan-like neck; in fact, all to which art canattain with one of those inimitable models which are the despair ofartists.
When night closed in, the Abbe Brigaud arrived. The chevalier and hewrapped themselves in their mantles, and went toward the Palais Royal;they had, it will be remembered, to examine the ground. The house inwhich Madame de Sabran lived, since her husband had been named maitred'hotel to the regent, was No. 22, between the Hotel de la Roche-Guyonand the passage formerly called Passage du Palais Royal, because it wasthe only one leading from the Rue des Bons Enfants to the Rue de Valois.This passage, now called Passage du Lycee, was closed at the same timeas the other gates of the garden; that is to say, at eleven o'clock inthe evening; therefore, having once entered a house in the Rue des BonsEnfants, unless it had a second door opening on the Rue de Valois, noone could return to the Palais Royal after eleven o'clock without makingthe round, either by the Rue Neuve des Petits-Champs, or by the Cour desFontaines.
Thus it was with Madame de Sabran's house; it was an exquisite littlehotel, built toward the end of the last century, some five-and-twentyyears before, by a merchant who wished to ape the great lords and have apetite maison of his own. It was a one-storied house, with a stonegallery, on which the servants' attics opened, and surmounted by a lowtilted roof. Under the first-floor windows was a large balcony whichjutted out three or four feet, and extended right across the house; butsome iron ornaments, similar to the balcony, and which reached to theterrace, separated the two windows on each side from the three in thecenter, as is often done when it is desired to interrupt exteriorcommunications. The two facades were exactly similar, only, as the Ruede Valois was eight or ten feet lower than that of the Bons Enfants, theground-floor windows and door opened on a terrace, where was a littlegarden, filled in spring with charming flowers, but which did notcommunicate with the street, the only entrance being, as we have said,in the Rue des Bons Enfants.
This was all our conspirators could wish; the regent, once entered intoMadame de Sabran's house, would--provided he stayed after eleveno'clock, which was probable--be taken as in a trap, and nothing would beeasier than to carry out their plan in the Rue des Bons Enfants, one ofthe most deserted and gloomy places in the neighborhood; moreover, asthis street was surrounded by very suspicious houses, and frequented byvery bad company, it was a hundred to one that they would not pay anyattention to cries which were too frequent in that street to cause anyuneasiness, and that if the watch arrived, it would be, according to thecustom of that estimable force, long after their intervention could beof any avail. The inspection of the ground finished, the plans laid, andthe number of the house taken, they separated; the abbe to go to theArsenal to give Madame de Maine an account of the proceedings, andD'Harmental to return to his attic.
As on the preceding night, Bathilde's room was lighted, but this timethe young girl was not drawing but working; her light was not put outtill one o'clock in the morning. As to the good man, he had retired longbefore D'Harmental returned. The chevalier slept badly; between a loveat its commencement and a conspiracy at its height, he naturallyexperienced some sensations little favorable to sleep; but towardmorning fatigue prevailed, and he only awoke on feeling himselfviolently shaken by the arm. Without doubt the chevalier was at thatmoment in some bad dream, of which this appeared to him the end, for,still half asleep, he stretched out his hand toward the pistols whichwere at his side.
"Ah, ah!" cried the abbe, "an instant, young man. What a hurry you arein! Open your eyes wide--so. Do you not recognize me?"
"Ah!" said D'Harmental, laughing, "it is you, abbe. You did well to stopme. I dreamed that I was arrested."
"A good sign," said the Abbe Brigaud: "you know that dreams always go bycontraries. All will go well."
"Is there anything new?" asked D'Harmental.
"And if there were, how would you receive it?"
"I should be enchanted. A thing of this kind once undertaken, the soonerit is finished the better."
"Well, then," said Brigaud, drawing a paper from his pocket andpresenting it to the chevalier, "read, and glorify the name of the Lord,for you have your wish."
D'Harmental took the paper, unfolded it as calmly as if it were a matterof no moment, and read as follows:
"_Report of the 27th of March._
"Two in the Morning.
"To-night at ten o'clock the regent received a courier from London, who announces for to-morrow the arrival of the Abbe Dubois. As by chance the regent was supping with madame, the dispatch was given to him in spite of the late hour. Some minutes before, Mademoiselle de Chartres had asked permission of her father to perform her devotions at the Abbey of Chelles, and he had promised to conduct her there; but on the receipt of this letter his determination was changed and he has ordered the council to meet at noon.
"At three o'clock the regent will pay his majesty a visit at the Tuileries. He has asked for a tete-a-tete, for he is beginning to be impatient at the obstinacy of the Marechal de Villeroy, who will always be present at the interviews between the regent and his majesty. Report says that if this obstinacy continue, it will be the worse for the marshal.
"At six o'clock, the regent, the Chevalier de Simiane, and the Chevalier de Ravanne, will sup with Madame de Sabran."
"Ah, ah!" said D'Harmental; and he read the last sentence, weighingevery word.
"Well, what do you think of this paragraph?" asked the abbe.
The chevalier jumped from his bed, put on his dressing-gown, took fromhis drawer a crimson ribbon, a hammer and a nail, and having opened hiswindow (not without throwing a stolen glance at that o
f his neighbor),he nailed the ribbon on to the outer wall.
"There is my answer," said he.
"What the devil does that mean?"
"That means," said D'Harmental, "that you may go and tell Madame deMaine that I hope this evening to fulfill my promise to her. And now goaway, my dear abbe, and do not come back for two hours, for I expectsome one whom it would be better you should not meet."
The abbe, who was prudence itself, did not wait to be told twice, butpressed the chevalier's hand and left him. Twenty minutes afterwardCaptain Roquefinette entered.