The Conspirators

  CHAPTER XXV.

  A PRETEXT.

  At a few minutes past four D'Harmental saw Buvat turning the corner ofthe Rue du Temps-Perdu. The chevalier thought he could recognize in theworthy writer an air of greater haste than usual, and instead of holdinghis stick perpendicularly, as a bourgeois always does when he iswalking, he held it horizontally, like a runner. As to that air ofmajesty which had so struck Monsieur Boniface, it had entirely vanished,and had given place to a slight expression of uneasiness. He could notbe mistaken. Buvat would not return so quickly if he was not uneasyabout Bathilde. Bathilde, then, was suffering.

  The chevalier followed Buvat with his eyes till the moment when hedisappeared in his own door. D'Harmental, with reason, imagined thatBuvat would go into Bathilde's room, instead of mounting to his own, andhe hoped that Buvat would open the window to admit the last rays of thesun, which had been caressing it all day.

  But D'Harmental was wrong; Buvat contented himself with raising thecurtain, and pressing his good round face against the window, anddrumming on the panes with his hands; but even this apparition was ofshort duration, for he turned round suddenly, as a man does when any onecalls him, and let fall the muslin curtain behind him and disappeared.D'Harmental presumed that his disappearance was caused by some appeal tohis appetite, and this reminded him, that in his preoccupation about theobstinacy of that unlucky window in refusing to open, he had forgottenhis own breakfast, which, it must be confessed, to the shame of hissensibility, was a very great infraction on his habits. Now, however, asthere was no chance that the window would open while his neighbors wereat dinner, the chevalier determined to profit by the interval by dininghimself; consequently he rang for the porter, and ordered him to getfrom the confectioner the fattest pullet, and from the fruiterer thefinest fruit that he could find. As to wine, he had still got somebottles of that which the Abbe Brigaud had sent him.

  D'Harmental ate with a certain remorse. He could not understand how hecould be at the same time so tormented, and have such a good appetite.Luckily he remembered reading in the works of some moralist or otherthat sorrow sharpened hunger wonderfully. This maxim set his conscienceat rest, and the result was, that the unfortunate pullet was eaten up tothe very bones.

  Although the act of dining was very natural, and by no meansreprehensible, D'Harmental shut the window, leaving, however, a cornerof the curtain raised; and, thanks to this precaution, he sawBuvat--who had doubtless finished his repast--appear at the window ofhis terrace. As we have said, the weather was splendid, and Buvat seemeddisposed to profit by it; but as he belonged to that class of beings whoenjoy nothing alone, he turned round, with a gesture, which D'Harmentaltook to be an invitation to Bathilde--who had doubtless followed himinto his room--to come on to the terrace to him; consequently he hopedfor an instant that Bathilde would appear, and he rose with a beatingheart; but he was mistaken. However tempting might be the beautifulevening, and however pressing the invitations of Buvat, both wereuseless; but it was not thus with Mirza, who, jumping out of the windowwithout being invited, began to bound joyously about the terrace,holding in her mouth a purple ribbon, which she caused to flutter like astreamer, and which D'Harmental recognized as the one which had fastenedhis neighbor's veil on the preceding night. Apparently, Buvat recognizedit also, for he started off in pursuit of Mirza as fast as his littlelegs would allow him; a pursuit which would doubtless have beenindefinitely prolonged, if Mirza had not had the imprudence to takerefuge in the arbor. Buvat pursued, and an instant afterward D'Harmentalsaw him return with the ribbon in his hand, and after smoothing it onhis knee, he folded it up, and went in, probably to deposit it in aplace of safety.

  THE CHEVALIER SET MIRZA TO EAT SUGAR.--Page 353.]

  This was the moment that the chevalier had waited for; he opened hiswindow and watched. In a minute he saw Mirza put her head out of thearbor, look about her, and jump on to the terrace; then D'Harmentalcalled her in the most caressing and seductive tone possible. Mirzatrembled at the sound of his voice, then directed her eyes toward him.At the first look she recognized the man of the bits of sugar--gave alittle growl of joy--then, with a rapid gastronomic instinct, she dartedthrough Buvat's window with a single bound, and disappeared.

  D'Harmental lowered his head, and, almost at the same instant, sawMirza coming across the street like a flash of lightning; and before hehad time to shut his window, she was already scratching at the door.Luckily for D'Harmental, Mirza had the memory of sugar as stronglydeveloped as he had that of sounds.

  It will be easily understood that the chevalier did not make thecharming little creature wait; and she darted into the room, bounding,and giving the most unequivocal signs of her joy at his unexpectedreturn. As to D'Harmental, he was almost as happy as if he had seenBathilde. Mirza was something to the young girl; she was her dearlyloved greyhound, so caressed and kissed by her--who laid his head on herknees during the day, and slept on the foot of her bed during the night.The chevalier set Mirza to eat sugar, and sat down; and letting hisheart speak, and his pen flow, wrote the following letter:

  "DEAREST BATHILDE--You believe me very guilty, do you not? But you cannot know the strange circumstances in which I find myself, and which are my excuse; if I could be happy enough to see you for an instant--even for an instant--you would understand that there are in me two different persons--the young student of the attic, and the gentleman of the fetes at Sceaux. Open your window then, so that I may see you--or your door, so that I may speak to you. Let me come and sue for your pardon on my knees. I am certain that when you know how unfortunate I am, and how devotedly I love you, you will have pity on me.

  "Adieu, once more; I love you more than I can express!--more than you can believe--more than you can ever imagine.

  "RAOUL."

  This billet, which would have appeared very cold to a woman of thesedays, because it only said just what the writer intended, seemedsufficient to the chevalier, and was really impassioned for the epoch;thus D'Harmental folded it up, and attached it, as he had the first, toMirza's collar; then, taking up the sugar, which the greedy littleanimal followed with her eyes to the cupboard, where D'Harmental shutit up, the chevalier opened the door of his room, and showed Mirza, witha gesture, what there remained for her to do. Whether it was pride orintelligence, the little creature did not wait to be told twice; dartedout on the staircase as if she had wings, and only stopped on the way tobite Monsieur Boniface, whom she met coming home from his office;crossed the road, and disappeared in Bathilde's house. D'Harmentalremained at the window for a minute, fearing that Mirza would take hisnote to Buvat instead of Bathilde, but she was too intelligent for that,and he soon saw her appear in Bathilde's room. Consequently, in ordernot to frighten poor Bathilde too much, he shut his window, hoping thatby this concession he should obtain some sign, which would indicate tohim that he was pardoned.

  But it did not turn out so. D'Harmental waited in vain all the evening,and a great part of the night. At eleven o'clock, the light scarcelyseen through the double curtains, still hermetically closed, went outaltogether, and D'Harmental was obliged to renounce the hope of seeingBathilde till the next day.

  The next day brought the same rigor; it was a settled plan of defense,which, with a man less in love than D'Harmental, would simply haveindicated fear of defeat; but the chevalier, with a simplicity worthy ofthe age of gold, saw nothing but a coldness, in the eternity of which hebegan to believe, and it is true that it had lasted four and twentyhours.

  D'Harmental passed the morning in turning in his mind a thousandprojects, each more absurd than the preceding one. The only one whichhad common sense was to cross the street, mount boldly to Bathilde'sroom, and tell her everything. It came to his mind like all the rest;and as it was the only reasonable one, D'Harmental did well to stop atit. However, it would be a great boldness to present himself thus beforeBathilde, without being authorized by the least sign, and without havingany pretex
t to give. Such a course of conduct could but wound Bathilde,who was only too much irritated already; it was better to wait then, andD'Harmental waited. At two o'clock Brigaud returned, and foundD'Harmental in a very savage state of mind. The abbe threw a glancetoward the window, still hermetically closed, and divined everything. Hetook a chair, and sat down opposite D'Harmental, twisting his thumbsround one another, as he saw the chevalier doing.

  "My dear pupil," said he, after an instant's silence, "either I am a badphysiognomist, or I read on your face that something profoundly sad hashappened to you."

  "And you read right, my dear abbe," said the chevalier; "I am ennuied."

  "Ah, indeed!"

  "So much so," said D'Harmental, "that I am ready to send your conspiracyto the devil."

  "Oh, chevalier, one must not throw the helve after the hatchet! What!send the conspiracy to the devil, when it is going on wheels! Nonsense;and what will the others say?"

  "Oh, you are charming, you and your others. The others, my dear abbe,have society, balls, the opera, duels, mistresses, amusements in fact,and they are not shut up like me in a nasty garret."

  "Yes; but the piano, the drawing?"

  "Even with this, it is not amusing."

  "Ah, it is not amusing when one sings or draws alone; but when one singsor draws in company, it begins to do better."

  "And with whom, in the devil's name, should I sing or draw?"

  "In the first place there are the Demoiselles Denis."

  "Oh, yes, they sing beautifully and draw well, do they not?"

  "Mon Dieu! I do not propose them to you as virtuosos and artists; theyhave not the talents of your neighbor. But, by-the-by, there is yourneighbor."

  "Well, my neighbor?"

  "Why do you not sing with her, since she sings so well? That will amuseyou."

  "Do I know her? Does she even open her window? Look, since yesterdayshe has barricaded herself in her own room. Ah, yes, my neighbor isamiable."

  "Yes, they told me that she was charming."

  "Besides, it seems to me, that both singing in our own rooms, we shouldhave a singular duet."

  "Then go to her room."

  "To her room! Have I been introduced to her? Do I know her?"

  "Well, make a pretext."

  "I have been searching for one since yesterday."

  "And you have not found one, a man of imagination like you? My dearpupil, I do not recognize you there."

  "Listen, abbe! A truce to your pleasantries--I am not in the humor forthem to-day: every one has his stupid days."

  "Well, on those days one addresses one's self to one's friends."

  "To one's friends--and what for?"

  "To find the pretext which one has sought for vainly one's self."

  "Well, then, abbe, you are my friend; find the pretext; I wait for it."

  "Nothing is easier."

  "Really!"

  "Do you want it?"

  "Take care what you engage to do."

  "I engage to open your neighbor's door to you."

  "In a proper manner?"

  "How! do I know any others?"

  "Abbe, I will strangle you if your pretext is bad."

  "But it is good."

  "Then you are an adorable man."

  "You remember what the Comte de Laval said about the descent which thepolice have made upon the house in the Val-de-Grace, and the necessityhe was under of sending away his workmen and burying his press?"

  "Perfectly."

  "You remember the determination which was come to in consequence?"

  "To employ a copyist."

  "Finally, you remember that I undertook to find that copyist?"

  "I do."

  "Well, this copyist on whom I had cast my eyes, this honest man whom Ipromised to discover, is discovered, and is no other than the guardianof Bathilde."

  "Buvat?"

  "Himself! Well, I give you full powers, you go to his house, you offerhim gold, the door is opened to you on the instant, and you can sing asmuch as you like with Bathilde."

  "My dear abbe," cried D'Harmental, "you have saved my life!"

  D'Harmental took his hat, and darted toward the door; now that he had apretext he doubted of nothing.

  "Stop, stop," said Brigaud; "you do not even ask me where the good manmust go for the papers in question."

  "To your house, pardieu!"

  "Certainly not, young man, certainly not."

  "Where then?"

  "At the Prince de Listhnay's, Rue du Bac, 110."

  "The Prince de Listhnay! And who is he?"

  "One of our own making--D'Avranches, the valet-de-chambre to Madame deMaine."

  "And you think that he will play his part well?"

  "Not for you, perhaps, who are accustomed to see princes, but forBuvat."

  "You are right. Au revoir, abbe!"

  "You find the pretext good?"

  "Capital."

  "Go, then, and good luck go with you."

  D'Harmental descended the stairs four at a time; then, having arrived atthe middle of the street, and seeing the abbe watching him from thewindow, he made a parting sign to him with his hand, and disappearedthrough the door of Bathilde's house.