CHAPTER XVI.
BATHILDE.
In going to make his declaration to the commissary of the quarter andhis arrangements for the funeral, Buvat had not forgotten to look for awoman who could take care of little Bathilde, an office which he couldnot undertake himself; firstly, because he was entirely ignorant of itsduties; and, secondly, because it would be impossible to leave thechild alone during the six hours he spent daily at the office.Fortunately, he knew the very person he wanted; a woman of fromthirty-five to thirty-eight years of age, who had been in Madame Buvat'sservice, and whose good qualities he had duly appreciated. It wasarranged with Nanette--for this was the good woman's name--that sheshould live in the house, do the cooking, take care of little Bathilde,and have fifty livres a year wages, and her board. This new arrangementmust greatly change all Buvat's habits, by obliging him to have ahousekeeper, whereas he had always lived as a bachelor, and taken hismeals at an eating-house. He could no longer keep his attic, which wasnow too small for him, and next morning he went in search of a newlodging. He found one, Rue Pagevin, as he wished to be near the royallibrary, that he might not have too far to walk in wet weather. Thislodging contained two rooms, a closet, and a kitchen. He took it on thespot, and went to buy the necessary furniture for Bathilde and Nanette'srooms; and the same evening, after his return from business, they movedto their new lodgings.
The next day, which was Sunday, Clarice was buried; so that Buvat had noneed to ask for a day's leave even for this.
For the first week or two, Bathilde asked constantly for her mamma; buther friend Buvat had brought her a great many pretty playthings toconsole her, so that she soon began to ask for her less frequently; andas she had been told she had gone to join her father, she at length onlyasked occasionally when they would both come back.
Buvat had put Bathilde in the best room; he kept the other for himself,and put Nanette in the little closet.
This Nanette was a good woman, who cooked passably, and knitted andnetted splendidly. In spite of these divers talents, Buvat understoodthat he and Nanette would not suffice for the education of a young girl;and that though she might write magnificently, know her five rules, andbe able to sew and net, she would still know only half of what sheshould. Buvat had looked the obligation he had undertaken full in theface. His was one of those happy organizations which think with theheart, and he had understood that, though she had become his ward,Bathilde remained the child of Albert and Clarice. He resolved, then, togive her an education conformable, not to her present situation, but tothe name she bore.
In arriving at this resolution, Buvat had reasoned, very simply, that heowed his place to Albert, and consequently, the income of that placebelonged to Bathilde. This is how he divided his nine hundred livres ayear: four hundred and fifty for music, drawing and dancing masters;four hundred and fifty for Bathilde's dowry.
Now, supposing that Bathilde, who was four years old, should marry ateighteen, the interest and the capital together would amount tosomething like nine or ten thousand francs. This was not much, he knew,and was much troubled by that knowledge; but it was in vain to think, hecould not make it more.
To defray the expense of their living, lodgings, and clothing, forhimself and Bathilde, he would again begin to give writing lessons andmake copies. For this purpose he got up at five o'clock in the morning,and went to bed at ten at night. This would be all profit; for, thanksto this new arrangement, he would lengthen his life by two or threehours daily. For some time these good resolutions prospered; neitherlessons nor copies were wanting; and, as two years passed beforeBathilde had finished the early education he himself undertook to giveher, he was able to add nine hundred francs to her little treasure. Atsix years old Bathilde had what the daughters of the richest and noblesthouses seldom have--masters for music, drawing and dancing. Makingsacrifices for this charming child was entirely pleasure; for sheappeared to have received from God one of those happy organizationswhose aptitude makes us believe in a former world, for they appear notso much to be learning a new thing as to be remembering one formerlyknown. As to her beauty, which had given such early promise, it hadamply fulfilled it.
Buvat was happy the whole week, while after each lesson he received thecompliments of the master, and very proud on Sundays, when, having puton his salmon-colored coat, his black velvet breeches, and chinestockings, he took Bathilde by the hand and went for his weekly walk.
It was generally toward the Chemin des Porcherons that he directed hissteps.
This was a rendezvous for bowls, and Buvat had formerly been a greatlover of this game. In ceasing to be an actor, he had become a judge.Whenever a dispute arose, it was referred to him; and his eye was socorrect, that he could tell at the first glance, and without fail, whichball was nearest the mark. From his judgments there was no appeal, andthey were received with neither more nor less respect than those of St.Louis at Vincennes. But it must be said to his credit that hispredilection for this walk was not entirely egotistical: it also led tothe Marsh of the Grange Bateliere, whose black and gloomy watersattracted a great many of those dragon-flies with the gauzy wings andgolden bodies which children delight to pursue. One of Bathilde'sgreatest amusements was to run, with her green net in her hand, herbeautiful fair curls floating in the wind, after the butterflies anddragon-flies. The result of this was that Bathilde had many accidents toher white frock, but, provided she was amused, Buvat took veryphilosophically a spot or a tear. This was Nanette's affair. The goodwoman scolded well on their return, but Buvat closed her mouth byshrugging his shoulders and saying, "Bah! one can't put old heads onyoung shoulders."
And, as Nanette had a great respect for proverbs, which she occasionallyused herself, she generally gave way to the moral of this one. Ithappened also sometimes, but this was only on fete days, that Buvatcomplied with Bathilde's request to take her to Montmartre to see thewindmills. Then they set out earlier. Nanette took dinner with them,which was destined to be eaten on the esplanade of the abbey. They didnot get home till eight o'clock in the evening, but from the Cross desPorcherons Bathilde slept in Buvat's arms.
Things went on thus till the year 1712, at which time the great kingfound himself so embarrassed in his affairs that the only thing left forhim to do was to leave off paying his employes. Buvat was warned of thisadministrative measure by the cashier, who announced to him one finemorning, when he presented himself to receive his month's pay, thatthere was no money. Buvat looked at the man with an astonished air: ithad never entered into his head that the king could be in want of money.He took no further notice of this answer, convinced that some accidentonly had interrupted the payment, and went back to his office singinghis favorite
"Then let me go," etc.
"Pardon," said the supernumerary, who after waiting for seven years hadat last been named employe the first of the preceding month, "you mustbe very light-hearted to sing when we are no longer paid."
"What!" cried Buvat; "what do you mean?"
"I mean that I suppose you have not gone to be paid."
"Yes, I have just come from there."
"Did they pay you?"
"No; they said there was no money."
"And what do you think of that?"
"Oh! I think," said Buvat, "that they will pay the two months together."
"Oh, yes! two months together! Do you hear, Ducoudray? He thinks theywill pay the two months together. He is a simple fellow, this Buvat."
"We shall see next month," replied the second clerk.
"Yes," replied Buvat, to whom this remark appeared very just, "we shallsee next month."
"And if they do not pay you next month, nor the following months, whatshall you do, Buvat?"
"What shall I do!" said Buvat, astonished that there could be a doubtas to his resolution, "I should come just the same."
"What! if you were not paid you would come still?"
"Monsieur," said Buvat, "for ten years the king has paid me down on thenail; surely after that he has a ri
ght to ask for a little credit if heis embarrassed."
"Vile flatterer," said the clerk.
The month passed, and pay-day came again. Buvat presented himself withthe most perfect confidence that they would pay his arrears; but to hisastonishment they told him that there was still no money. Buvat askedwhen there would be any. The cashier replied that he should like toknow. Buvat was quite confused, and went away; but this time withoutsinging. The same day the clerk resigned. Now as it was difficult toreplace a clerk who resigned because he was not paid, and whose workmust be done all the same, the chief told Buvat, besides his own work,to do that of the missing clerk. Buvat undertook it without murmur; andas his ordinary work had left him some time free, at the end of themonth the business was done.
They did not pay the third month any more than the two others--it was areal bankruptcy. But as has been seen, Buvat never bargained with hisduties. What he had promised on the first impulse he did on reflection;but he was forced to attack his treasure, which consisted of two years'pay. Meanwhile Bathilde grew. She was now a young girl of thirteen orfourteen years old, whose beauty became every day more remarkable, andwho began to understand all the difficulties of her position. For sometime the walks in the Porcheron and the expedition to Montmartre hadbeen given up under pretext that she preferred remaining at home to drawor play on the harpsichord.
Buvat did not understand these sedentary tastes which Bathilde hadacquired so suddenly. And as, after having tried two or three times togo out without her, he found that it was not the walk itself he caredfor, he resolved, as he must have air upon a Sunday, to look for alodging with a garden. But lodgings with gardens were too dear for hisfinances, and having seen the lodging in the Rue du Temps-Perdu, he hadthe bright idea of replacing the garden by a terrace. He came back totell Bathilde what he had seen, telling her that the only inconveniencein this lodging would be that their rooms must be separated, and thatshe would be obliged to sleep on the fourth floor with Nanette, and heon the fifth. This was rather a recommendation to Bathilde. For sometime she had begun to feel it inconvenient that her room should be onlyseparated by a door from that of a man still young and who was neitherher father nor her husband. She therefore assured Buvat that the lodgingmust suit him admirably, and advised him to secure it at once. Buvat wasdelighted, and at once gave notice to quit his old lodgings, and at thehalf-term he moved. Bathilde was right; for since her black mantlesketched her beautiful shoulders--since her mittens showed the prettiestfingers in the world--since of the Bathilde of former times there wasnothing left but her childish feet, every one began to remark that Buvatwas young--that the tutor and the pupil were living under the same roof.In fact, the gossips who, when Bathilde was six years old, worshipedBuvat's footsteps, now began to cry out about his criminality becauseshe was fifteen. Poor Buvat! If ever echo was innocent and pure, it wasthat of the room which adjoined Bathilde's, and which for ten years hadsheltered his good round head, into which a bad thought had neverentered, even in dreams.
But on arriving at the Rue du Temps-Perdu it was still worse. In the RuePagevin, where his admirable conduct to the child was known, thisremembrance had protected him against calumny; but in their new quarterthis was quite unknown, and their inscribing themselves under twodifferent names prevented any idea of very near relationship. Somesupposed that they saw in Bathilde the result of an old passion whichthe Church had forgotten to consecrate, but this idea fell at the firstexamination. Bathilde was tall and slender, Buvat short and fat;Bathilde had brilliant black eyes, Buvat's were blue and expressionless;Bathilde's face was white and smooth, Buvat's face was bright red. Infact, Bathilde's whole person breathed elegance and distinction, whilepoor Buvat was the type of vulgar good-nature. The result of this was,that the women began to look at Bathilde with contempt, and that mencalled Buvat a lucky fellow. The previsions of the clerk who resignedwere realized. For eighteen months Buvat had not touched a sou of hispay, and yet had not relaxed for a moment in his punctuality. Moreover,he was haunted with a fear that the ministry would turn away a third ofthe clerks for the sake of economy. Buvat would have looked on the lossof his place as a great misfortune, although it took him six hours a daywhich he might have employed in a lucrative manner. They took care notto dismiss a man who worked the better the less they paid him.
Bathilde began to think that there was something passing of which shewas ignorant. She thought it would be no use to ask Buvat, andaddressing herself to Nanette, who, after a short time, avowed all toher, Bathilde learned for the first time all she owed to Buvat; and thatto pay her masters, and to amass her dowry, Buvat worked from morningtill night; and that in spite of this, as his salary was not paid, hewould be obliged sooner or later to tell Bathilde that they mustretrench all expenses that were not absolutely necessary.
Bathilde's first impulse on learning this devotion was to fall atBuvat's feet and express her gratitude; but she soon understood that, toarrive at her desired end, she must feign ignorance.
The next day Bathilde told Buvat, laughing, that it was throwing awaymoney to keep her masters any longer, for she knew as much as they did;and as, in Buvat's eyes, Bathilde's drawings were the most beautifulthings in the world, and as, when she sang, he was in the seventhheaven, he found no difficulty in believing her, particularly as hermasters, with unusual candor, avowed that their pupil knew enough tostudy alone; but Bathilde had a purifying influence on all whoapproached her. Bathilde was not satisfied with saving expense, but alsowished to increase his gains. Although she had made equal progress inmusic and drawing, she understood that drawing was her only resource,and that music could be nothing but a relaxation. She reserved all herattention for drawing; and as she was really very talented, she soonmade charming sketches. At last one day she wished to know what theywere worth; and she asked Buvat, in going to his office, to show them tothe person from whom she bought her paper and crayons, and who lived atthe corner of the Rue de Clery. She gave him two children's heads whichshe had drawn from fancy, to ask their value. Buvat undertook thecommission without suspecting any trick, and executed it with hisordinary naivete. The dealer, accustomed to such propositions, turnedthem round and round with a disdainful air, and, criticising themseverely, said that he could only offer fifteen francs each for them.Buvat was hurt not by the price offered, but by the disrespectful mannerin which the shopkeeper had spoken of Bathilde's talent. He drew themquickly out of the dealer's hands, saying that he thanked him.
The man, thinking that Buvat thought the price too small, said that, forfriendship's sake, he would go as high as forty francs for the two; butBuvat, offended at the slight offered to the genius of his ward,answered dryly that the drawings which he had shewn him were not forsale, and that he had only asked their value through curiosity. Everyone knows that from the moment drawings are not for sale they increasesingularly in value, and the dealer at length offered fifty francs; butBuvat, little tempted by this proposition, by which he did not evendream of profiting, took the drawings and left the shop with all thedignity of wounded pride. When he returned, the dealer was standing, asif by chance, at his door. Buvat, seeing him, kept at a distance; butthe shopkeeper came to him, and, putting his two hands on hisshoulders, asked him if he would not let him have the two drawings forthe price he had named. Buvat replied a second time, sharply, that theywere not for sale. "That is a pity," replied the dealer, "for I wouldhave given eighty francs." And he returned to his door with anindifferent air, but watching Buvat as he did so. Buvat, however, wenton with a pride that was almost grotesque, and, without turning once,went straight home. Bathilde heard him, as he came up the staircase,striking his cane against the balusters, as he was in the habit ofdoing. She ran out to meet him, for she was very anxious to hear theresult of the negotiation, and, with the remains of her childish habits,throwing her arms round his neck--
"Well, my friend," asked she, "what did M. Papillon say?"
"M. Papillon," replied Buvat, wiping his forehead, "is an impertinentrascal."
r /> Poor Bathilde turned pale.
"How so?" asked she.
"Yes; an impertinent rascal, who, instead of admiring your drawings, hasdared to criticise them."
"Oh! if that is all," said Bathilde, laughing, "he is right. Rememberthat I am but a scholar. But did he offer any price?"
"Yes," said Buvat; "he had impertinence enough for that."
"What price?" asked Bathilde, trembling.
"He offered eighty francs."
"Eighty francs!" cried Bathilde. "Oh! you must be mistaken."
"I tell you he offered eighty francs for the two," replied Buvat, layinga stress on each syllable.
"But it is four times as much as they are worth," said the young girl,clapping her hands for joy.
"It is possible, though I do not think so; but it is none the less truethat M. Papillon is an impertinent rascal!"
This was not Bathilde's opinion; but she changed the conversation,saying that dinner was ready--an announcement which generally gave a newcourse to Buvat's ideas. Buvat gave back the drawings to Bathildewithout further observation, and entered the little sitting-room,singing the inevitable, "Then let me go," etc.
He dined with as good an appetite as if there had been no M. Papillon inthe world. The same evening, while Buvat was making copies, Bathildegave the drawings to Nanette, telling her to take them to M. Papillonand ask for the eighty francs he had offered to Buvat. Nanette obeyed,and Bathilde awaited her return with great anxiety, for she stillbelieved there must be some mistake as to the price. Ten minutesafterward she was quite assured, for the good woman entered with themoney. Bathilde looked at it for an instant with tears in her eyes, thenkneeling before the crucifix at the foot of her bed, she offered up athanksgiving that she was enabled to return to Buvat a part of what hehad done for her.
The next day Buvat, in returning from the office, passed beforePapillon's door, but his astonishment was great when, through thewindows of the shop, he saw the drawings. The door opened and Papillonappeared.
"So," said he, "you thought better of it, and made up your mind to partwith the two drawings which were not for sale? Ah! I did not know youwere so cunning, neighbor. But, however, tell Mademoiselle Bathilde,that, as she is a good girl, out of consideration for her, if she willdo two such drawings every month, and promise not to draw for any oneelse for a year, I will take them at the same price."
Buvat was astonished; he grumbled out an answer which the man could nothear, and went home. He went upstairs and opened the door withoutBathilde having heard him. She was drawing; she had already begunanother head, and perceiving her good friend standing at the door with atroubled air, she put down her paper and pencils and ran to him, askingwhat was the matter. Buvat wiped away two great tears,
"So," said he, "the child of my benefactors, of Clarice Gray and Albertdu Rocher, is working for her bread!"
"Father," replied Bathilde, half crying, half laughing; "I am notworking, I am amusing myself."
The word "father" was substituted on great occasions for "kind friend,"and ordinarily had the effect of calming his greatest troubles, but thistime it failed.
"I am neither your father, nor your good friend," murmured he, "butsimply poor Buvat, whom the king pays no longer, and who does not gainenough by his writing to continue to give you the education you ought tohave."
"Oh! you want to make me die with grief," cried Bathilde, bursting intotears, so plainly was Buvat's distress painted on his countenance.
"I kill you with grief, my child?" said Buvat, with an accent ofprofound tenderness. "What have I done? What have I said? You must notcry. It wanted nothing but that to make me miserable."
"But," said Bathilde, "I shall always cry if you do not let me do what Ilike."
This threat of Bathilde's, puerile as it was, made Buvat tremble; for,since the day when the child wept for her mother, not a tear had fallenfrom her eyes.
"Well," said Buvat, "do as you like, but promise me that when the kingpays my arrears--"
"Well, well," cried Bathilde, interrupting him, "we shall see all thatlater; meanwhile, the dinner is getting cold." And, taking him by thearm, she led him into the little room, where, by her jokes and gayety,she soon succeeded in removing the last traces of sadness from Buvat'sface.
What would he have said if he had known all?
Bathilde thought she could do the two drawings for M. Papillon in eightor ten days; there therefore remained the half, at least, of everymonth, which she was determined not to lose. She, therefore, chargedNanette to search among the neighbors for some difficult, and,consequently, well-paid needlework, which she could do in Buvat'sabsence. Nanette easily found what she sought. It was the time forlaces. The great ladies paid fifty louis a yard for guipure, and thenran carelessly through the woods with these transparent dresses. Theresult of this was, that many a rent had to be concealed from mothersand husbands, so that at this time there was more to be made by mendingthan by selling laces. From her first attempt, Bathilde did wonders; herneedle seemed to be that of a fairy. Nanette received many complimentson the work of the unknown Penelope, who did by day what was undone bynight. Thanks to Bathilde's industry, they began to have much greaterease in their house.
Buvat, more tranquil, and seeing that he must renounce his Sunday walks,determined to be satisfied with the famous terrace which had determinedhim in the choice of his house. For a week he spent an hour morning andevening taking measures, without any one knowing what he intended to do.At length he decided on having a fountain, a grotto, and an arbor.Collecting the materials for these, and afterward building them, hadoccupied all Buvat's spare time for twelve months. During this timeBathilde had passed from her fifteenth to her sixteenth year, and thecharming child into a beautiful woman. It was during this time that herneighbor, Boniface Denis, had remarked her, and his mother, who couldrefuse him nothing, after having been for information to the RuePagevin, had presented herself, under pretext of neighborhood, to Buvatand his ward, and, after a little while, invited them both to passSunday evenings with her.
The invitation was given with so good a grace that there was no means ofrefusing it, and, indeed, Buvat was delighted that some opportunity ofamusement should be presented to Bathilde; besides, as he knew thatMadame Denis had two daughters, perhaps he was not sorry to enjoy thattriumph which his paternal pride assured him Bathilde could not fail toobtain over Mademoiselle Emilie and Mademoiselle Athenais. However,things did not pass exactly as he had arranged them. Bathilde soon sawthe mediocrity of her rivals, so that when they spoke of drawing, andcalled on her to admire some heads by these young ladies, she pretendedto have nothing in the house that she could show, while Buvat knew thatthere were in her portfolio two heads, one of the infant Jesus, and oneof St. John, both charming; but this was not all--the Misses Denis sang;and when they asked Bathilde to sing, she chose a simple little romancein two verses, which lasted five minutes, instead of the grand scenewhich Buvat had expected.
However, this conduct appeared singularly to increase the regard ofMadame Denis for the young girl, for Madame Denis was not without someuneasiness with respect to the event of an artistic struggle between theyoung people. Bathilde was overwhelmed with caresses by the good woman,who, when she was gone, declared she was full of talents and modesty,and that she well deserved all the praises lavished upon her. A retiredsilk-mercer raised her voice to recall the strange position of the tutorand the pupil, but Madame Denis imposed silence on this malicious tongueby declaring that she knew the whole history from beginning to end, andthat it did the greatest honor to both her neighbors. It was a smalllie, however, of good Madame Denis, but it was doubtless pardoned inconsideration of the intention.
As to Boniface, in company he was dumb and a nonentity; he had been thisevening so remarkably stupid that Bathilde had hardly noticed him atall.
But it was not thus with Boniface, who, having admired Bathilde from adistance, became quite crazy about her when he saw her near. He began tosit constantly at his wind
ow, which obliged Bathilde to keep hersclosed; for it will be remembered that Boniface then inhabited the roomnow occupied by the Chevalier d'Harmental. This conduct of Bathilde, inwhich it was impossible to see anything but supreme modesty, onlyaugmented the passion of her neighbor. At his request, his mother wentagain to the Rue Pagevin, and to the Rue des Orties, where she hadlearned, from an old woman, something of the death-scene we haverelated, and in which Buvat played so noble a part. She had forgottenthe names, and she only remembered that the father was a handsome youngofficer, who had been killed in Spain, and that the mother was acharming young woman, who had died of grief and poverty.
Boniface also had been in search of news, and had learned from hisemployer, who was a friend of Buvat's notary, that every year, for sixyears past, five hundred francs had been deposited with him inBathilde's name, which, with the interest, formed a little capital ofseven or eight thousand francs. This was not much for Boniface, who, ashis mother said, would have three thousand francs a year, but at leastit showed that Bathilde was not destitute. At the end of a month, duringwhich time Madame Denis's friendship for Bathilde did not diminish,seeing that her son's love greatly increased, she determined to ask herhand for him. One afternoon, as Buvat returned from business, MadameDenis waited for him at her door, and made a sign to him that she hadsomething to say to him. Buvat followed her politely into her room, ofwhich she closed the door, that she might not be interrupted; and whenBuvat was seated, she asked for the hand of Bathilde for her son.
Buvat was quite bewildered. It had never entered his mind that Bathildemight marry. Life without Bathilde appeared so impossible a thing thathe changed color at the bare idea. Madame Denis did not fail to remarkthe strange effect that her request had produced on Buvat. She would noteven allow him to think it had passed unnoticed. She offered him thebottle of salts which she always kept on the chimney-piece, that shemight repeat three or four times a week that her nerves were verysensitive.
Buvat, instead of simply smelling the salts from a reasonable distance,put it close up under his nose. The effect was rapid. He bounded to hisfeet, as if the angel of Habakkuk had taken him by the hair. He sneezedfor about ten minutes; then, having regained his senses, he said that heunderstood the honorable proposal made for Bathilde, but that he wasonly her guardian: that he would tell her of the proposal, but mustleave her free to accept or refuse.
Madame Denis thought this perfectly right, and conducted him to thedoor, saying that, waiting a reply, she was their very humble servant.
Buvat went home, and found Bathilde very uneasy; he was half an hourlate, which had not happened before for ten years. The uneasiness of theyoung girl was doubled when she saw Buvat's sad and preoccupied air, andshe wanted to know directly what it was that caused the abstracted mienof her dear friend. Buvat, who had not had time to prepare a speech,tried to put off the explanation till after dinner; but Bathildedeclared that she should not go to dinner till she knew what hadhappened. Buvat was thus obliged to deliver on the spot, and withoutpreparation, Madame Denis's proposal to Bathilde.
Bathilde blushed directly, as a young girl always does when they talk toher of marriage; then, taking the hands of Buvat, who was sitting down,trembling with fear, and looking at him with that sweet smile which wasthe sun of the poor writer--
"Then, my dear father," said she, "you have had enough of your daughter,and you wish to get rid of her?"
"I," said Buvat, "I who wish to get rid of you! No, my child; it is Iwho shall die of grief if you leave me."
"Then, my father, why do you talk to me of marriage?"
"Because--because--some day or other you must marry, and if you find agood partner, although, God knows, my little Bathilde deserves some onebetter than M. Boniface."
"No, my father," answered Bathilde, "I do not deserve any one betterthan M. Boniface, but--"----"Well--but?"
"But--I will never marry."
"What!" cried Buvat, "you will never marry?"
"Why should I? Are we not happy as we are?"
"Are we not happy?" echoed Buvat. "Sabre de bois! I believe we are."
Sabre de bois was an exclamation which Buvat allowed himself on greatoccasions, and which illustrated admirably the pacific inclinations ofthe worthy fellow.
"Well, then," continued Bathilde, with her angel's smile, "if we arehappy, let us rest as we are. You know one should not tempt Providence."
"Come and kiss me, my child," said Buvat; "you have just liftedMontmartre off my stomach!"
"You did not wish for this marriage, then?"
"I wish to see you married to that wretched little imp of a Boniface,against whom I took a dislike the first time I saw him! I did not knowwhy, though I know now."
"If you did not desire this marriage, why did you speak to me about it?"
"Because you know well that I am not really your father, that I have noauthority over you, that you are free."
"Indeed, am I free?" answered Bathilde, laughing.
"Free as air."
"Well, then, if I am free, I refuse."
"Diable! I am highly satisfied," said Buvat; "but how shall I tell it toMadame Denis?"
"How? Tell her that I am too young, that I do not wish to marry, that Iwant to stop with you always."
"Come to dinner," said Buvat, "perhaps a bright idea will strike me whenI am eating. It is odd! my appetite has come back all of a sudden. Justnow I thought I could not swallow a drop of water. Now I could drink theSeine dry."
Buvat drank like a Suisse, and ate like an ogre; but, in spite of thisinfraction of his ordinary habits, no bright idea came to his aid; sothat he was obliged to tell Madame Denis openly that Bathilde was verymuch honored by her selection, but that she did not wish to marry.
This unexpected response perfectly dumfounded Madame Denis, who hadnever imagined that a poor little orphan like Bathilde could refuse sobrilliant a match as her son; consequently she answered very sharplythat every one was free to act for themselves, and that, ifMademoiselle Bathilde chose to be an old maid, she was perfectlywelcome.
But when she reflected on this refusal, which her maternal pride couldnot understand, all the old calumnies which she had heard about theyoung girl and her guardian returned to her mind; and as she was in adisposition to believe them, she made no further doubt that they weretrue, and when she transmitted their beautiful neighbor's answer toBoniface, she said, to console him for this matrimonial disappointment,that it was very lucky that she had refused, since, if she had accepted,in consequence of what she had learned, she could not have allowed sucha marriage to be concluded.
Madame Denis thought it unsuited to her dignity that after sohumiliating a refusal her son should continue to inhabit the roomopposite Bathilde's, so she gave him one on the ground floor, andannounced that his old one was to let.
A week after, as M. Boniface, to revenge himself on Bathilde, wasteasing Mirza, who was standing in the doorway, not thinking it fineenough to trust her little white feet out of doors, Mirza, whom thehabit of being fed had made very petulant, darted out on M. Boniface,and bit him cruelly in the calf.
It was in consequence of this that the poor fellow, whose heart or legwas not very well healed, cautioned D'Harmental to beware of thecoquetry of Bathilde, and to throw a sop to Mirza.