CHAPTER XXIV.
JEALOUSY.
The first sensation D'Harmental experienced on returning was one ofinexpressible satisfaction at finding himself again in that little roomso filled with recollections. Though he had been absent six weeks, onemight have supposed that he had only quitted it the day before, as,thanks to the almost maternal care of Madame Denis, everything was inits accustomed place. D'Harmental remained an instant, his candle in hishand, looking around him with a look almost of ecstasy. All the otherimpressions of his life were effaced by those which he had experiencedin this little corner of the world. Then he ran to the window, openedit, and threw an indescribable look of love over the darkened windows ofhis neighbor. Doubtless Bathilde slept the sleep of an angel,unconscious that D'Harmental was there, trembling with love and hope.
He remained thus for more than half an hour, breathing the night air,which had never seemed to him so pure and fresh, and began to feel thatBathilde had become one of the necessities of his life; but as he couldnot pass the whole night at his window, he then closed it, and came intohis room, although only to follow up the recollections with which it wasfilled. He opened his piano, and passed his fingers over the keys, atthe risk of re-exacting the anger of the lodger on the third floor. Fromthe piano he passed to the unfinished portrait of Bathilde. At length heslept, listening again in his mind to the air sung by MademoiselleBerry, whom he finished by believing to be one and the same person asBathilde. When he awoke, D'Harmental jumped from his bed and ran to thewindow. The day appeared already advanced; the sun was shiningbrilliantly; yet Bathilde's window remain hermetically closed.
The chevalier looked at his watch; it was ten o'clock, and he began todress. We have already confessed that he was not free from a certainalmost feminine coquetry; but this was the fault of the time, wheneverything was mannered--even passion. At this time it was not amelancholy expression on which he reckoned. The joy of return had givento his face a charming expression of happiness, and it was evident thata glance from Bathilde would crown him king of the creation. This glancehe came to the window to seek, but Bathilde's remained closed.D'Harmental opened his, hoping that the noise would attract herattention; nothing stirred. He remained there an hour: during this hourthere was not even a breath of wind to stir the curtains: the younggirl's room must be abandoned. He coughed, opened and closed thewindow, detached little pieces of plaster from the wall, and threw themagainst the window--all in vain.
To surprise succeeded uneasiness; this window, so obstinately closed,must indicate absence, if not misfortune. Bathilde absent!--where couldshe be? What had happened to disturb her calm, regular life? Who couldhe ask? No one but Madame Denis could know. It was quite natural thatD'Harmental should pay a visit to his landlady on his return, and heaccordingly went down. Madame Denis had not seen him since the day ofthe breakfast. She had not forgotten his attention when she fainted. Shereceived him like the prodigal son. Fortunately for D'Harmental, theyoung ladies were occupied with a drawing lesson, and Boniface was athis office, so that he saw no one but his hostess. The conversation fellnaturally on the order and neatness of his room during his absence; fromthis the transition was easy to the question if the opposite lodging hadchanged tenants. Madame Denis replied that she had seen Bathilde at thewindow the morning before; and that in the evening her son had met Buvatreturning from his office, but had noticed in him a singular air ofpride and hauteur. This was all D'Harmental wished to know. Bathilde wasin Paris, and at home; chance had not yet directed her looks toward thatwindow so long closed, and that room so long empty. He took leave ofMadame Denis with an effusion of gratitude which she was far fromattributing to its true cause; and on the landing he met the AbbeBrigaud, who was coming to pay his daily visit to Madame Denis.
The abbe asked if he was going home, and promised to pay him a visit. Onentering his room D'Harmental went straight to the window. Nothing waschanged; it was evidently a plan, and he resolved to employ the lastmeans which he had reserved. He sat down to the piano, and after abrilliant prelude sang the air of the cantata of Night which he hadheard the evening before, and of which he had retained every note in hismemory. Meanwhile he did not lose sight for an instant of theinexorable window; but there was no sign. The opposite room had no echo.
But D'Harmental had produced an effect which he did not expect. Hearingapplause, he turned round, and saw the Abbe Brigaud behind him.
"Ah! it is you, abbe?" said D'Harmental; "I did not know that you wereso great a lover of music."
"Nor you so good a musician. Peste! my dear pupil, an air you only heardonce. It is wonderful."
"I thought it very beautiful, abbe, and as I have a very good memory forsounds, I retained it."
"And then it was so admirably sung. Was it not?"
"Yes," said D'Harmental; "Mademoiselle Berry has an exquisite voice, andthe first time she sings I shall go incognito to the opera."
"Is it that voice you want to hear?" asked Brigaud.----"Yes."
"Then you must not go to the opera for that."
"And where must I go?"
"Nowhere. Stay here. You are in the boxes."
"What! The Goddess of Night?"
"Is your neighbor."
"Bathilde!" cried D'Harmental. "Then I was not deceived; I recognizedher. But it is impossible! How could she have been there?"
"First of all," said the abbe, "nothing is impossible; remember that,before you deny or undertake anything. Believe that everything ispossible; it is the way to succeed in everything."
"But Bathilde?"
"Yes, does it not appear strange at first? Well, nothing is more simple.But it does not interest you, chevalier; let us talk of something else."
"Yes, yes, abbe; you are strangely mistaken--I am deeply interested."
"Well, my dear pupil, since you are so curious, this is the wholeaffair. The Abbe Chaulieu knows Mademoiselle Bathilde; is not that yourneighbor's name?"
"Yes. How does the Abbe Chaulieu know her?"
"Oh! it is very simple. The guardian of this charming child is, as youknow, or do not know, one of the best writers and copyists in thecapital. The Abbe Chaulieu wants some one to copy his poetry, since,being blind, he is obliged to dictate in the first instance to a littlelackey who cannot spell, and he has confided this important task toBuvat. By this means he has become acquainted with MademoiselleBathilde."
"But all this does not explain how Mademoiselle Bathilde came toSceaux."
"Stop; every history has its commencement, its middle, and itstermination."
"Abbe, you will make me swear."
"Patience, patience."
"Go on; I listen to you."
"Well, having made Mademoiselle Bathilde's acquaintance, the AbbeChaulieu, like the rest, has felt the influence of her charms, for thereis a species of magic attached to the young person in question; no onecan see her without loving her."
"I know it," murmured D'Harmental.
"Then, as Mademoiselle Bathilde is full of talent, and not only singslike a nightingale, but draws like an angel, Chaulieu spoke of her soenthusiastically to Mademoiselle de Launay that she thought of employingher for the costumes of the different personages in the fete."
"This does not tell me that it was Bathilde and not Mademoiselle Berrywho sang lost night."
"We are coming to it."
"Well?"
"It happened that Mademoiselle de Launay, like the rest of the world,took a violent fancy to the little witch. Instead of sending her awayafter the costumes were finished, she kept her three days at Sceaux. Shewas still there the day before yesterday, closeted with Mademoiselle deLaunay, when some one entered with a bewildered air to announce that thedirector of the opera wished to speak to her on a matter of importance.Mademoiselle de Launay went out, leaving Bathilde alone. Bathilde, toamuse herself, went to the piano and finding both the instrument andher voice in good order, began to sing a great scene from some opera,and with such perfection that Mademoiselle de Launay, returning andhea
ring this unexpected song, opened the door softly, listened to theair, and threw her arms round the beautiful singer's neck, crying outthat she could save her life. Bathilde, astonished, asked how, and inwhat manner, she could render her so great a service. Then Mademoisellede Launay told her how she had engaged Mademoiselle Berry of the operato sing the cantata of Night on the succeeding evening, and she hadfallen ill and sent to say that to her great regret her Royal Highnessthe Duchesse de Maine could not rely upon her, so that there would be no'Night,' and, consequently, no fete, if Bathilde would not have theextreme goodness to undertake the aforesaid cantata.
"Bathilde, as you may suppose, defended herself with all her might, anddeclared that it was impossible that she should thus sing music whichshe did not know. Mademoiselle de Launay put the cantata before her.Bathilde said that the music seemed terribly difficult. Mademoiselle deLaunay answered that for a musician of her powers nothing was difficult.Bathilde got up. Mademoiselle de Launay made her sit down again.Bathilde clasped her hands. Mademoiselle de Launay unclasped them andplaced them on the piano. The piano being touched gave out a sound.Bathilde, in spite of herself, played the first bar; then the second;then the whole cantata. Then she attacked the song, and sang it to theend with an admirable justness of intonation and beauty of expression.Mademoiselle de Launay was enchanted. Madame de Maine arrived in despairat what she had heard of Mademoiselle Berry. Mademoiselle de Launaybegged Bathilde to recommence the cantata. Bathilde did not dare torefuse; she played and sang like an angel. Madame de Maine joined herprayers to those of Mademoiselle de Launay. You know, chevalier, that itis impossible to refuse Madame de Maine anything.
"Poor Bathilde was obliged to give way, and half laughing, half crying,she consented, on two conditions. The first, that she might go herselfto her friend Buvat to explain her absence; the second, that she mightremain at home all that evening and the next morning in order to studythe unfortunate cantata. These clauses, after a long discussion, weregranted, with reciprocal promises, on Bathilde's part that she wouldreturn at seven o'clock the next evening, on the part of Mademoiselle deLaunay and Madame de Maine that every one should continue to believethat it was Mademoiselle Berry who sung."
"But then," asked D'Harmental, "how was the secret betrayed?"
"Oh! by an unforeseen circumstance," replied Brigaud, in that strangemanner which caused one to doubt if he was in jest or earnest. "All wentoff capitally, as you know, till the end of the cantata, and the proofis, that having only heard it once, you are able to remember it from oneend to the other. At the moment the galley which brought us from thepavilion of Aurora touched the shore, whether from emotion at havingsung for the first time in public, or that she recognized among Madamede Maine's suite some one she had not expected to see there, for someunknown reason, however, the poor Goddess of Night uttered a cry andfainted in the arms of the Hours, her companions. All promises and oathswere at once forgotten; her veil was removed to throw water in her face,so that when I came up, while you were going away with her highness, Iwas much astonished to find, instead of Mademoiselle Berry, your prettyneighbor. I questioned Mademoiselle de Launay, and as it was impossibleany longer to keep the incognito, she told me what had passed, under theseal of secrecy, which I have betrayed for you only, my dear pupil,because, I do not know why, I can refuse you nothing."
"And this indisposition?" asked D'Harmental with uneasiness.
"Oh! it was nothing; a mere momentary emotion which had no badconsequences, since, in spite of all they could say to the contrary,Bathilde would not remain another hour at Sceaux, but insisted onreturning, so that they put a carriage at her disposal, and she ought tohave been home an hour before us."
"Then you are sure she is at home? Thanks, abbe, that is all I wished toknow."
"And now," said Brigaud, "I may go, may I not? You have no more need ofme, now that you know all you wish to know."
"I do not say so, my dear Brigaud; on the contrary, stop, you will giveme great pleasure."
"No, I thank you; I have got some business of my own to transact in thetown, and will leave you to your reflections, my dear pupil."
"When shall I see you again?" asked D'Harmental, mechanically.
"Most likely to-morrow," answered the abbe.
"Adieu till to-morrow, then."
"Till to-morrow."
So saying, the abbe turned round, laughing his peculiar laugh, andreached the door while D'Harmental was reopening his window, determinedto remain there till the next day, if necessary, and only desiring, as areward for this long watch, to catch a single glimpse of Bathilde.
The poor gentleman was in love over head and ears.