CHAPTER XXVI.
COUNTERPLOTS.
On her part, as may be easily understood, Bathilde had not made such aneffort without suffering from it; the poor child loved D'Harmental withall the strength of a love at seventeen, a first love. During the firstmonth of his absence she had counted the days; during the fifth weekshe had counted the hours; during the last week she had counted theminutes. Then it was that the Abbe Chaulieu fetched her, to take her toMademoiselle de Launay; and as he had taken care, not only to speak ofher talents, but also to tell who she was, Bathilde was received withall the consideration which was due to her, and which poor De Launaypaid all the more readily from its having been so long forgotten towardherself.
This removal, which had rendered Buvat so proud, was received byBathilde as an amusement, which might help her to pass these lastmoments of suspense; but when she found that Mademoiselle de Launaywished to retain her longer, when, according to her calculation, Raoulwould return, she cursed the instant when the abbe had taken her toSceaux, and would certainly have refused, if Madame de Maine herself hadnot interposed. It was impossible to refuse a person who, according tothe ideas of the time, from the supremacy of her rank, had almost aright to command this service; but as she would have reproached herselfeternally if Raoul had returned in her absence, and in returning hadfound her window closed, she had, as we have seen, insisted on returningto study the cantata, and to explain to Buvat what had passed. PoorBathilde! she had invented two false pretexts, to hide, under a doubleveil, the true motive of her return.
If Buvat had been proud when Bathilde was employed to draw the costumesfor the fete, he was doubly so when he found that she was destined toplay a part in it. Buvat had constantly dreamed of Bathilde's return tofortune, and to that social position of which her parents' death haddeprived her, and all that brought her among the world in which she wasborn appeared to him a step toward this inevitable and happy result.However, the three days which he had passed without seeing her appearedto him like three centuries. At the office it was not so bad, thoughevery one could see that some extraordinary event had happened; but itwas when he came home that poor Buvat found himself so miserable.
The first day he could not eat, when he sat down to that table where,for thirteen years, he had been accustomed to see Bathilde sittingopposite to him. The next day, when Nanette reproached him, and told himthat he was injuring his health, he made an effort to eat; but he hadhardly finished his meal when he felt as if he had been swallowing lead,and was obliged to have recourse to the most powerful digestives to helpdown this unfortunate dinner. The third day Buvat did not sit down totable at all, and Nanette had the greatest trouble to persuade him totake some broth, into which she declared she saw two great tears fall.In the evening Bathilde returned, and brought back his sleep and hisappetite.
Buvat, who for three nights had hardly slept, and for three days hadhardly eaten, now slept like a top and ate like an ogre. Bathilde alsowas very joyous; she calculated that this must be the last day ofRaoul's absence. He had said he should be away six weeks. She hadalready counted forty-one long days, and Bathilde would not admit thatthere could be an instant's delay; thus the next day she watched herneighbor's window constantly while studying the cantata. Carriages wererare in the Rue du Temps-Perdu, but it happened that three passedbetween ten and four; each time she ran breathless to the window, andeach time was disappointed. At four o'clock Buvat returned, and thistime it was Bathilde who could not swallow a single morsel. The time toset out for Sceaux at length arrived, and Bathilde set out deploring thefate which prevented her following her watch through the night.
When she arrived at Sceaux, however, the lights, the noise, the music,and above all the excitement of singing for the first time in public,made her--for the time--almost forget Raoul. Now and then the ideacrossed her mind that he might return during her absence, and findingher window closed, would think her indifferent; but then she rememberedthat Mademoiselle de Launay had promised her that she should be homebefore daylight, and she determined that Raoul should see her standingat her window directly he opened his--then she would explain to him howshe had been obliged to be absent that evening, she would allow him tosuspect what she had suffered, and he would be so happy that he wouldforgive her.
All this passed through Bathilde's mind while waiting for Madame deMaine on the border of the lake, and it was in the midst of thediscourse she was preparing for Raoul that the approach of the littlegalley surprised her. At first--in her fear of singing before such agreat company--she thought her voice would fail, but she was too good anartiste not to be encouraged by the admirable instrumentation whichsupported her. She resolved not to allow herself to be intimidated, andabandoning herself to the inspiration of the music and the scene, shewent through her part with such perfection that every one continued totake her for the singer whom she replaced, although that singer was thefirst at the opera, and was supposed to have no rival. But Bathilde'sastonishment was great, when, after the solo was finished, she lookedtoward the group which was approaching her, and saw, seated by Madame deMaine, a young cavalier, so much like Raoul, that, if this apparitionhad presented itself to her in the midst of the song, her voice musthave failed her. For an instant she doubted; but as the galley touchedthe shore she could do so no longer. Two such likenesses could notexist--even between brothers; and it was certain that the young cavalierof Sceaux and the young student of the attic were one and the sameperson.
This was not, however, what wounded Bathilde; the rank which Raoulappeared to hold, instead of removing him from the daughter of Albert duRocher, only brought him nearer to her, and she had recognized in him,at first sight, as he had in her, the marks of high birth. What woundedher--as a betrayal of her good faith and an insult to her love--wasthis pretended absence, during which Raoul, forgetting the Rue duTemps-Perdu, had left his little room solitary, to mix in the fetes atSceaux. Thus Raoul had had but an instant's caprice for her, sufficientto induce him to pass a week or two in an attic, but he had soon gottired of this life: then he had invented the pretext of a journey,declaring that it was a misfortune; but none of this was true. Raoul hadnever quitted Paris--or, if he had, his first visit had not been to theRue du Temps-Perdu.
When Raoul touched the shore, and she found herself only four steps fromhim, and saw him whom she had supposed to be a young provincial offeringhis arm, in that elegant and easy manner, to the proud Madame de Maineherself, her strength abandoned her, and with that cry which had gone toD'Harmental's heart, she fainted. On opening her eyes she found near herMademoiselle de Launay, who lavished on her every possible attention.She wished that instead of returning to Paris Bathilde should remain atSceaux, but she was in haste to leave this place where she had sufferedso much, and begged, with an accent that could not be refused, to beallowed to return, and as a carriage was in readiness to take her, shewent directly. On arriving, Bathilde found Nanette waiting for her;Buvat also had wished to do so, but by twelve o'clock he was so sleepythat it was in vain he rubbed his eyes, and tried to sing his favoritesong; he could not keep awake, and at length he went to bed, tellingNanette to let him know the next morning as soon as Bathilde wasvisible.
Bathilde was delighted to find Nanette alone; Buvat's presence wouldhave been very irksome to her, but as soon as she found that there wasno one but Nanette, Bathilde burst into tears. Nanette had expected tosee her young mistress return proud and joyous at the triumph which shecould not fail to obtain, and was distressed to see her in this state,but to all her questions Bathilde replied that it was nothing,absolutely nothing. Nanette saw that it was no use to insist, and wentto her room, which was next to Bathilde's, but could not resist theimpulse of curiosity, and looking through the key-hole, she saw heryoung mistress kneel down before her little crucifix, and then, as by asudden impulse, run to the window, open it, and look opposite. Nanettedoubted no longer, Bathilde's grief was somehow connected with her love,and it was caused by the young man who lived opposite. Nanette was more
easy; women pity these griefs, but they also know that they may come toa good end. Nanette went to sleep much more easy than if she had notbeen able to find out the cause of Bathilde's tears.
Bathilde slept badly; the first griefs and the first joys of love havethe same results. She woke therefore with sunken eyes and pale cheeks.Bathilde would have dispensed with seeing Buvat, but he had alreadyasked for her twice, so she took courage, and went smiling to speak tohim. Buvat, however, was not deceived; he could not fail to notice herpale cheeks, and Bathilde's grief was revealed to him. She denied thatthere was anything the matter. Buvat pretended to believe her, but wentto the office very uneasy and anxious to know what could have happenedto her.
When he was gone, Nanette approached Bathilde, who was sitting in herchair with her head leaning on her hand, and stood an instant beforeher, contemplating her with an almost maternal love; then, finding thatBathilde did not speak, she herself broke silence.
"Are you suffering still, mademoiselle?" said she.
"Yes, my good Nanette."
"If you would open the window, I think it would do you good."
"Oh! no, Nanette, thank you, the window must remain closed."
"You do not know perhaps, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, yes, Nanette, I know."
"That the young man opposite returned this morning--"
"Well, Nanette?" said Bathilde, raising her head and looking at her withseverity, "what is that to me?"
"Pardon, mademoiselle," said Nanette, "but I thought--"
"What did you think?"
"That you regretted his absence, and would be glad of his return."
"You were wrong."
"Pardon, mademoiselle, but he appears so distinguished."
"Too much so, Nanette; a great deal too much so for poor Bathilde."
"Too distinguished for you, Mademoiselle!" cried Nanette, "as if youwere not worth all the noblemen in the world! besides, you are noble!"
"I know what I appear to be, Nanette--that is to say, a poor girl, withwhose peace, honor, and love, every nobleman thinks he may play withimpunity. You see, Nanette, that this window must be closed. I must notsee this young man again."
"Mon Dieu! Mademoiselle Bathilde, you wish then to kill this poor youngman with grief? This whole morning he has not moved from his window, andlooks so sad that it is enough to break one's heart."
"What does his looking sad matter to me? What has he to do with me? I donot know him. I do not even know his name. He is a stranger, who hascome here to stay for a few days, and who to-morrow may go away again.If I had thought anything of him I should have been wrong, Nanette; and,instead of encouraging me in a love which would be folly, you ought, onthe contrary--supposing that it existed--to show me the absurdity andthe danger of it."
"Mon Dieu! mademoiselle, why so? you must love some day, and you may aswell love a handsome young man who looks like a king, and who must berich, since he does not do anything."
"Well, Nanette, what would you say if this young man who appears to youso simple, so loyal, and so good, were nothing but a wicked traitor, aliar!"
"Ah, mon Dieu! mademoiselle, I should say it was impossible."
"If I told you that this young man who lives in an attic, and who showshimself at the window dressed so simply, was yesterday at Sceaux,giving his arm to Madame de Maine, dressed as a colonel?"
"I should say, mademoiselle, that at last God is just in sending yousome one worthy of you. Holy Virgin! a colonel! a friend of the Duchessede Maine! Oh, Mademoiselle Bathilde, you will be a countess, I tell you!and it is not too much for you. If Providence gave every one what theydeserve, you would be a duchess, a princess, a queen, yes, queen ofFrance; Madame de Maintenon was--"
"I would not be like her, Nanette."
"I do not say like her; besides, it is not the king you love,mademoiselle."
"I do not love any one, Nanette."
"I am too polite to contradict you; but never mind, you are ill; and thefirst remedy for a young person who is ill, is air and sun. Look at thepoor flowers, when they are shut up, they turn pale. Let me open thewindow, mademoiselle."
"Nanette, I forbid you; go to your work and leave me."
"Very well, mademoiselle, I will go, since you drive me away," saidNanette, lifting the corner of her apron to her eye; "but if I were inthat young man's place I know very well what I would do."
"And what would you do?"
"I would come and explain myself, and I am sure that even if he werewrong you would excuse him."
"Nanette," said Bathilde, "if he comes, I forbid you to admit him; doyou hear?"
"Very well, mademoiselle; he shall not be admitted, though it is notvery polite to turn people away from the door."
"Polite or not, you will do as I tell you," said Bathilde, to whomcontradiction gave strength; "and now go. I wish to be alone."
Nanette went out.
When she was alone, Bathilde burst into tears, for her strength was butpride. She believed herself the most unfortunate woman in the world, asD'Harmental thought himself the most unfortunate man. At four o'clockBuvat returned. Bathilde, seeing the traces of uneasiness on hisgood-natured face, tried all she could to tranquilize him. She smiled,she joked, she kept him company at table; but all was in vain. Afterdinner he proposed to Bathilde, as an amusement which nothing couldresist--to take a walk on the terrace. Bathilde, thinking that if sherefused Buvat would remain with her, accepted, and went up with him intohis room, but when there, she remembered that she must write a letter ofthanks to the Abbe Chaulieu, for his kindness in presenting her toMadame de Maine; and, leaving her guardian with Mirza, she went down.Shortly after she heard Mirza scratching at the door, and went to openit. Mirza entered with such demonstrations of joy that Bathildeunderstood that something extraordinary must have happened, but onlooking attentively she saw the letter tied to her collar. As this wasthe second she had brought, Bathilde had no difficulty in guessing thewriter. The temptation was too strong to be resisted, so she detachedthe paper with one hand, which trembled as she remembered that itprobably contained the destiny of her life, while with the other shecaressed Mirza, who, standing on her hind legs, appeared delighted tobecome so important a personage. Bathilde opened the letter, and lookedat it twice without being able to decipher a single line. There was amist before her eyes.
The letter, while it said a great deal, did not say quite enough. Itprotested innocence and asked for pardon; it spoke of strangecircumstances requiring secrecy; but, above all, it said that the writerwas madly in love. The result was, that, without completely reassuringher, it yet did her good. Bathilde, however, with a remnant of pride,determined not to relent till the next day. Since Raoul confessedhimself guilty, he should be punished. Bathilde did not remember thathalf of this punishment recoiled upon herself. The effect of the letter,incomplete as it was, was such that when Buvat returned from the terracehe thought Bathilde looked infinitely better, and began to believe whatshe herself had told him in the morning, that her agitation was onlycaused by the emotion of the day before. Buvat went to his own room ateight o'clock, leaving Bathilde free to retire at any hour she liked,but she had not the least inclination to sleep; for a long time shewatched, contented and happy, for she knew that her neighbor's windowwas open, and by this she guessed his anxiety. Bathilde at lengthdreamed that Raoul was at her feet, and that he gave her such goodreasons that it was she, in her turn, who asked for pardon.
Thus in the morning she awoke convinced that she had been dreadfullysevere, and wondering how she could have had the courage to do so. Itfollowed that her first movement was to run to the window and open it;but perceiving, through an almost imperceptible opening, the young manat his window, she stopped short. Would not this be too complete anavowal? It would be better to wait for Nanette; she would open thewindow naturally, and in this way her neighbor would not be so able topride himself on his conquest. Nanette arrived, but she had been toomuch scolded the day before about this window to risk a secondr
epresentation of the same scene. She took the greatest pains to avoideven touching the curtains. Bathilde was ready to cry. Buvat came downas usual to take his coffee with Bathilde, and she hoped that he atleast would ask why she kept herself so shut up, and give her anopportunity to open the window. Buvat, however, had received a new orderfor the classification of some manuscripts, and was so preoccupied, thathe finished his coffee and left the room without once remarking that thecurtains were closed.
For the first time Bathilde felt almost angry with him, and thought hemust have paid her very little attention not to discover that she mustbe half-stifled in such a close room. What was she to do? Tell Nanetteto open the window? She would not do it. Open it herself she could not.She must then wait; but till when? Till the next day, or the day afterperhaps, and what would Raoul think? Would he not become impatient atthis exaggerated severity? Suppose he should again leave for afortnight, for a month, for six weeks--forever; Bathilde would die, shecould not live without Raoul. Two hours passed thus; Bathilde triedeverything, her embroidery, her harpsichord, her drawing, but she coulddo nothing. Nanette came in--a slight hope returned to her, but it wasonly to ask leave to go out. Bathilde signed to her that she could go.Nanette was going to the Faubourg St. Antoine; she would be away twohours. What was she to do during these two hours? It would have been sodelightful to pass them at the window.
Bathilde sat down and drew out the letter; she knew it by heart, but yetshe read it again. It was so tender, so passionate, so evidently fromthe heart. Oh! if she could receive a second letter. This was an idea;she looked at Mirza, the graceful little messenger; she took her in herarms, and then, trembling as if she were about to commit a crime, shewent to open the outer door. A young man was standing before this door,reaching out his hand toward the bell. Bathilde uttered a cry of joy,and the young man a cry of love--it was Raoul.