lifililiiilllilllil 
 
 3 1822 01025 9547
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN 01 EGO 
 
 1
 
 fii|i§iliiii pQ 
 
 ss
 
 Illustrated Sterling 6dition 
 
 THE 
 
 Chevalier d'Harmental 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BOSTON 
 DANA ESTES & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 CONTEÎ^TS. 
 
 II. 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 VIL 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXT. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 
 Pads 
 
 Captain Roquefinette '-^ 
 
 19 
 The Meeting • 
 
 28 
 Tue Chevalier 
 
 A Bal-masque of the Peiuod. — Tue Bat . . 37 
 
 49 
 The Arsenal 
 
 The Prince de Cellamare . ^8 
 
 .... 66 
 
 Alberoni 
 
 The Garret ^^ 
 
 A Citizen of the Rue du Temps Perdu . . 84 
 
 The Agreement 92 
 
 Pros and Cons • ^^ 
 
 The Denis Family 113 
 
 The Crimson Rihbon 125 
 
 The Rue des Bons Enfants 135 
 
 Jean Bouvat 1^9 
 
 Bathilde 1^^ 
 
 First Love 1^^ 
 
 The Consul Duilius 200 
 
 The Abbé Dubois 2)3 
 
 The Conspiracy ^22 
 
 The Order of the Honey-Bee 230 
 
 The Queen of the Greenlanders 234 
 
 The Due de Richelieu 243
 
 VI 
 
 Ohaptek 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 xxxvt. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 XL. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Jealousy 
 
 A PkKTEXT , 
 
 countkkplots 
 
 The Seventh Heaven « 
 
 Fénelon's Successor < 
 
 The Prince de Listhnay's Accomplice. . : 
 
 The Fox ani> the Goose ^ 
 
 A Chapter of Saint-Simon s 
 
 A Snare „ 
 
 The Beginning of the End 3 
 
 Parliamentary Justice 3 
 
 Man Proposes .^ 
 
 David and Goliath 3 
 
 The Saviour of France 3 
 
 God Disposes 3 
 
 A Prime Minister's Memory 3 
 
 Boniface ^ 
 
 The Three Visits 4 
 
 The Closet 4^ 
 
 The Marriage in Extremis 4; 
 
 Postscriptum 4;
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Page 
 PoETKAlT OF DuBOis Fro7itispiece 
 
 Portrait of the Regent 200 
 
 Portrait of tue Duchesse du Maine 233 
 
 Death of Roquefinette 370 
 
 Bathilde on her Way to the Regent 427
 
 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL.
 
 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CAPTAIN KOQUKFINlîTXfi. 
 
 On the 22cl of March, in the year of our Lord 1718, a 
 young cavalier of high bearing, about twenty-six or twenty- 
 eight years of age, mounted on a pure-bred Spanish 
 charger, was waiting, towards eight o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, at that end of the Pont Neuf which abuts on the Quai 
 de l'Ecole. 
 
 He was so upright and firm in his saddle that one might 
 have imagined him to be placed there as a sentinel by the 
 Lieutenant-General of Police, Messire Voyer d'Argenson. 
 After waiting about half an hour, during which time he 
 impatiently examined the clock of the Samaritaine, his 
 glance, wandering till then, appeared to rest with satisfac- 
 tion on an individual who, coming from the Place Dauphine, 
 turned to the right, and advanced towards him. 
 
 The man who thus attracted the attention of the young 
 chevalier was a powerfully built fellow of five feet ten, 
 wearing, instead of a peruke, a forest of his own black 
 hair, slightly grizzled, dressed in a manner half-bourgeois, 
 half-military, ornamented with a shoulder-knot which had 
 once been crimson, but from exposure to sun and rain had 
 become a dirty orange. He was armed with a long sword 
 slung in a belt, and which bumped ceaselessly against the 
 calves of his legs. Finally, he wore a hat once furnished 
 with a plume and lace, and which — in remembrance, no
 
 10 THE giievalip:r d'harmental. 
 
 doubt, of its past splendour — its owner had stuck so much 
 over his left ear that it seemed as if only a miracle of 
 equilibrium could keep it in its place. There was alto- 
 gether in the countenance and in the carriage and bearing 
 of the man (who seemed from forty to forty-five years of 
 age, and who advanced swaggering and keeping the middle 
 of the road, curling his moustache with one hand, and with 
 the other signing to the carriages to give place) such a 
 character of insolent carelessness that the cavalier who 
 watched him smiled involuntarily as he murmured to 
 himself, "I believe this is my man." 
 
 In consequence of this probability, he walked straight up 
 to the new-comer, with the evident intention of speaking 
 to him. The latter, though he evidently did not know the 
 cavalier, seeing that he was going to address him, placed 
 himself in the third position, and waited, one hand on his 
 sword, and the other on his moustache, to hear what the 
 person who was coming up had to say to him. Indeed, as 
 the man with the orange ribbon had foreseen, the young 
 cavalier stopped his horse by him, and touching his hat, 
 "Sir," said he, "I think I may conclude, from your appear- 
 ance and manner, that you are a gentleman; am I 
 mistaken ? " 
 
 "No, palsam-hleu ! " replied he to whom this strange 
 question was addressed, touching his hat in his turn. "I 
 am delighted that my appearance speaks so well for me, 
 for, however little you would think that you were giving 
 me my proper title, you may call me captain." 
 
 "I am enchanted that you are a soldier; it is an addi- 
 tional security to me that you are incapable of leaving a 
 brave man in distress." 
 
 " Welcome, provided always the brave man has no need 
 of my purse; for I confess, freely, that I have just left my 
 last crown in a cabaret on the Port de la Tonnelle." 
 
 "Nobody wants your purse, captain; on the contrary, I 
 beg you to believe that mine is at your disposal." 
 
 " To whom have I the honour to speak ? " asked the cap-
 
 CAPTAIN ROQUEFINETTE. 11 
 
 tain, visibly touched by this reply, "and in what can I 
 oblige you ? " 
 
 "1 am the Baron René de Valef," replied the cavalier. 
 
 "I think," interrupted the captain, "that I knew, in the 
 Flemish wars, a family of that name." 
 
 "It was mine, since we are from Liège." The two 
 speakers exchanged bows. 
 
 "You must know, then," continued the Baron de Valef, 
 "that the Chevalier Raoul d'Harmental, one of my most 
 intimate friends , last night, in my company, picked up a 
 quarrel, which will finish this morning by a meeting. Our 
 adversaries were three, and we but two. I went this 
 morning to the houses of the Marquis de Gacé and Comte 
 de Sourgis, but unfortunately neither the one nor the 
 other had passed the night in his bed; so, as the affair 
 could not wait, as I must set out in two hours for Spain, 
 and as we absolutely require a second, or rather a third, 
 I installed myself on the Pont Neuf with the intention of 
 addressing the first gentleman who passed. You passed, 
 and I addressed myself to you." 
 
 "And you have done right, pardicu ! rest satisfied, baron, 
 I am your man. What hour is fixed for the meeting ? " 
 
 "Half -past nine this morning." 
 
 " Where will it take place ? " 
 
 "At the Port Maillot." 
 
 " Diable ! there is no time to lose ; but you are on horse- 
 back and I am on foot ; how shall we manage that ? " 
 
 "There is a way, captain." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "It is that you should do me the honour of mounting 
 behind me." 
 
 "Willingly, baron." 
 
 '*I warn you, however," added the young cavalier, with 
 a slight smile, "that my horse is rather spirited." 
 
 " Oh, I know him ! " said the captain, drawing back a 
 step, and looking at the beautiful animal with the eye of a 
 connoisseur; "if I am not mistaken, he was bred between
 
 12 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 the mountains of Granada and the Sierra Morena. I rode 
 such a one at Almanza, and I have often made him lie 
 down like a sheep when he wanted to carry me off at a 
 gallop, only by pressing him with my knees." 
 
 "You reassure me. To horse, then, captain." 
 
 "Here I am, baron." 
 
 And without using the stirrup, which the young cavalier 
 left free for him, with a single bound the captain sprang 
 on to the croup. 
 
 The baron had spoken truly; his horse was not accus- 
 tomed to so heavy a load, therefore he attempted to get 
 rid of it. Neither had the captain exaggerated, and the 
 animal soon felt that he had found his master; so that, 
 after a few attempts, which had no other effect than to 
 show to the passers-by the address of the two cavaliers, 
 he became obedient, and went at a swinging trot down the 
 Quai de l'École, which at that time was nothing but a 
 wharf, crossed at the same pace the Quai du Louvre and the 
 Quai des Tuileries, through the gate of the Conference, and 
 leaving on the left the road to Versailles, threaded the 
 great avenue of the Champs Elysees, which now leads to 
 the triumphal Arc de l'Étoile. Arrived at the Pont 
 d'Antin, the Baron de Valef slackened his horse's pace a 
 little, for he found that he had ample time to arrive at the 
 Port Maillot at the hour fixed. 
 
 The captain profited by this respite. 
 
 " May I, without indiscretion, ask why we are going to 
 fight ? I wish, you understand, to know that, in order to 
 regulate my conduct towards my adversary, and to know 
 whether it is worth while killing him." 
 
 "That is only fair," answered the baron; "I will tell 
 you everything as it passed. We were supping last 
 night at La Fillon's. Of course you know La Fillon, 
 captain ? " 
 
 " Pardieu! it was I who started her in the world, in 1705, 
 before my Italian campaign. " 
 
 "Well," replied the baron, laughing, "you may boast of
 
 CAPTAIN KOQUEFINETTE. 13 
 
 a pupil who does you honour. Briefly, I supped there tête- 
 à-tête with D'Harmental." 
 
 " Without any one of the fair sex ? " 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu, yes! I must tell you that D'Harmental 
 is a kind of Trappist, only going to La Fillon's for fear of 
 the reputation of not going there ; only loving one woman 
 at a time, and in love for the moment with the little 
 D'Averne, the wife of the lieutenant of the guards." 
 
 "Very good! " 
 
 " We were there, chatting, when we heard a merry party 
 enter the room next to ours. As our conversation did not 
 concern anybody else, we kept silence, and, without in- 
 tending it, heard the conversation of our neighbours. See 
 what chance is. Our neighbours talked of the only thing 
 which we ought not to have heard." 
 
 "Of the chevalier's mistress, perhaps ?" 
 
 *' Exactly. At the first words of their discourse which 
 reached me, I rose, and tried to get Raoul away, but 
 instead of following me, he put his hand on my shoulder, 
 and made me sit down again. ' Then Philippe is making 
 love to the little D'Averne ? ' said one. * Since the fête 
 of the Maréchal d'Estrée, where she gave him a sword- 
 belt with some verses, in which she compared him to Mars, ' 
 replied another voice. ' That is eight days ago, ' said a 
 third. ' Yes, ' replied the first. ' Oh ! she made a kind of 
 resistance, either that she really held by poor D'Harmental, 
 or that she knew that the regent only likes those who resist 
 him. At last this morning, in exchange for a basketful 
 of flowers and jewels, she has consented to receive his 
 Highness.'" 
 
 " Ah ! " said the captain, " I begin to understand ; the 
 chevalier got angry." 
 
 " Exactly. Instead of laughing, as you or I would have 
 done, and profiting by this circumstance to get back his 
 brevet of colonel, which was taken from him under pretext 
 of economy, D'Harmental became so pale that I thought 
 he was going to faint ; then, approaching the partition, and
 
 14 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENÏAL. 
 
 striking with his fist, to ensure silence, ' Gentlemen,' said 
 he, ' I am sorry to contradict you, but the one who said that 
 Mademoiselle d'Averne had granted a rendezvous to the 
 regent, or to any other, has told a lie.' " 
 
 "'It was I who said it, and who repeat it, and if it dis- 
 pleases you, my name is Lafare, captain of the guards.' 
 ' And mine, Fargy,' said a second voice. * And mine, 
 Ravanne,' said the third. ' Very well, gentlemen,' replied 
 D'Harmental, 'to-morrow, from nine to half -past, at the 
 Port Maillot.' And he sat down again opposite me. They 
 talked of something else, and we finished our supper. 
 That is the whole affair, captain, and you now know as 
 much as I." 
 
 The captain gave vent to a kind of exclamation which 
 seemed to say, " This is not very serious ; " but in spite of 
 this semi-disapprobation, he resolved none the less to sup- 
 port, to the best of his power, the cause of which he had so 
 unexpectedly been made the champion, however defective 
 that cause might appear to him in principle ; besides, even 
 had he wished it, he had gone too far to draw back. They 
 had now arrived at the Port Maillot, and a young cavalier, 
 who appeared to be waiting, and who had from a distance 
 perceived the baron and the captain, put his horse to the 
 gallop, and approached rapidly; this was the Chevalier 
 d'Harmental. 
 
 "My dear chevalier," said the Baron de Valef, grasping 
 his hand, " permit me, in default of an old friend, to pres- 
 ent to you a new one. Neither Sourgis nor Gacé was at 
 home. I met this gentleman on the Pont Neuf, and told 
 him our embarrassment, and he offered himself to free us 
 from it, with the greatest good-will."' 
 
 "I am doubly grateful to you, then, my dear Valef," re- 
 pied the chevalier, casting on the captain a look which 
 betrayed a slight astonishment. "And to you, monsieui-," 
 continued he. "I must excuse myself for making your 
 acquaintance by mixing you up thus with an unpleasant 
 affair. But you will afford me one day or another an
 
 CAPTAIN ROQUEFINETTE. 15 
 
 opportunity to return your kindness, and I hope and beg 
 that, an opportunity arising, you will dispose of me as I 
 have of you." 
 
 "Well said, chevalier," replied the captain, leaping to 
 the ground; "and in speaking thus you might lead me to 
 the end of the world. The proverb is right: ' It is only 
 mountains that don't meet.' " 
 
 "Who is this original?" asked D'Harmental of Valef, 
 while the captain stamped the calls with his right foot, 
 to stretch his legs. 
 
 "Ma foi! I do not know," said Valef; "but I do know 
 that we should be in a great dithculty without him. Some 
 poor officer of fortune, without doubt, whom the peace has 
 thrown abroad like so many others; but we will judge him 
 by and by, by his works." 
 
 "Well!" said the captain, becoming animated with the 
 exercise he was taking, " where are our adversaries ? " 
 
 "When I came up to you," replied D'Harmental, "they 
 had not arrived, but I perceived at the end of the avenue 
 a kind of hired carriage, which will serve as an excuse if 
 they are late; and indeed," added the chevalier, pulling 
 out a beautiful watch set with diamonds, " they are not 
 behind time, for it is hardly half-past nine." 
 
 "Let us go," said Valef, dismounting and throwing the 
 reins to D'Harmental's valet; "for if they arrive at the 
 rendezvous while we stand gossiping here, it will appear 
 as though we had kept them waiting." 
 
 "You are right," said D'Harmental; and, dismounting, 
 he advanced towards the entrance of the wood, followed 
 by his two companions. 
 
 "Will you not take anything, gentlemen ?" said the land- 
 lord of the restaurant, who was standing at his door, 
 waiting for custom. 
 
 "Yes, Maître Durand," replied D'Harmental, who 
 wished, in order that they might not be disturbed, to make 
 it appear as if they had come from an ordinary walk, 
 " breakfast for three. We are going to take a turn in the
 
 16 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 avenue, and then Ave shall come back." And he let three 
 louis fall into the hands of the innkeeper. 
 
 The captain saw the shine of the three gold pieces one 
 after another, and quickly reckoned up what might be had 
 at the "Bois de Boulogne " for seventy-two francs; but as 
 he knew whom he had to deal with, he judged that a little 
 advice from him would not be useless; consequently, in 
 his turn approaching the vudtre (Tliôtel, — 
 
 "Listen, my friend," said he; "you know that I under- 
 stand the price of things, and that no one can deceive 
 me about the amount of a tavern bill. Let the wines be 
 good and varied, and let the breakfast be copious, or I 
 will break your head. Do you understand ? " 
 
 "Be easy, captain," answered Durand; "it is not a cus- 
 tomer like you whom I would deceive." 
 
 "All right; I have eaten nothing for twelve hours. 
 Arrange accordingly." 
 
 The hotel-keeper bowed, as knowing what that meant, 
 and went back to his kitchen, beginning to think that he 
 had made a worse bargain than he had hoped. 
 
 As to the captain, after having made a last sign of recog- 
 nition, half -amicable, half-threp^tening, he quickened his 
 pace, and rejoined the chevalier and the baron, who had 
 stopped to wait for him. 
 
 The chevalier was not wrong as to the situation of the 
 hired carriage. At the turn of the first alley he saw his 
 three adversaries getting out of it. They were, as we 
 have already said, the Marquis de Lafare, the Comte de 
 Fargy, and the Chevalier de Ra vanne. 
 
 Our readers will now permit us to give them some short 
 details of these three personages, who will often reappear 
 in the course of this history. Lafare, the best known of 
 the three, thanks to the poetry which he has left behind 
 him, was a man of about thirty-six or thirty-eight years, 
 of a frank and open countenance, and of an inexhaustible 
 gaiety and good-humour, — always ready to engage with all 
 comers at table, at play, or at arms, and that without
 
 CAPTAIN ROQUEFINETTE. 17 
 
 malice or bitterness ; much run after by the fair sex, and 
 much beloved by the regent, who had named him his cap- 
 tain of the guards, and who, during the ten years in which 
 he had admitted him into his intimacy, had found him his 
 rival sometimes, but his faithful servant always. Thus the 
 prince, who had the habit of giving nick-names to all his 
 boon companions, as Avell as to his mistresses, never called 
 him any other than "bon enfant." Nevertheless, for some 
 time the popularity of Lafare, established as it was by 
 agreeable antecedents, was fast lowering amongst the ladies 
 of the court and the girls of the opera. There was a report 
 current that he was going to be so ridiculous as to become 
 a well-behaved man. It is true that some people, in order 
 to preserve his reputation for him, whispered that this 
 apparent conversion had no other cause than the jealousy 
 of Mademoiselle de Conti, daughter of the duchess, and 
 granddaughter of the great Conde, who it was said honoured 
 the regent's captain of the guards with a particular affec- 
 tion. His alliance with the Due de Eichelieu, who on his 
 side was supposed to be the lover of Mademoiselle de 
 Charolais, gave consistency to this report." 
 
 The Comte de Fargy, generally called "Le Beau Fargy," 
 thus substituting the title which he had received from 
 nature for that which his fathers had left him, was cited, 
 as his name indicates, as the handsomest man of his time, 
 which in that age of gallantry imposed obligations from 
 which he had never recoiled, and from which he had always 
 come with honour. Indeed it was impossible to be a more 
 perfect figure than he was. At once strong and graceful, 
 supple and active, he seemed to unite all the different per- 
 fections of a hero of romance of that time. Add to this a 
 charming head, uniting the most opposite styles of beauty, 
 — that is to say, black hair and blue eyes, strongly-marked 
 features, and a complexion like a woman, — unite with all 
 these, wit, loyalty, the greatest courage, and you will have 
 an idea of the high consideration which Le Fargy must 
 have enjoyed from the society of that mad period. 
 
 •I
 
 18 THE CHEVALIER D^HARMENTAL. 
 
 As to the Chevalier de Ravanne, who has left lis such 
 strange memoirs of his early life that, in spite of their 
 autlienticity, one is tempted to believe them apocryphal, he 
 was still but a youth, rich, and of noble birth, who entered 
 into life by a golden door, and ran into all its pleasures 
 with the fiery imprudence and eagerness of his age. He 
 carried to excess, as so many do at eighteen, all the 
 vices and all the virtues of his day. It will be easily 
 understood how proud he was to serve as second to men 
 like Lafare and Fargy in a meeting which was likely to 
 '^niake a noise."
 
 THE MEETING. 19 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 As soon as Lafare, Fargy, and Ravanne saw their adversa- 
 ries appear at tlie corner of the path, they walked to meet 
 them. Arrived at ten paces from each other, they all took 
 off their hats and bowed with that elegant politeness whicli 
 was a characteristic of the aristocracy of the eighteenth 
 century, and advanced some steps thus bareheaded with a 
 smile on their lips, so that to the eyes of the passer-by, 
 ignorant of the cause of their réunion, they would have 
 appeared like friends enchanted to meet. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the Clievalier d'Harmental, to whom 
 the first word by right belonged, " I hope that neither you 
 nor we have been followed ; but it is getting late, and we 
 might be disturbed here, I think it would be wise in us to 
 find a more retired spot, where we shall be more at ease to 
 transact the little business which we have in hand." 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Ravanne, "I know one which will 
 suit you, a hundred yards from here, — a true cover." 
 
 "Come, let us follow the child," said the captain; " inno- 
 cence leads to safety." 
 
 Ravanne turned round, and examined, from head to foot, 
 our friend with the yellow ribbons. 
 
 " If you are not previously engaged, my strapping friend, " 
 said he, in a bantering tone, "I claim the preference." 
 
 "Wait a moment, Ravanne," interrupted Lafare; "I have 
 some explanations to give to Monsieur d'Harmental." 
 
 "Monsieur Lafare," replied the chevalier, "your cour- 
 age is so well known, that the explanations you offer me 
 are a proof of delicacy for which I thank you; but these
 
 20 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 explanations would only delay us uselessly, and we have no 
 time to lose." 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Ra vanne ; " that is what I call speaking, 
 chevalier. As soon as we have cut each other's throats, I 
 hope you will grant me your friendship, I have heard you 
 much spoken of in good quarters, and have long wished to 
 make your acquaintance." 
 
 "Come, come, Ravanne, " said Fargy, "since you have 
 undertaken to be our guide, show us the way." 
 
 Ravanne sprang into the wood like a young fawn; his 
 five companions followed. At the end of about ten min- 
 utes' walking, during which the six adversaries had main- 
 tained the most profound silence, either from fear of being 
 heard, or from that natural feeling which makes a man in 
 the moment of danger reflective for a time, they found 
 themselves in the midst of a glade, surrounded on all sides 
 by a screen of trees. 
 
 "Well," said Ravanne, looking round him in a satisfied, 
 manner, "what do you say to the locality ?" 
 
 " I say that if you boast of having discovered it, " said the 
 captain, " you are a strange kind of Christopher Colum- 
 bus. If you had told me it was here you were coming, I 
 could have guided you with my eyes shut." 
 
 "Well," replied Ravanne, "we will endeavour that you 
 shall leave it in the same manner." 
 
 "It is with you that my business lies. Monsieur de 
 Lafare," said D'Harmental, throwing his hat on the 
 ground. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur," replied the captain of the guards, fol- 
 lowing the example of the chevalier; "and at the same 
 time I know that nothing could give me more honour and 
 more pain than a rencontre with you, particularly for such 
 a cause." 
 
 D'Harmental smiled as a man on whom this flower of 
 politeness was not lost, but his only answer was to draw 
 his sword. 
 
 "It appears, my dear baron," said Fargy, addressing
 
 THE MEETING. 21 
 
 himself to Valef, " that you are on the point of setting out 
 for Spain." 
 
 " I ought to have left last night ; and nothing less than the 
 pleasure I promised myself in seeing you this morning would 
 have detained me till now, so important is my errand." 
 
 "Diable! you distress me, "said Fargy, drawing; "for if 
 I should have the misfortune to retard you, you are the 
 man to bear me deadly malice." 
 
 "Not at all. I should know that it was from pure friend- 
 ship, my dear count," replied Valef; "so do your best, I 
 beg, for I am at your orders." 
 
 "Come, then, monsieur," said Ravanne to the captain, 
 who was folding his coat neatly, and placing it by his hat, 
 "you see that I am waiting for you." 
 
 "Do not be impatient, my fine fellow," said the old 
 soldier, continuing his preparations with the phlegm natural 
 to him ; '' one of the most essential qualities in arms is sang- 
 froid. I was like you at your age; but after the third or 
 fo\irth sword-blow I received, I understood that 1 was on 
 the wrong road, and I returned to the right path. There," 
 added he, at last drawing his sword, which I have said was 
 of extreme length. 
 
 "Peste.''" said Ravanne, throwing a glance on his adver- 
 sary's weapon, "what a charming implement you have 
 there! It reminds me of the great spit in my mother's 
 kitchen; and I am grieved that I did not order the maître- 
 d^ hôtel to bring it me, as a match to yours." 
 
 "Your mother is a worthy woman, and her 'cuisine ' is a 
 good one ; I have heard both spoken of with great praise, 
 monsieur le chevalier," replied the captain, with an almost 
 paternal manner; "I should be grieved to take you from 
 one or the other for a trifle like that which procures me 
 the honour of crossing swords with you. Suppose, then, 
 that you are only taking a lesson from your fencing-master, 
 and keep the distance." 
 
 The recommendation was useless. Ravanne was exas- 
 perated by his adversary's calmness, to which, in spite of
 
 22 THE CHEVALIER l)'lIAl?MKNTAL. 
 
 his courage, his young and ardent blood did not allow him 
 to attain. He attacked the captain with such fury that 
 their swords engaged at the hilt. The captain made a step 
 back. 
 
 "Ah! you give ground, my tall friend." 
 
 "To give ground is not to fly, my little chevalier," 
 replied the captain; "it is an axiom of the art which I 
 advise you to consider; besides, I am not sorry to study 
 your play. Ah! you are a pupil of Berthelot, apparently; 
 he is a good master, but he has one great fault; it is not 
 teaching to parry. Stay, look at this," continued he, reply- 
 ing by a thrust e?i seconde to a straight thrust; "if I had 
 lunged, I should have spitted you like a lark." 
 
 Ravanne was furious, for he had felt on his breast the 
 point of his adversary's sword, but so lightly that he might 
 have taken it for the button of a foil. His anger redoubled 
 at the conviction that he owed his life to the captain, and 
 his attacks became more numerous and more furious than 
 ever. 
 
 "Stop, stop!" said the captain; "now you are going 
 crazy, and trying to blind me. Fie! fie! young man; at the 
 chest, morbleu ! Ah! at the face again? you will force me 
 to disarm you. Again? Go and pick up your sword, 
 young man; and come back hopping on one leg to calm 
 yourself." 
 
 And with a sudden twist he whipped Ravanne's sword 
 out of his hand and sent it flying some tv/enty paces from 
 him. This time Ravanne profited by the advice. He 
 went slowly to pick up his sword, and came back quietly 
 to the captain; but the young man was as pale as his satin 
 vest, on which was apparent a small drop of blood. 
 
 "You are right, captain," said he, "and I am still but a 
 child; but this meeting will, I hope, help to make a man 
 of me. Some passes more, if you please, that it may not 
 be said you have had all the honours." 
 
 And he put himself on guard. The captain was right; 
 the chevalier only required to be calm to make him a for-
 
 THE MEETING. 23 
 
 miJable adversary; thus at the first thrust of this third 
 engagement he saw that he must attend solely to his own 
 defence; but his superiority in the art of fencing was too 
 decided for his young adversary to obtain any advantage 
 over him. The matter ended as it was easy to foresee. 
 The captain disarmed Kavanne a second time; but this 
 time he went and picked up the sword himself, and with 
 a politeness of which at lirst one might have supposed him 
 incapable. 
 
 "Monsieur le chevalier," said he, extending his hand to 
 Ravanne, " you are a brave young man ; but believe in an 
 old frequenter of schools and taverns, vi^ho was at the 
 Flemish wars before you were born, at the Italian wheu 
 you were in your cradle, and at the Spanish whilst you 
 were a page ; change your master. Leave Berthelot, who 
 has already taught you all he knows, and take Bois-Robert; 
 and may the devil fly away with me if in six months you 
 are not as good a fencer as myself." 
 
 " Thanks for your lesson, " said Ravanne, taking the hand 
 of the captain, while two tears, which he could not 
 restrain, flowed down his cheeks; "I hope it will profit 
 me." 
 
 And, receiving his sword, he did what the captain had 
 already done, — sheathed it. They then both cast their eyes 
 on their companions to see how things were going. The 
 combat was over. Lafare was seated on the ground, with 
 his back leaning against a tree; he had been run through 
 the body, but happily the point of the sword had struck 
 against a rib, and had glanced along the bone, so that the 
 wound seemed at first worse than it really was; still he 
 had fainted, — the shock had been so violent. D'Har- 
 mental was on his knees before him, endeavoring to stanch 
 the blood with his handkerchief. Fargy and Valef had 
 wounded each other at the same moment. One was struck 
 in the thigh, the other run through the arm; both had 
 apologised, promising to be friends for the future. 
 
 "Look, young man," said the captain, showing Ravanne,
 
 24 THE CHEVALIER D'n.VRMENTAL. 
 
 these different episodes of the field of battle. "Look on 
 that, and meditate. There is the blood of three brave 
 gentlemen flowing, — probably for a folly." 
 
 "Faith, captain," answered Kavanne, qnite calmed dov.^n, 
 " I believe you are right, and that you are the only one of 
 us all that has got common-sense." 
 
 At that moment Lafare opened his eyes, and recognised 
 D'Harmental in the man who was tending him. 
 
 "Chevalier," said he, "take a friend's advice; send me 
 a kind of surgeon whom you will fmd in the carriage, and 
 whom I brought with me in case of accident. Then gain 
 Paris as fast as possible. Show yourself to-night at the 
 opera ball, and if they ask you about me, say that it is a 
 week since you have seen me. As to me, you may be 
 quite easy. Your name shall not pass my lips; and if you 
 get into any unpleasant discussion with the police, let me 
 know at once, and we will manage so that the affair shall 
 have no consequences." 
 
 "Thanks, Monsieur le Marquis," answered D'Harmental, 
 "I quit you, because I leave you in better hands tlian mine; 
 otherwise, believe me, nothing should have separated me 
 from you until I had seen you in your bed." 
 
 "Pleasant journey, my dear Valef," said Fargy, "for I 
 do not think that scratch will hinder your going. On your 
 return, do not forget that you have a friend at No. 14 
 Place Louis-le-Grand." 
 
 " And you, my dear Fargy, if you have any commission 
 for Madrid, you have but to say so, and you may rely upon 
 its being executed with the exactitude and zeal of a true 
 comrade." 
 
 And the two friends shook hands as if nothing had 
 passed. 
 
 "Adieu, young man, adieu," said the captain to Ravanne; 
 "do not forget the advice which I have given you. Give 
 up Berthelot, and take to Bois-Robert. Be calm, — give 
 ground when it is necessary, — parry in time, and you will 
 be one of the best fencers in the kingdom of France. My
 
 THE MEETING, 25 
 
 implement sends its compliments to your mother's great 
 spit." 
 
 Ravanne, in spite of his presence of mind, could not 
 find anything to reply to the captain ; so he contented him- 
 self with bowing and going up to Lafare, who appeared to 
 be the most seriously wounded. 
 
 As to D'Harmental, Valef, and the captain, they rapidly 
 gained the path, where they found the coach, and inside, 
 the surgeon, who was enjoying a nap, D'Harmental woke 
 him; and showing him the way he must go, told him that 
 the Marquis de Lafare and the Comte de Fargy had need of 
 his services. He also ordered his valet to dismount and 
 follow the surgeon in order to aid him; then, turning 
 towards the captain, — 
 
 "Captain," said he, "I do not think that it would be 
 prudent to go and eat the breakfast which we have ordered ; 
 therefore receive my thanks for the assistance you have 
 rendered me, and in remembrance of me, as it seems yon 
 are on foot, will you accept one of my two horses ? You can 
 take one by chance ; they are both good, and neither will 
 fail you if you have need to go eight or ten leagues in the 
 hour." 
 
 "Faith, chevalier," answered the captain, casting a look 
 on the horse which had been so generously offered to him, 
 "there was no need for that. Their blood and their purses 
 are things which gentlemen lend each other every day; but 
 you make the offer with so good a grace that I know not 
 how to refuse you. If you ever have need of me, for any- 
 thing whatever, remember that I am at your service." 
 
 "If that case should occur, where should I find you, 
 monsieur?" said D'Harmental, smiling. 
 
 "I have no fixed residence, chevalier, but you may 
 always hear of me by going to La Fillon's and asking for 
 La Normande, and inquiring of her for Captain Roque- 
 finette." 
 
 And as the two young men mounted their horses, the 
 captain did the same, not without remarking to himself 
 that D'Harmental had left him the best of the three.
 
 26 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL 
 
 Then, as they were near a four-cross road, eacli one took 
 his own way at a gallop. 
 
 The Baron de Valef re-entered by the Barrière de Passy, 
 and returned straight to the arsenal to receive the commis- 
 sions of the Uuchesse du Maine, to whose establishment 
 he belonged, and left the same day for Spain. 
 
 Captain Roquefinette made two or three tours round the 
 Bois de Boulogne, walking, trotting, and galloping, in 
 order to appreciate the different qualities of his horse; and 
 having satisfied himself that it was, as the chevalier had 
 told him, a fine and pure-blooded animal, he returned to 
 Durand's hotel, where he ate, all alone, the breakfast 
 which had been ordered for three. The same day he took 
 his horse to a dealer and sold it for sixty louis. It was 
 about half what it was worth; but one must be prepared 
 to make sacrifices, if one wishes to realise promptly. 
 
 As to the Chevalier d'Harmental, he took the road to La 
 IVIuette, entered Paris by the great avenue of the Champs 
 Elysees, and on returning to his home in the Rue de 
 Richelieu, found two letters waiting for him. One of 
 these letters was in a handwriting so well known to him 
 that he trembled from head to foot as he looked at it, and 
 after having taken it up with as much hesitation as if it 
 had been a burning coal, he opened it with a hand whose 
 shaking betrayed the importance he attached to it. Tt 
 read as follows : — 
 
 My dear Chevalier, — No one is master of his own heart 
 — you know that; and it is one of the misfortunes of our nature not 
 to be able to love the same person, or the same thing, long at a time. 
 As to myself, I wish at least to have, beyond other women, the merit 
 of never deceiving the man who has been my lover. Do not come, 
 then, at your accustomed hour, for you will be told that I am not 
 at home ; and I am so scrupulous that I would not willingly endanger 
 the soul even of a valet or a waiting-maid by making them tell so 
 great a lie. 
 
 Adieu, my dear chevalier. Do not retain too unkind a remem- 
 brance of me, and behave so that ten years hence I may still think 
 what I think now, — that is to say, that you are one of the noblest 
 gentlemen in France. Soi'Hie d'Averne.
 
 THE MEETING. 27 
 
 "Mon Dieu!'''' cried D'Harmental, striking his fist on a 
 beautiful buhl table, wliich he smashed to bits, " if I have 
 killed that poor Lafare I shall never forgive myself." 
 
 After this outburst, which comforted him a little, the 
 poor fellow began to walk backward and forward between 
 the door and the window in a manner that showed that he 
 still wanted more deceptions of the same sort in order to 
 arrive at the perfection of moral philosophy which the 
 faithless beauty preached to him. Then, after two or 
 three turns, he saw the other letter, which he had entirely 
 forgotten, lying on the floor. He passed it once or twice, 
 looking at it with a supreme indifference. At last, seem- 
 ing to think that it would make some diversion on the first, 
 he picked it up disdainfully, opened it slowly, looked at 
 the writing, which was unknown to him, searched for the 
 signature, but there was none; and then, led on by the 
 mysterious air of it, he read as follows : — 
 
 Chkvahek, — If you have in your mind a quarter of the 
 romance, or in your heart half the courage, that your friends give 
 you credit for, some one is ready to offer you an enterprise worthy 
 of you, and the result of which will be at the same time to avenge 
 yon on the man you hate most in the world, and to conduct you to a 
 goal more brilliant than you can have hoped for in your wildest 
 dreams. The good genius who will lead you thither by an enchanted 
 road, and in whom you must trust entirely, will expect you this even- 
 ing at ten o'clock at the opera ball. If you come there unmasked, 
 he Avill come to you ; if you come masked, you will know him by the 
 violet ribbon which he will wear on his left shoulder. The watch- 
 word is " open sesame ; " speak boklly, and a cavern will open to you 
 as wonderful as that of Ali Baba. 
 
 "Bravo!" said D'Harmental; "if the genius in the 
 violet ribbons keeps only half his promise, by my honour 
 he has found his man! "
 
 28 THE CHEVALIER D'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CHEVALIER. 
 
 The Chevalier Raoul d'Harmental, with whom, before 
 going further, it is necessary that our readers make a 
 better acquaintance, was the last of one of the best fami- 
 lies of Nivernais. Although that family had never played 
 an important part in history, yet it did not want a certain 
 notoriety, which it had acquired partly alone and partly 
 by its alliances. Thus the father of the chevalier, the 
 Sire Gaston d'Harmental, had come to Paris in 1682, and 
 had proved his genealogical tree from the year 1399, an 
 heraldic operation which would have given some trouble 
 to more than one duke and peer. In another direction his 
 maternal uncle, Monsieur de Torigny, before being named 
 chevalier of the order in the promotion of 1694, had con- 
 fessed, in order to get his sixteen quarterings recognised, 
 that the best part of his scutcheon was that of the D'Har- 
 mentals, with whom his ancestors had been allied for three 
 hundred years. Hero, then, was enough to satisfy the 
 aristocratic demands of the ago of which we write. 
 
 The chevalier was neither poor nor rich, — that is to 
 say, his father, when he died, had left him an estate in the 
 environs of Novers, which brought him in from 20,000 to 
 25,000 livres a year. This was enough to live well in the 
 country, but the chevalier had received an excellent edu- 
 cation, and was very ambitious; therefore he had at his 
 majority, in 1711, quitted his home for Paris. His first 
 visit was to the Comte de Torigny, on whom he counted 
 to introduce him at court. Unfortunately, at that time the 
 Comte de Torigny was absent from home; but as he 
 remembered with pleasure the family of D'Harmental.
 
 THE CHEVALIER. 29 
 
 he recommended his nephew to the Chevalier de Villar- 
 ceaux, who could refuse nothing to his friend, the Comte 
 de Torigny, and took the young man to Madame de 
 i\Iaintenon, 
 
 Madame de Maintenon had one good quality, — she al- 
 ways continued to be the friend of her old lovers. She re- 
 ceived the Chevalier d'Harmental graciously, thanks to the 
 old recollections which recommended him to her, and some 
 days afterward, the Maréchal de Villars coming to pay his 
 court to her, she spoke a few such pressing words in favour 
 of her young protege that the maréchal, delighted to find 
 an opportunity of obliging this queen in partlbus, replied 
 that from that hour he attached the chevalier to his mili- 
 tary establishment, and would take care to offer him every 
 occasion to justify his august protectress's good opinion 
 of him. 
 
 It was a great joy to the chevalier to see such a door 
 opened to him. The coming campaign was definitive. 
 Louis XIV. had arrived at the last period of his reign, — 
 the period of reverses. Tallard and Marsin had been 
 beaten at Hochstett, Villeroy at Ramilies, and Villars 
 himself, the hero of Friedlmgen, had lost the famous 
 battle of Malplaquet against Marlborough and Eugene. 
 Europe, kept down for a time by Colbert and Louvois, rose 
 against France, and the situation of affairs was desperate. 
 
 The king, like a despairing invalid who changes his 
 doctor every houi*, changed ministers every day. Each 
 new attempt but revealed a new weakness. France could 
 not sustain war, and could not obtain peace. Vainly she 
 offered to abandon Spain, and limit her frontier. This 
 was not sufficient humiliation. They exacted that the king 
 should allow the hostile armies to cross France, in order 
 to chase his grandson from the throne of Spain ; and also 
 that he should give up, as pledges, Cambray, Mettray, La 
 Rochelle, and Bayonne, unless he preferred dethroning him 
 himself, by open force, during the following year. 
 
 These were the conditions on which a truce was granted
 
 30 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 to the conqueror of the plains of Senef, Fleurus, of Steere- 
 kirk, and of La Marsalle ; to him who had hitherto held in 
 the folds of his royal mantle peace and war; to him who 
 called himself the distributer of crowns, the ehastiser of 
 nations, the great, the immortal; to him in whose honour, 
 during the last half-century, marbles had been sculptured, 
 bronzes cast, sonnets written, and incense poured. 
 
 Louis XIV. had wept in the full council. These tears 
 had produced an army, which was intrusted to Villars. 
 
 Vi liars marched straight to the enemy, whose camp was 
 at Deuain, and who slept in security while watching the 
 agony of France. Never had greater responsibility rested 
 on one head. On one blow of Villars hung the salvation 
 of France. The allies had established a line of fortifica- 
 tions between Denain and Marchiennes, which, in their 
 pride of anticipation, Albemarle and Eugene called the 
 grand route to Paris. 
 
 Villars resolved to take Denain by surprise, and, Albe- 
 marle conquered, to conquer Eugene, In order to succeed 
 in this audacious enterprise, it was necessary to deceive, 
 not only the enemy's army, but also his own, the success 
 of this coup de main being in its impossibility. 
 
 Villars proclaimed aloud his intention of forcing the 
 lines of Landrecies. One night, at an appointed hour, 
 the whole army moves off in the direction of that town. 
 All at once the order is given to bear to the left. His 
 genius throws three bridges over the Scheldt. Villars 
 passes over the river without obstacle, throws himself into 
 the marshes, considered impracticable, and where the sol- 
 dier advances with the water up to his waist; marches 
 straight to the first redoubts ; takes them almost without 
 striking a blow; seizes successively a league of fortifica- 
 tions; reaches Denain; crosses the fosse which surrounds 
 it, penetrates into the town, and on arriving at the place, 
 finds his young protege, the Chevalier d'Harmental, who 
 presents to him the sword of Albemarle, whom he has just 
 taken prisoner.
 
 THE CHEVALIER. 31 
 
 At this moment the arrival of Eugene is announced. 
 Villars returns, reaches, before him, the bridge over which 
 he must pass, takes possession of it, and awaits him. 
 There the true combat takes place, for tlie taking of Denain 
 had been but a short skirmish. Eugene makes attack after 
 attack, returns seven times to the head of the bridge, his 
 best troops being destroyed by the artillery which protects 
 it, and the bayonets which defend it. At length, his 
 clothes riddled with balls, and bleeding from two wounds, 
 he mounts his third horse, and the conqueror of Hochstett 
 and Malplaquet retreats crying with rage, and biting his 
 gloves with fury. In six hours the aspect of things has 
 changed. France is saved, and Louis XIV. is still Le 
 Grand Roi. 
 
 D'Harmental had conducted himself like a man who 
 wished to gain his spurs at once. Villars, seeing him 
 covered with blood and dust, recalled to his mind by whom 
 he had been recommended to him; made him draw near, 
 while, in the midst of the field of battle, he wrote on a 
 drum the result of the day. 
 
 "Are you wounded ?" asked he. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur le Maréchal, but so slightly that it is 
 not worth speaking of." 
 
 " Have you the strength to ride sixty leagues, without 
 resting an hour, a minute, a second ? " 
 
 " I have the strength for anything that will serve the 
 king or you." 
 
 " Then set out instantly ; go to Madame de Maintenon ; 
 tell her from me what you have seen, and announce to her 
 the courier who will bring the official account.'' 
 
 D'Harmental understood the importance of the mission 
 with which he was charged, and bleeding and dusty as he 
 was, he mounted a fresh horse and gained the first stage. 
 Twelve hours afterward he was at Versailles. 
 
 Villars had foreseen what would happen. At the first 
 words which fell from the mouth of the chevalier, Madame 
 de Maintenon took him by the baud, and conducted him
 
 32 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 to the king. The king was at work with Voisin, but, 
 contrary to liis habit, in his room, for he was a little 
 indisposed. 
 
 Madame de Maintenon opened the door, pushed D'Har- 
 niental to the feet of the king, and raising lier hands to 
 heaven, — 
 
 "Sire," said she, "give thanks to God, for your majesty 
 knows we are nothing by ourselves, and it is from him 
 comes every blessing." 
 
 "What has happened, monsieur ? Speak," said the king 
 quickly, astonished to see this young man, whom he did 
 not know, at his feet. 
 
 "Sire," replied the chevalier, "the camp at Denain is 
 taken. Albemarle is a prisoner. Prince Eugene has 
 taken flight; and the Maréchal de Villars places his vic- 
 tory at your Majesty's feet." 
 
 Louis XIV. turned pale, in spite of his command over 
 himself. He felt his limbs fail him, and leaned against 
 the table for support. 
 
 " What ails you, sire ? " said Madame de Maintenon, 
 hastening to him. 
 
 "It is, madame, that I owe you everything," said Louis 
 XIV.; "you save the king, and your friends save the 
 kingdom." 
 
 Madame de Maintenon bowed and kissed the king's hand 
 respectfully. 
 
 Then Louis XIV., still pale and much moved, passed 
 behind the great curtain which hid the alcove containing 
 his bed, and they heard a prayer of thanksgiving. He then 
 reappeared, grave and calm, as if nothing had happened. 
 
 "And now, monsieur," said he, "tell me the details." 
 
 D'Harmental gave an account of that marvellous battle, 
 which came as by a miracle to save the monarchy; then, 
 when he had finished, — 
 
 " And have you nothing to tell of yourself ? " asked Louis 
 XIV. ■' If I may judge by the blood and dust with which 
 you are yet covered, you did not remain idle."
 
 THE CHEVALIER. 33 
 
 "Sire, I did my best," said D'Harmental, bowing; "but 
 if ttiere is really anything to tell, I v/ill, with your per- 
 mission, leave it to the Maréchal de Villars." 
 
 "It is well, young man; and if he forgets you by chance, 
 we shall remember. You must be fatigued. Go and rest. 
 I am pleased with you." 
 
 D'Harmental retired joyously, Madame de Maintenon 
 conducting him to the door; he kissed her hand again, and 
 hastened tn profit by the royal permission. For twenty 
 hours he had neither eaten, drunk, nor slept. On his 
 awaking, they gave him a packet which had been brought 
 from the minister of war. It was his brevet as colonel. 
 
 Two months afterward peace was made. Spain gave up 
 half its monarchy, but France remained intact. Louis 
 XIV. died. Two distinct and irreconcilable parties were 
 in existence, — that of the bastards, centring in the Due 
 du Maine, and that of the legitimate princes, represented 
 by the Due d'Orléans. If the Due du Maine had had the 
 will, the perseverance, the courage, of his wife, Louise 
 Bénédicte de Condé, perhaps, supported as he was by the 
 royal will, he might have triumphed; but he had to defend 
 himself in broad day, as he was attacked ; and the Due du 
 Maine, weak in mind and heart, dangerous only because 
 he was a coward, was only good at underhand deeds. 
 
 He was threatened openly, and his numerous artifices 
 and wiles were of no use to him. In one day, and almost 
 without a struggle, he was precipitated from that height 
 to which he had been raised by the blind love of the old 
 king. His fall was heavy, and above all disgraceful; he 
 retired mutilated, abandoning the regency to his rival, 
 and only preserving, out of all the favors accumulated upon 
 him, the superintendence of the royal education, the com- 
 mand of the artillery, and the precedence over the dukes 
 and peers. 
 
 The decree which had just passed the Parliament struck 
 the old court and all attached to it. Letellier did not wait 
 to be exiled. Madame de Maintenon took refuge at St. 
 
 3
 
 34 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 Cyr, and Monsieur le Duc du Maine shut himself up in 
 the beautiful town of Sceaux, to finish his translation of 
 Lucretius. 
 
 The Chevalier D'Harmental saw, as a passive spectator, 
 these different intrigues, waiting till they should assume a 
 character which would permit him to take part in them, 
 if there had been an open and armed contest, he would 
 have taken that side to which gratitude called him. Too 
 young and too chaste, if we may say so, in politics, to 
 turn with the wind of fortune, he remained faithful to the 
 memory of the old king, and to the ruins of the old court. 
 
 His absence from the Palais lioyal, round which hovered 
 all those who wished to take a place in the political sky, 
 was interpreted as opposition ; and one morning, as he had 
 received the brevet which gave him a regiment, he received 
 the decree which took it from him. 
 
 D'Harmental had the ambition of liis age. The only 
 career open to a gentleman was that of arms. His début 
 had been brilliant, and the blow which at five-and-twenty 
 took from him his hopes for the future was profoundly 
 painful. 
 
 He ran to Monsieur de Villars, in whom he had found so 
 warm a protector. The marshal received him with the 
 coldness of a man who not only wishes to forget the past, 
 but also to see it forgotten. 
 
 D'Harmental understood that the old courtier was about 
 to change his skin, and retired discreetly. Though the 
 age was essentially that of egotism, the chevalier's first 
 experience of it was bitter to him; but he was at that 
 happy time of life when a disappointed ambition is rarely 
 a deep or lasting grief. 
 
 Ambition is the passion of those who have no other, and 
 the chevalier had all tliose proper to five-and-twenty years 
 of age; besides, the spirit of the times did not tend to 
 melancholy; that is a modern sentiment, springing from the 
 overthrow of fortunes and the weakness of man. In the 
 eighteenth century it was rare to dream of abstract things.
 
 THE CHEVALIER. 35 
 
 or aspire to the unknown ; men Avent straight to pleasure, 
 glory, or fortune, and all who were handsome, brave, or 
 intriguing could attain them. That was the time when 
 people were not ashamed to be happy, ^"^ow mind governs 
 matter so much that men dare not avow that they are 
 happy. 
 
 After the long and sombre winter of Louis XIV. 's old 
 age, appeared all at once the joyous and brilliant spring of a 
 young royalty. Every one basked in this new sun, radiant 
 and benevolent, and went about buzzing and careless, like 
 the bees and butterflies on the first fine day. The Cheva- 
 lier d'Harmental had retained his sadness for a week; then 
 he mixed again in the crowd, and was drawn in by the 
 whirlpool, which tlirew him at the feet of a pretty woman. 
 
 For three months he had been the happiest man in the 
 world. He had forgotten St. Cyr, the Tuileries, and the 
 Palais Royal. He did not know whetlier there was a 
 Madame de Maintenon, a king, or a regent. He only 
 knew that it is sweet to live when one is loved, and he did 
 not see why he should not live and love for ever. He was 
 still in this dream, when, as we have said, supping with 
 his friend the Baron de Valef at La Fillon's, in the Rue 
 Saint Honoré, he had been all at once brutally awakened 
 by Lafare. Lovers are often unpleasantly awakened, 
 and we have seen that D'Harmental was not more patient 
 under it than others. It was more pardonable in the 
 chevalier, because he thought he loved truly, and because in 
 his juvenile good faith he thought nothing could replace 
 that love in his heart. 
 
 Thus Madame d'Averne's strange but candid letter, 
 instead of inspiring him with the admiration which it 
 merited at that time, had at first overwhelmed him. It is 
 the property of every sorrow which overtakes us to 
 reawaken past griefs which we believed dead, but which 
 were only sleeping. The soul has its scars as well as the 
 body, and they are seldom so well healed but a new wound 
 can reopen them.
 
 36 THE CHEVALIER D'hARMENTAL. 
 
 D'Harmeutal again began to feel ambitious. The loss 
 of his mistress had recalled to him the loss of his regiment. 
 It required nothing less than the second letter, so unex- 
 pected and mysterious, to divert him from his grief. A 
 lover of our days would have thrown it from him with 
 disdain, and would have despised himself if he had not 
 nursed his grief so as to make himself poetically melan- 
 choly for a week; but a lover in the regency was much 
 more accommodating. Suicide was scarcely discovered, 
 and if by chance people fell into the water, they did not 
 drown as long as there was the least little straw to cling to. 
 D'Harmental did not affect the coxcombry of sadness. He 
 decided, sighing, it is true, that he would go to the opera 
 ball; and for a lover betrayed in so unforeseen and cruel a 
 manner this was something; but it must be confessed, to 
 the shame of our poor species, that he was chiefly led to 
 this philosophic determination by the fact that the letter 
 was written in a female hand.
 
 A BAL-MASQUÉ OF THE TERIOD. — THE BAT. 37 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A BAL-MASQUK OF THE PKRIOD. THE BAT. 
 
 The opera balls were then at their height. It was an 
 invention of the Chevalier de Bullon, who only obtained 
 pardon for assuming the title of Prince d'Auvergne, nobody 
 exactly knew why, by rendering this service to the dissi- 
 pated society of the time. It was he who had invented 
 the double flooring which put the pit on a level with the 
 stage; and the regent, who highly appreciated all good 
 inventions, had granted him in recompense a pension of 
 two thousand livres, which was four times what the Grand 
 Roi had given to Corneille. That beautiful room, with its 
 rich and grave architecture, which the Cardinal de Riche- 
 lieu had inaugurated by his "Mirame," where Sully and 
 Quinault's pastorals had been represented, and where 
 Molière had himself played his principal works, was this 
 evening the rendezvous of all that was noble, rich, and 
 elegant. 
 
 D'Harmental, from a feeling of spite, very natural in 
 his situation, had taken particular pains with his toilet. 
 When he arrived the room was already full, and he had 
 an instant's fear that the mask with the violet ribbons 
 would not find him, inasmuch as the unknown had neg- 
 lected to assign a place of meeting, and he congratulated 
 himself on having come unmasked. This resolution 
 showed great confidence in the discretion of his late adver- 
 saries, a word from whom would have sent him before the 
 Parliament, or at least to the Bastille. But so much con- 
 fidence had the gentlemen of that day in each other's good 
 faith, that, after having in the morning passed his sword 
 through the body of one of the regent's favourites, the chev-
 
 38 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 alier caine, without hositation, to seek an adventure at the 
 Palais lloyal. The first person he saw there was the young 
 Due de Richelieu, whose name, adventures, elegance, and 
 perhaps indiscretions, had already brought him so much 
 into fashion. It was said that two princesses of the blood 
 disputed his affections, which did not prevent Madame de 
 Nesle and Madame de Polignac from fighting with pistols 
 for him, or Madame de Savran, Madame de Villars, Madame 
 de Mouchy, and Madame de Tencin, from sharing his 
 heart. 
 
 He had just joined the Marquis de Canillac, one of the 
 regent's favourites, whom on account of the grave appear- 
 ance he affected, his Highness called his mentor. Riche- 
 lieu began to tell Canillac a story, out loud and with much 
 gesticulation. The chevalier knew the duke, but not 
 enough to interrupt a conversation; he was going to pass, 
 vv'hen the duke seized him by the coat. 
 
 ^^Pardieu!^^ he said, "my dear chevalier, you are not 
 de trop. I am telling Canillac an adventure which may be 
 useful to him as nocturnal lieutenant to the regent, and to 
 you, as running the same danger that T did. The history 
 dates from to-day, — a further merit, as I have only had 
 time to tell it to about twenty people, so that it is scarcely 
 known. Spread it; you will oblige me, and the regent 
 also." 
 
 D'Harmental frowned. The duke had chosen his time 
 badly. At this moment the Chevalier de Ravanne passed, 
 pursuing a masque. "Ravanne ! " cried Richelieu, 
 "Ravanne! " 
 
 "I am not at leisure," replied he. 
 
 " Do you know where Lafare is ? " 
 
 "He has the migraine." 
 
 "AndFargy ?" 
 
 " He has strained himself." And Ravanne disappeared 
 in the crowd, after bowing in the most friendly manneï 
 to his adversary of the morning. 
 
 "Well, and the story ? " asked Canillac.
 
 A BAL-MASQUÉ OF THE PERIOD. — THE BAT. 30 
 
 "We are coming to ib. Fancy that some time ago, 
 when I left the Bastille, where my duel with Gacé had 
 sent me, three or four days after my reappearance, llafe 
 gave me a charming little note from Madame de Parabère, 
 inviting me to pass that evening with her. You under- 
 stand, chevalier, that it is not at the moment of leaving 
 tiie Bastille that one would despise a rendezvous, given by 
 the mistress of him who holds the keys. No need to 
 inquire if I was punctual; guess whom I found seated on 
 the sofa by her side. I give you a hundred guesses." 
 
 "Her husband," said Canillac. 
 
 "On the contrary, it was his royal Highness himself. 
 I was so much the more astonished, as I had been admitted 
 with some mystery ; nevertheless, as you will understand, 
 I would not allow myself to appear astonished. I assumed 
 a composed and modest air, like yours, Canillac, and 
 saluted the marquise with such profound respect that the 
 regent laughed. I did not expect this explosion, and was 
 a little disconcerted. I took a chair, but the regent signed 
 to me to take my place on the sofa. I obeyed. 
 
 " ' My dear duke, ' he said, ' we have written to you on 
 a serious affair. Here is this poor marchioness, who, after 
 being separated from her husband for two years, is threat- 
 ened with an action by this clown, under pretext that she 
 has a lover.' The marchioness tried to blush, but finding 
 she could not, covered her face with her fan. * At the 
 first word she told me of her position,' continued the 
 regent, ' I sent for D'Argenson, and asked him who this 
 lover could be. ' 
 
 " * Oh, monsieur, spare me ! ' said the marchioness. — 
 • Nonsense, my little duck; a little patience. Do you 
 know what the lieutenant of police answered me, my dear 
 duke ? ' — ' No, ' said I, much embarrassed. — * He said it 
 was either you or I.' — 'It is an atrocious calumny,' I 
 cried. — * Don't be excited, the marchioness has confessed 
 all.' 
 
 "* Then,' I replied, ' if the marchioness has confessed all,
 
 40 THE ciiEVALiKii d'harmental, 
 
 T do not see wliat remains for me to tell.' — 'Oh!' con- 
 tinued the regent, * T do not ask you for details. It only 
 remains for us, as aocomplices, to get one another out of 
 the scrape.' — ' And what have you to fear, monseigneur ? ' 
 I asked. ' I know that, protected by your Highness's name, 
 I might brave all. What have we to fear ? ' — ' The outcry 
 of Farabère, who wants ine to make him a duke.' 
 
 '" Well, suppose we reconcile them,' replied I. — 
 ' Exactly,' said his Highness, laughing; * and you have 
 liad the same idea, as the marchioness.' — ' Par dieu, ma- 
 dame, that is an honour for me. There must be a kind of 
 apparent reconciliation between this tender couple, which 
 would prevent the marquis from incommoding us with the 
 scandal of an action.' — * But the difficulty,' objected 
 Madame de Parabère, * is that it is two years since he has 
 heen here; and, as he piques himself on his jealousy and 
 severity, what can we say ? He has made a vow that if 
 any one sets foot here during his absence, the law shall 
 avenge him.' 
 
 "' You see, Richelieu, this becomes rather uncomfort- 
 able,' added the regent. — * Peste ! It does indeed.' — ' I 
 have some means of coercion in my hands, but they do not 
 go so far as to force a husband to be reconciled to his 
 wife, and to receive her at his house.' — ' Well,' replied I, 
 ' suppose we bring him here.' — ' There is the difficulty.' — 
 * Wait a moment. May I ask if Monsieur de Parabère still 
 has a weakness for champagne and burgundy ? ' — 'I fear 
 so,' said the marchioness. — ' Then, monseigneur, we are 
 saved. I invite the marquis to supper, with a dozen of 
 mauvais sujets and charming women. You send Dubois.' 
 — * What! Dubois ? ' asked the regent. 
 
 "' Certainly; one of us must remain sober. As Dubois 
 cannot drink, he must undertake to make the marquis 
 drink; and when everybody is under the table, he can take 
 him away from us and do what he likes with him. The 
 rest depends on the coachman.' — 'Did 1 not tell you, 
 marchioness,' said the regent, ' that Richelieu would give
 
 A BAL-MASQUÉ OF THE PP^RIOD. — THE BAT. 41 
 
 US good advice? Stop, duke,' continued he; 'you must 
 leave off wandering round certain palaces; leave the old 
 lady to die quietly at St. Cyr, the lame man to rhyme at 
 Sceaux, and join yourself with us. I will give you, in 
 my cabinet, the place of that old fool D'Axelles; and 
 alîairs will not perhaps be injured by it.' — 'I dare say,' 
 answered I. ' The thing is impossible; I have other 
 plans.' — ' Obstinate fellow! ' murmured the regent." 
 
 "And Monsieur de Parabère ? " asked the Chevalier 
 d'Harmental, curious to know the end of the story. 
 
 "Oh! everything passed as we arranged it. Pie went to 
 sleep at my house, and awoke at his wife's. He made a 
 great noise, but there was no longer any possibility of cry- 
 ing scandal. His carriage had stopped at his wife's hotel, 
 and all the servants saw him enter. He was reconciled 
 in spite of himself. If he dares again to complain of his 
 beautiful wife, we will prove to him, as clearly as possi- 
 ble, that he adores her without knowing it; and that she 
 is the most innocent of women, — also without his know- 
 ing it." 
 
 "Chevalier! " at this moment a sweet and flute-like voice 
 whispered in D'Harmental's ear, while a little hand 
 rested on his arm. 
 
 "You see that I am wanted." 
 
 "I will let you go on one condition." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "That you will tell my story to this charming bat, charg- 
 ing her to tell it to all the night-birds of her acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 "I fear," said D'Harmental, "I shall not have time." 
 
 "Oh! so much the better for you," replied the duke, 
 freeing the chevalier, whom till then he had held by 
 the coat; "for then you must have something better to 
 say.'* 
 
 And he turned on his heel, to take the arm of a domino, 
 who, in passing, complimented him on his adventure. 
 D'Harmental threw a rapid glance on the mask who
 
 42 THE CIIKVALIKR D'iIARMFCNTAL. 
 
 accosted him, in order to make sure that it was the one 
 with whom he had a rendezvous, and was satisfied on 
 seeing a violet ribbon on the left shoulder. He hastened 
 to a distance from Canillac and Kichelieu, in order not 
 to be interrupted in a conversation which he expected to 
 be highly interesting. 
 
 The unknown, whose voice betrayed her sex, was of 
 middle height, and young, as far as one could judge from 
 the elasticity of her movements. As Monsieur de Riche- 
 lieu had already remarked, she had adopted the costume 
 best calculated to hide either graces or defects. She was 
 dressed as a bat, — a costume niuch in vogue, and very 
 convenient, from its perfect simplicity, being composed 
 only of two black skirts. The manner of employing 
 them was at the command of everybody. One was fas- 
 tened, as usual, round the waist; the masked head was 
 passed through the placket-hole of the other. The front was 
 pulled down to make wings ; the back raised to make horns. 
 You were almost certain thus to puzzle an interlocutor, 
 who could only recognise you by the closest scrutiny. 
 
 The chevalier made all these observations in less time 
 than it has taken to describe them ; but having no knowl- 
 edge of the person with whom he had to deal, and believing 
 it to be some love intrigue, he hesitated to speak; when, 
 turning towards him, — 
 
 "Chevalier," said the mask, without disguising her 
 voice, assuming that her voice was unknown to him, "do 
 you know that I am doubly grateful to you for having 
 come, particularly in the state of mind in which you are ? 
 It is unfortunate that I cannot attribute this exactitude 
 to anything but curiosity." 
 
 "Beautiful mask!" answered D'Harmental, "did you 
 not tell me in your letter that you were a good genius ? 
 Now, if really you partake of a superior nature, the past, 
 the present, and the future must be known to you. You 
 knew, then, that I should come; and, since you knew it, 
 my coming ought not to astonish you."
 
 A BAL-MASQUÉ OF THE PEKIOD. — THE BAT. 43 
 
 "Alas!" replied the unknown, "it is easy to see that 
 you are a weak mortal, and that you are happy enough 
 never to have raised yourself above your sphere; otherwise 
 you would know that if we, as you say, know the past, the 
 present, and the future, this science is silent as to what 
 regards ourselves, and that the things we most desire 
 remain to us plunged in the most dense obscurity." 
 
 '^Diable! Monsieur le Génie," answered D'Harmental, 
 "do you know that you will make me very vain if you 
 continue in that tone; for, take care, you have told me, 
 or nearly so, that you had a. great desire that I should 
 come to your rendezvous." 
 
 " I did not think I was telling you anything new, cheva- 
 lier. It appeared to me that my letter would leave you no 
 doubt as to the desire I felt of seeing you." 
 
 "This desire, which I only admit because you confess it, 
 and I am too gallant to contradict you, — has it not made 
 you promise in your letter more than is in your power to 
 keep ? " 
 
 "Make a trial of my science; that will give you a test of 
 mj^ power." 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu f I will confine myself to the simplest 
 thing. You say you are acquainted with the past, tiie 
 present, and the future. Tell me my fortune." 
 
 "Nothing easier; give me your hand." 
 
 D'Harmental did what was asked of him. 
 
 "Sir," said tlie stranger, after a moment's examination, 
 " I see very legibly written by the direction of the * adducta, ' 
 and by the arrangement of the longitudinal lines of the 
 palm, five words, in which are included the history of your 
 life. These words are courage, ambition, disappointment, 
 love, and treason." 
 
 " Peste / " interrupted the chevalier, "I did not know 
 that the genii studied anatomy so deeply, and were obliged 
 to take their degrees like a Bachelor of Salamanca! " 
 
 " Genii know all that men know, and many otlier things 
 besides, chevalier."
 
 44 THE CHEVALIER D'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 "\V^clI, then, what mean these words, at once so sonorous 
 and so opposite ? and what do they teach you of me in 
 the past, my very learned genius ? " 
 
 "They teach me that it is by your courage alone that 
 you gained the rank of colonel, which you occupied in 
 the army in Flanders; that tliis rank awakened your ambi- 
 tion; that this ambition has been followed by a disap- 
 pointment; that you hoped to console yourself for this 
 disappointment by love; but that love, like fortune, is 
 subject to treachery, and that you have been betrayed." 
 
 "Not bad," said the chevalier; "and the Sybil of Cuma 
 could not have got out of it better. A little vague, as in 
 all horoscopes, but a great fund of truth, nevertheless. 
 Let us come to the present, beautiful mask." 
 
 "The present, chevalier ? Let us speak softly of it, for 
 it smells terribly of the Bastille." 
 
 The chevalier started in spite of himself, for he believed 
 that no one except the actors who had played a part in it 
 conld know his adventure of the morning. 
 
 "There are at this hour," continued the stranger, "two 
 brave gentlemen lying sadly in their beds, while we chat 
 gaily at the ball; and that because a certain Chevalier 
 d'Harmental, a great listener at doors, did not remember 
 a hemistich of Virgil." 
 
 "And what is this hemistich?" asked the chevalier, 
 more and more astonished. 
 
 "' Facilis descensus Averni,' " said the mask, laughing. 
 
 "My dear genius," cried the chevalier, trying to peep 
 through the openings in the stranger's mask, " that, allow 
 me to inform you, is a quotation rather masculine." 
 
 "Do you know that genii are of both sexes ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I had never heard that they quoted the ^neid 
 so fluently." 
 
 " Is not the quotation appropriate ? You speak to me as 
 the Sibyl of Cuma; I answer you in her language. You 
 ask for existing things; I give them you. But you mor- 
 tals are never satisfied."
 
 A BAL-MASQUÊ OF THE PERIOD. — THE BAT. 45 
 
 "No; for I confess that this knowledge ot the past and 
 the present inspires me with a terrible desire to know the 
 future." 
 
 "There are always two futures," said the mask; "there 
 is the future of weak minds, and the future of strong 
 minds. God has given man free will that he may choose. 
 Your future depends on yourself." 
 
 "But we must know these two futures to choose the 
 best." 
 
 " Well, there is one which awaits you somewhere in the 
 environs of ISTevers, in the depth of the country, among 
 the rabbits of your warren, and the fowls of your poultry- 
 yard. This one will conduct you straight to the magis- 
 trate's bench of your parish. It is an easy ambition, and 
 you have only to let yourself go to attain it. You are on 
 the road." 
 
 " And the other ? " replied the chevalier, visibly piqued 
 at the supposition that in any case such a future could be 
 his. 
 
 "The other," said tbe stranger, leaning her arm on that 
 tii the young man, and fixing her eyes on him through her 
 mask, "the other will throw you back into noise and 
 light, — will make you one of the actors in the game which 
 is playing in the world, and, whether you gain or lose, will 
 leave you at least the renown of a great player." 
 
 " If I lose, what shall I lose ? " asked the chevalier. 
 
 "Life, probably." 
 
 The chevalier tossed his head contemptuously. 
 
 «And if I win ?" added he. 
 
 " What do you say to the rank of colonel of horse, the 
 title of Grandee of Spain, and the order of the Saint 
 Esprit, without counting the field-marshal's bâton in 
 prospective ? " 
 
 " I say that the prize is worth the stake, and that if you 
 can prove to me that you can keep your promise, I am your 
 man." 
 
 "This proof," replied the mask, "must be given you
 
 46 THE CHEVALIER D'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 by another, aud if you wish to have it you must follow 
 me." 
 
 "Oh!" said D'Harmeutal, "am I deceived, and are you 
 but a genius of the second order, — a subaltern spirit, an 
 intermediate power ? Diable ! this would take away a 
 little of my consideration for you." 
 
 "What does it matter if I am subject to some great 
 enchantress, and she has sent me to you ? " 
 
 "I warn you that I do not treat with ambassadors.'* 
 
 "My mission is to conduct you to her." 
 
 " Then I shall see her ? " 
 
 "Face to face." 
 
 "Let us go, then." 
 
 " Chevalier, you go quickly to the work ; you forget that 
 before all initiations there are certain indispensable 
 ceremonies to secure the discretion of the initiated." 
 
 "What must I do?" 
 
 " You must allow your eyes to be bandaged, and let me 
 lead you where I like. When arrived at the door of the 
 temple, you must take a solemn oath to reveal nothing 
 concerning the things you may hear, or the people you 
 may see." 
 
 "I am ready to swear by the Styx," said D'Harmental, 
 laughing. 
 
 "No, chevalier," said the mask, in a grave voice; "swear 
 only by your honour ; you are known, and that will sufifice." 
 
 "And when I have taken this oath," asked the cheva- 
 lier, after an instant's reflection, "will it be permitted to 
 me to retire, if the proposals made are not such as a gen- 
 tleman may entertain ?" 
 
 "Your conscience will be your sole arbiter, and your 
 word the only pledge demanded of you." 
 
 "I am ready," said the chevalier. 
 
 "Let us go, then," said the mask. 
 
 The chevalier prepared to cross the room in a straight 
 line toward the door; but perceiving three of his friends, 
 who might have stopped him on the way, he made a turn.
 
 A BAL-MASQUÉ OF THE PEPJOD. — THE BAT. 47 
 
 and described a curve which would bring him to the same 
 end. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " asked the mask. 
 
 "I am avoiding some one who might detain us." 
 
 "Ah! " said the mask, "I began to fear." 
 
 "Fear what ? " asked D'Harmental. 
 
 " To fear that your ardour was diminished in the propor- 
 tion of the diagonal to tlie two sides of a square." 
 
 " Pardieu ! " said D'Harmental, "this is the first time, I 
 believe, that ever a rendezvous was given to a gentleman 
 at an opera ball to talk anatomy, ancient literature, and 
 mathematics. I am sorry to say so, but you are the most 
 pedantic genius I ever met in my life." 
 
 The bat burst out laughing, but made no reply to this 
 sally, in which was betrayed the spite of the chevalier at 
 not being able to recognise a person who appeared to be so 
 well acquainted with his adventures; but as this only 
 added to his curiosity, both descended in equal haste, and 
 found themselves in the vestibule. 
 
 " What road shall we take ? " asked the chevalier. 
 "Shall we travel underground, or in a car drawn by 
 griffins ? " 
 
 "With your permission, chevalier, we will simply go in 
 a carriage; and though you appear to doubt it, I am a 
 woman, and rather afraid of the dark." 
 
 "Permit me, then, to call my carriage," said the 
 chevalier. 
 
 "Not at all; I have my own." 
 
 "Call it, then." 
 
 "With your permission, chevalier, we will not be 
 more proud than Mahomet with the mountain ; and as my 
 carriage cannot come to us, we will go to it." 
 
 At these words the bat drew the chevalier into the Rue 
 St. Honoré. A carriage without armorial bearings, with 
 two dark-coloured horses, waited at the corner of the street. 
 The coachman was on his seat, enveloped in a great cape 
 which hid the lower part of his face, while a three-
 
 48 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 cornered hat covered liis forehead and eyes. A footman 
 held the door open with one hand, and with the other held 
 his handkerchief so as to conceal his face. 
 
 "Get in," said the mask, 
 
 D'Harmental hesitated a moment. The anxiety of the 
 servants to preserve their incognito, the carriage without 
 blazon, the obscure place where it was drawn up, and the 
 advanced hour of the night, all inspired the chevalier with 
 a sentiment of mistrust; but reflecting that he gave his 
 arm to a woman, and had a sword by his side, he got in 
 boldly. The mask sat down by him, and the footman 
 closed the door. 
 
 " Well, are we not going to start ? " said the chevalier, 
 seeing that the carriage remained motionless. 
 
 "There remains a little precaution to be taken," said 
 the mask, drawing a silk handkerchief from her pocket." 
 
 "Ah! yes, true," said D'Harmental; "I had forgotten. 
 I give myself up to you with confidence." 
 
 And he advanced his head. The unknown bandaged 
 his eyes; then said, — 
 
 " Chevalier, you give me your word of honour not to 
 remove this bandage till I give you permission ?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "It is well." 
 
 Then, raising the glass in front, she said to the coach- 
 man, — 
 
 "You know where, Monsieur le Comte." 
 
 And the carriage started at a gallop.
 
 THE ARSENAL. 49 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ARSENAL. 
 
 They both maintained a profound silence during the route. 
 This adventure, wliich at first had presented itself under 
 the appearance of an amorous intrigue, had soon assumed 
 a graver aspect, and appeared to turn towards political 
 machinations. If this new aspect did not frighten the 
 chevalier, at least it gave him matter for reflection. There 
 is a moment in the affairs of every man which decides 
 upon his future. This moment, however important it 
 may be, is rarely prepared by calculation or directed by 
 will. It is almost always chance which takes a man as the 
 wind does a leaf, and throws him into some new and 
 unknown path, where, once entered, he is obliged to obey 
 a superior force, and where, while believing himself free, 
 he is but the slave of circumstances and the plaything of 
 events. 
 
 It was thus with the chevalier. Interest and gratitude 
 attached him to the party of the old court. D'Harmental, 
 in consequence, had not calculated the good or the harm 
 that Madame de Maintenon had done Prance. He did not 
 weigh in the balance of genealogy Monsieur du Maine and 
 Monsieur d'Orléans. He felt that he must devote his life 
 to those who had raised him from obscurity, and knowing 
 the old king's will, regarded as a usurpation Monsieur 
 d'Orléans' accession to the regency. 
 
 Fully expecting an armed reaction against this power, 
 he looked around for the standard which he should follow. 
 Nothing that he expected happened; Spain had not even 
 protested. Monsieur du Maine, fatigued by his short con- 
 test, had retired into the shade. Monsieur de Toulouse, 
 
 4
 
 50 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 good, easy, and almost ashamed of the favours which haCf 
 fallen to the share of liimself and his elder brother, would 
 not permit even the supposition that lie could put himself 
 at the head of a party. The Maréchal de Villeroy had made 
 a feeble and systemless opposition. Villars went to no one, 
 but waited for some one to come to him. D'Axelles had 
 changed sides, and had accepted the post of secretary for 
 foreign affairs. The dukes and peers took patience, and 
 paid court to the regent, in the hope that he would at last 
 take away from the Dukes of Maine and Toulouse the 
 precedence which Louis XIV. had given them. 
 
 Finally, there was discontent with, and even opposition 
 to, the government of the Due d'Orléans, but all impal- 
 pable and disjointed. This is what D'Harmental had 
 seen, and what had resheathed his half-drawn sword: he 
 thought he was the only one who saw another issue to 
 affairs, and he gradually came to the conclusion that that 
 issue had no existence, except in his own imagination, since 
 those who should have been most interested in that result 
 seemed to regard it as so impossible that they did not 
 even attempt to attain to it. 
 
 Although the carriage had been on the road nearly half 
 an hour, the chevalier had not found it long; so deep were 
 his reflections that, even if his eyes had not been bandaged, 
 he would have been equally ignorant of what streets they 
 passed through. 
 
 At length he heard the wheels rumbling as if they were 
 passing under an arch. He heard the grating of hinges 
 as the gate opened to admit him, and closed behind him, 
 and directly after, the carriage, having described a semi- 
 circle, stopped. 
 
 "Chevalier," said his guide, "if you have any fear, 
 there is still time to draw back; if, on the contrary, you 
 have not changed your resolution, come with me." 
 
 D'Harmental's only answer was to extend his hand. 
 
 The footman opened the door; the unknown got out 
 first, and then assisted the chevalier. His feet soon
 
 THE ARSKNAL. 51 
 
 encounterea some steps ; he mounted six, — still conducted 
 by the masked lady, — crossed a vestibule, passed through 
 a corridor, and entered a room. 
 
 " We are now arrived," said the unknown. " You remem- 
 ber our conditions; you are free to accept or refuse a part 
 in the piece about to be played, but, in case of a refusal, 
 you promise not to divulge anything you may see or 
 hear." 
 
 *' I swear it on my honour," replied the chevalier. 
 
 "Now sit down; wait in this room, and do not remove 
 the bandage till you hear two o'clock strike. You have 
 not long to wait." 
 
 At these words his conductress left him. Two o'clock 
 soon struck, and the chevalier tore off the bandage. He 
 was alone in the most marvellous boudoir possible to 
 imagine. It was small and octagonal, hung with lilac and 
 silver, with furniture and portières of tapestry, buhl 
 tables, covered with splendid china, a Persian carpet, and 
 the ceiling painted by Watteau, who was then coming into 
 fashion. At this sight the chevalier found it difficult to 
 believe that he had been summoned on grave matters, and 
 almost returned to his first ideas. 
 
 At this moment a door opened in the tapestry, and there 
 appeared a woman who, in the fantastic pre-occupation of 
 his spirit, D'Harmental might have taken for a fairy, so 
 slight, small, and delicate was her figure. She was 
 dressed in pearl gray satin, covered with bouquets, so 
 beautifully embroidered that, at a short distance, they 
 appeared like natural flowers; the flounces, ruffles, and 
 head-dress were of English point; it was fastened with 
 pearls and diamonds. Her face was covered with a half- 
 mask of black velvet, from which hung a deep black lace. 
 D'Harmental bowed, for there was something royal in the 
 walk and manner of this woman, which showed him that 
 the other had been only an envoy. 
 
 "Madame," said he, "have I really, as 1 begin to 
 believe, quitted the earth for the land of spirits, and are
 
 52 THE CHEVALIER ij'lIARMENTAL. 
 
 you the powerful fairy to whom this beautiful palace 
 belongs ? " 
 
 "Alas! chevalier," replied the masked lady, in a sweet 
 but decided voice, " I am not a powerful fairy, but, on the 
 contrary, a poor princess, persecuted by a wicked enchanter, 
 who has taken from me my crown, and oppresses my king- 
 dom. Thus, you see, I am seeking a brave knight to de- 
 liver me, and your renown has led me to address myself to 
 you." 
 
 "If my life could restore you your past power, ma- 
 dame," replied D'Harmental, "speak; I am ready to risk 
 it with joy. Who is this enchanter that I must com- 
 bat, this giant that I must destroy ? Since you have 
 chosen me above all, I will prove m^'self worthy of the 
 honour. From this moment I engage my word, even if it 
 cost me my life." 
 
 "If you lose your life, chevalier, it will be in good com- 
 pany," said the lady, untying her mask, and discovering 
 her face, "for you would lose it with the son of Louis XIV., 
 and the grand-daughter of the great Conde. 
 
 "Madame la Duchesse du Maine!" cried D'Harmental, 
 falling on one knee; "will your Highness pardon me, if, not 
 knowing you, I have said anything which may fall short 
 of the profound respect I feel for you." 
 
 "You have said nothing for which I am not proud and 
 grateful, chevalier, but perhaps you now repent. If so, 
 you are at liberty to withdraw." 
 
 " Heaven forbid, madame, that having had the honour to 
 engage my life in the service of so great and noble a prin- 
 cess, I should deprive myself of the greatest honour I ever 
 dared to hope for. No, madame; take seriously, I beg, 
 what I offered half in jest; my arm, my sword, and my life." 
 
 "I see," said the Duchesse du Maine, with that smile 
 which gave her such power over all who approached her, 
 "that the Baron de Valef did not deceive me, and you are 
 such as he described. Come , I will present you to our 
 friends."
 
 THE ARSENAL. 53 
 
 The duchess went first, D'Harmental followed, aston- 
 ished at what had passed, but fully resolved, partly from 
 pride, partly from conviction, not to withdraw a step. 
 
 The duchess conducted him to a room where four new- 
 personages awaited him. These were the Cardinal de 
 Polignac, the Marquis de Pompadour, Monsieur de 
 Malezieux, and the Abbé Brigand. 
 
 The Cardinal du Polignac was supposed to be the lover 
 of Madame du Maine. He was a handsome prelate, from 
 forty to forty-five years of age; always dressed with the 
 greatest care, with an unctuous voice, a cold face, and a 
 timid heart; devoured by ambition, which was eternally 
 combated by the weakness of his character, which always 
 drew him back where he should advance ; of high birth, as 
 his name indicated, very learned for a cardinal, and very 
 well informed for a nobleman. 
 
 Monsieur de Pompadour was a man of from forty-five to 
 fifty, who had been a minion of the dauphin's, the son of 
 Louis XIV., and who had so great a love for his whole 
 family that, seeing with grief that the regent was going 
 to declare war against Philip V., he had thrown himself, 
 body and soul, into the Due du Maine's party. Proud and 
 disinterested, he had given a rare example of loyalty, in 
 sending back to the regent the brevet of his pensions and 
 those of his wife, and in refusing for himself and the 
 Marquis de Courcillon, his son-in-law, every place offered 
 to them. 
 
 Monsieur de Malezieux was a man oï from sixty to 
 sixty-five, Chancellor of Dombes and Lord of Chatenay: 
 he owed this double title to the gratitude of Monsieur du 
 Maine, whose education he had conducted. A poet, a 
 musician, an author of small comedies, which he played 
 himself with infinite spirit; born for an idle and intel- 
 lectual life; always occupied in procuring pleasure for 
 others, and above all for Madame du Maine, whom he 
 adored, he was a type of the Sybarite of the eighteenth 
 century; but, like the Sybarites who, drawn by the aspect
 
 54 THE CHEVALIER d'HAUMENTAL. 
 
 of beauty, followed Cleopatra to Actium, and were killed 
 around her, he would have followed his dear Bénédicte 
 through fire and water, and, at a word from her, would, 
 without hesitation, and almost without regret, have thrown 
 himself from the towers of Notre Dame. 
 
 The Abbé Brigand was the son of a Lyons merchant. 
 His father, who was commercially related with the court 
 of Spain, was charged to make overtures, as if on his own 
 account, for the marriage of the young Louis XIV. with 
 the young Maria Theresa of Austria. If these overtures 
 had been badly received, the ministers of France would 
 have disavowed them; but they were well received, and 
 they supported them. 
 
 The marriage took place ; and, as the little Brigand was 
 born about the same time as the dauphin, he asked, in 
 recompense, that the king's sou should stand godfather to 
 his child, which was granted to him. He then made 
 acquaintance with the Marquis de Pompadour, who, as we 
 have said, was one of the pages of honour. When he was 
 of an age to decide on his profession, he joined the Fathers 
 of the Oratory. He was a clever and an ambitious man, 
 but, as often happens to the greatest geniuses, he had 
 never had an opportunity of making himself known. 
 
 Some time before the period of which we are writing, 
 he met the Marquis de Pompadour, who was seeking a man 
 of spirit and enterprise as the secretary of Madame du 
 Maine. He told him to what the situation would expose 
 him at the present time. Brigand weighed for an instant 
 the good and evil chances, and, as the former appeared to 
 predominate, he accepted it. 
 
 Of these four men, D'Harmental only knew the Marquis 
 de Pompadour, whom he had often met at the house of 
 Monsieur de Courcillou, his son-in-law, a distant relation 
 of the D'Harmentals. 
 
 When D'Harmental entered the room, Monsieur de 
 Polignac, Monsieur de Malezieux, and Monsieur de Pom- 
 padour were standing talking at the fireplace, and the
 
 THE ARSENAL. 66 
 
 Abbé Brigaud was seated at a table classifying somft 
 papers. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said tlie Duchesse du Maine, "here is the 
 brave champion of whom the Baron de Valef has spoken 
 to us, and who has been brought here by your dear De 
 Launay, Monsieur de Malezieux. If his name and antece- 
 dents are not sufficient to stand sponsor for him, I will 
 answer for him personally." 
 
 "Presented thus by your Highness," said Malezieux, "we 
 shall see in him not only a companion, but a chief, whom 
 wo are ready to follow wherever he may lead." 
 
 "My dear D'Harmental," said the Marquis de Pompa- 
 dour, extending his hand to him, " we were already rela- 
 tions; we are now almost brothers." 
 
 "Welcome, monsieur!" said the Cardinal de Polignac, 
 in the unctuous tone habitual to him, and which contrasted 
 so strangely with the coldness of his countenance. 
 
 The Abbé Brigaud raised his head with a movement 
 resembling that of a serpent, and fixed on D'Harmental 
 two little eyes, brilliant as those of the lynx. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said D'Harmental, after having answered 
 each of them by a bow, " I am new and strange amongst 
 you, and, above all, ignorant of what is passing, or in 
 what manner I can serve you; but though my word has 
 only been engaged to you for a few minutes, my devo- 
 tion to your cause is of many years' standing. I beg 
 you, therefore, to grant me the confidence so graciously 
 claimed for me by her Highness. All that I shall ask 
 after that will be a speedy occasion to prove myself 
 worthy of it." 
 
 "Well said!" cried the Duchesse du Maine; "commend 
 me to a soldier for going straight to the point ! Ko, Mon- 
 sieur d'Harmental, we will have no secrets from you; and 
 the opportunity you require, and which will place each of 
 us in our proper position — " 
 
 "Excuse me, Madame la Duchesse," interrupted the car- 
 dinal, who was playing uneasily with his necktie; "but,
 
 56 THE CHEVALIKK d'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 from your manner, the chevalier will think that the affair 
 is a conspiracy.-' 
 
 "And what is it, then, cardinal?" asked the duchess, 
 impatiently. 
 
 "It is," said the cardinal, "a council, secret, it is true, 
 but in no degree reprehensible, in Avhich we only seek a 
 means of remedying the misfortunes of the State, and 
 enlightening France on her true interests, by recalling the 
 last will of the king, Louis XIV." 
 
 "Stay, cardinal!" said the duchess, stamping her foot; 
 "you will kill me with impatience by your circumlocu- 
 tions. Chevalier," continued she, addressing D'Harmental, 
 "do not listen to his Eminence, who at this moment, 
 doubtless, is thinking of his Lucretius. If it had been a 
 simple council, the talents of his Eminence would soon 
 have extricated us from our troubles, without the necessity 
 of applying to you ; but it is a bona fide conspiracy against 
 the regent, — a conspiracy which numbers the King of 
 Spain, Cardinal Alberoni, the Due du Maine, myself, 
 the Marquis de Pompadour, Monsieur de Malezieux, l'Abbé 
 Brigaud, Valef, yourself, the cardinal himself, the presi- 
 dent; and which will include half the parliament and three 
 parts of France. This is the matter in hand, chevalier. 
 Are you content, cardinal ? Have I spoken clearly, 
 gentlemen ? " 
 
 "Madame," murmured Malezieux, joining his hands 
 before her with more devotion than he would have done 
 before the Virgin. 
 
 "No, no; stop, Malezieux," said the duchess; "but the 
 iardinal enrages me with his half-measures. Mon Dieu ! 
 are these eternal waverings worthy of a man ? For 
 myself, I do not ask a sword, I do not ask a dagger; give 
 me but a nail, and I, a woman, and almost a dwarf, will 
 go, like a new Jael, and drive it into the temple of this 
 other Sisera. Then all will be finished; and, if I fail, no 
 one but myself will be compromised." 
 
 Monsieur de Polignac sighed deeply; Pompadour burst
 
 THE ARSENAL. 57 
 
 out laughing; Malezieux tried to calm the duchess; and 
 Brigaud bent his head, and went on writing as if he had 
 heard nothing. As to D'PIarmental, he would have 
 kissed the hem of her dress, so superior was this woman, 
 in his eyes, to the four men who surrounded her. 
 
 At this moment they heard the sound of a carriage, 
 which drove into the courtyard and stopped at the door. 
 The person expected was doubtless some one of importance, 
 for there was an instant silence, and the Duchesse du 
 Maine, in her impatience, went herself to open the door. 
 
 "Well?" asked she. 
 
 "He is here," said a voice, which D'Harmental recog- 
 nized as that of the Bat. 
 
 "Enter, enter, prince," said the duchess; "we wait for 
 you.
 
 THE CHEVALIER D HARMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER VT. 
 
 THE PRINCE UE CELLAMARE. 
 
 At this invitatiou there entered a tall, thin, grave man, 
 with a sunburnt complexion, who at a single glance took 
 in everything in the room, animate and inanimate. The 
 chevalier recognised the ambassador of their Catholic 
 Majesties, the Prince de Cellamare. 
 
 "Well, prince," asked the duchess, "what have you to 
 tell us ? " 
 
 "I have to tell you, madame," replied the prince, kiss- 
 ing her hand respectfully, and throwing his cloak on a 
 chair, "that your Highness had better change coachmen. 
 I predict misfortune if you retain in your service the fellow 
 who drove me here. He seems to me to be some one 
 employed by the regent to break the necks of your High- 
 ness and all your companions." 
 
 Every one began to laugh, and particularly the coachman 
 himself, who, without ceremony, had entered behind the 
 prince; and who, throwing his hat and cloak on a seat, 
 showed himself a man of high bearing, from thirty-five to 
 forty years old, with the lower part of his face hidden 
 by a black handkerchief. 
 
 "Do you hear, my dear Laval, what the prince says of 
 you ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Laval; "it is worth while to give him 
 Montmorencies to be treated like that. Ah, Monsieur le 
 Prince, the first gentlemen in France are not good enough 
 for your coachmen ! Peste ! you are difficult to please. 
 Have you many coachmen at Naples who date from Robert 
 the Strong ? " 
 
 " What ! is it you, my dear count ? " said the prince, 
 holding out his hand to him.
 
 THE rrjNCE DE CELLAMAKE. 59 
 
 "Myself, priuce ! Madame la Ducliesse sent away her 
 coachman to keep Lent in his own family, and engaged 
 me for this night. She thought it safer." 
 
 "And Madame la Duchesse did right," said the car- 
 dinal. "One cannot take too many precautions." 
 
 "Ah, your Eminence," said Laval, "I should like to 
 know if you would be of the same opinion after passing 
 half the night on the box of a carriage, first to fetch Mon- 
 sieur d'Harmental from the opera ball, and then to take 
 the prince from the Hôtel Colbert." 
 
 "What!" said D'Harmental, "was it you, Monsieur le 
 Comte, who had the goodness — " 
 
 "Yes, young man," replied Laval; "and I would have 
 gone to the end of the world to bring you here, for I know 
 you. You are a gallant gentleman; you were one of the 
 first to enter Denain, and you took Albemarle. You were 
 fortunate enough not to leave half your jaw there, as I did 
 in Italy. You were right, for it would have been a further 
 motive for taking away your regiment, — ■ which they have 
 done, however." 
 
 "We will restore you that a hundred-fold," said the 
 duchess; "but now let us speak of Spain. Prince, you 
 have news from Alberoni, Pompadour tells me." 
 
 "Yes, your Highness." 
 
 " What are they ? " 
 
 "Both good and bad. His Majesty, Philip V., is in one 
 of his melancholy moods, and will not determine upon 
 anything. He will not believe in the treaty of the quad- 
 ruple alliance." 
 
 "Will not believe in it!" cried the duchess; "and the 
 treaty ought to be signed now. In a week Dubois will 
 have brought it here." 
 
 "I know it, your Highness," replied Cellamare, coldly; 
 "but his Catholic Majesty does not." 
 
 " Then he abandons us ? " 
 
 "Almost." 
 
 "What becomes, then, of the queen's fine promises, and 
 the empire she pretends to have over her husband ? "
 
 GO niK CIIKVALIKK D'HAKM KNTAL. 
 
 "She promises to prove it to you, madame," replie(î 
 the prince, "when something is done." 
 
 "Yes," said the Cardinal do Polignac; "and then she 
 will fail in that promise." 
 
 "No, your Emineneo! I will answer for her." 
 
 "What I see most clearly in all this is," said Laval, 
 "that we must compromise the king. Once compromised, 
 he must go on." 
 
 "Now, then," said Cellamare, "we are coming to busi- 
 ness." 
 
 "But how to compromise him," asked the Duchesse du 
 Maine, "without a letter from him, without even a verbal 
 message, and at five hundred leagues' distance ? " 
 
 " Has he not his representative at Paris, and is not that 
 representative in your house at this very moment, 
 madame ? " 
 
 "Prince," said the duchess, "you have more extended 
 powers than you are willing to admit." 
 
 "No; my powers are limited to telling you that the 
 citadel of Toledo and the fortress of Saragossa are at your 
 service. Find the means of making the regent enter 
 there, and their Catholic Majesties will close the door on 
 him so securely that he will not leave it again, I promise 
 you." 
 
 "It is impossible," said Monsieur de Polignac. 
 
 "Impossible! and why?" cried D'Harmental. "On 
 the contrary, what is more simple ? Nothing is necessary 
 but eight or ten determined men, a well-closed carriage, 
 and relays to Bayonne." 
 
 " I have already offered to undertake it, " said Laval. 
 
 " And I, " said Pompadour. 
 
 "You cannot," said the duchess; "the regent knows 
 you; and if the thing failed, you would be lost." 
 
 "It is a pity," said Cellamare, coldly; "for, once 
 arrived at Toledo or Saragossa, there is greatness in store 
 for him who shall have succeeded." 
 
 "And the blue ribbon," added Madame du Maine, "on 
 his return to Paris."
 
 THE PRINCE DE CELLAMARE. 61 
 
 "Oh, silence, I beg, madame," said D'Harmeutal; "for 
 if your Highness says such things, you give to devotion 
 the air of ambition, and rob it of all its merit. I was 
 going to offer myself for the enterprise, — I, who am 
 unknown to the regent, — but now I hesitate; and yet I 
 venture to believe myself worthy of the confidence of 
 your Highness, and able to justify it." 
 
 " What, chevalier ! " cried the duchess, " you would 
 risk — " 
 
 "My life; it is all I have to risk. I thought I had 
 already offered it, and that your Highness had accepted it. 
 Was I mistaken ? " 
 
 "No, no, chevalier," said the duchess, quickly; "and 
 you are a brave and loyal gentleman. I have always 
 believed in presentiments, and from the moment Valef 
 pronounced your name, telling me that you were what I 
 find you to be, I felt of what assistance you would be to 
 us. Gentlemen, you hear what the chevalier says; in 
 what can you aid him ? " 
 
 "In whatever he may want," said Laval and Pompadour. 
 
 "The coffers of their Catholic Majesties are at his dis- 
 posal," said the Prince de Cellamare, "and he may make 
 free use of them." 
 
 "I thank you," said D'Harmental, turning towards the 
 Comte de Laval and the Marquis de Pompadour; "but, 
 known as you are, you would only make the enterprise 
 more difficult. Occupy yourselves only in obtaining for 
 me a passport for Spain, as if I had the charge of some 
 prisoner of importance; that ought to be easy." 
 
 "I undertake it," said the Abbé Brigand. "Twill get 
 from D'Argenson a paper all prepared, which will only 
 have to be filled in." 
 
 "Excellent Brigaud," said Pompadour; "he does not 
 speak often, but he speaks to the purpose." 
 
 "It is he who should be made cardinal," said the 
 duchess, " rather than certain great lords of my acquaint- 
 ance; but as soon as we can dispose of the blue and the
 
 62 THE CHEVALIER d'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 red, be easy, gentlemen, we shall not be miserl}' Now, 
 chevalier, you have heard what the prince said. If you 
 want money — " 
 
 "Unfortunately," replied D'Harmental, "I am not rich 
 enough to refuse his Excellency's offer, and so soon as I 
 have arrived at the end of about athousand pistoles, whicli 
 I have at home, I must have recourse to you." 
 
 "To him, to me, to us all, chevalier; for each one in 
 such circumstances should tax himself according to his 
 means. I have little ready money, but I have many 
 diamonds and pearls; therefore want for nothing, I beg. 
 All the world has not your disinterestedness, and there is 
 devotion which must be bought." 
 
 "Above all, be prudent," said the cardinal. 
 
 "Do not be uneasy," replied D'Harmental, contemptu- 
 ously. "I have svifficient grounds of complaint against 
 the regent for it to be believed, if I were taken, that it 
 was an affair between him and me, and that my vengeance 
 was entirely personal." 
 
 "But," said the Comte de Laval, "you must have a kind 
 of lieutenant in this enterprise, — some one on whom 3'ou 
 can count. Have you any one ? " 
 
 "I think so," replied D'Harmental; "but I must be 
 informed each morning what the regent will do in the 
 evening. Monsieur le Prince de Cellamare, as ambassador, 
 must have his secret police." 
 
 "Yes," said the prince, embarrassed, "I have some 
 people who give me an account." 
 
 "That is exactly it," said D'Harmental. 
 
 " Where do you lodge ? " asked the cardinal. 
 
 "At my own house, monseigneur, Rue de Eichelieu, 
 No. 74." 
 
 "And how long have you lived there ?" 
 
 "Three years." 
 
 "Then you are too well known there, monsieur; yon must 
 change quarters. The people whom you receive are known, 
 and the sight of strange faces would give rise to questions."
 
 THE PRINCE DE CELLAM.VRE, 61^ 
 
 "This time your Eminence is right," said D'Harmental. 
 '' I will seek another lodging in some retired neighbourhood.'' 
 
 "I undertake it," said Brigaud; "my costume does not 
 excite suspicions. I will engage you a lodging as if it 
 was destined for a young man from the country who has 
 been recommended to me, and who has come to occupy some 
 place in an office." 
 
 "Truly, my dear Brigaud," said the Marquis de Pompa- 
 dour, "you are like the princess in the ' Arabian Nights,' 
 who never opened her mouth but to drop pearls." 
 
 "Well, it is a settled thing, Monsieur l'Abbé," said 
 D'Harmental; "I reckon on you, and I shall announce at 
 home that I am going to leave Paris for a three months' 
 trip." 
 
 "Everything is settled then," said the Duchesse du 
 Maine, joyfully, " This is the first time that I have been 
 able to see clearly into our affairs, chevalier, and we owe if, 
 to you. I shall not forget it." 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Malezieux, pulling out his watch, "I 
 would observe that it is four o'clock in the morning, and 
 that we shall kill our dear duchess with fatigue." 
 
 "You are mistaken," said the duchess; "such nights 
 rest me, and it is long since I have passed one so good." 
 
 "Prince," said Laval, "you must be contented with the 
 coachman whom you wished dischai'ged, unless you would 
 prefer driving yourself, or going on foot." 
 
 " No, indeed, " said the prince, " I will risk it. I am a 
 Neapolitan, and believe in omens. If you overturn me it 
 will be a sign that we must stay where we are; if you 
 conduct me safely it will be a sign that we may go on." 
 
 "Pompadour, you must take back IMonsieur d'Harmen- 
 tal," said the duchess. 
 
 "Willingly," said the marquis. "It is a long time since 
 we met, and we have a hundred things to say to each 
 other." 
 
 ** Cannot I take leave of my sprightly Bat ? " asked 
 D'Harmental ; " for I do not forget that it is to her I owe
 
 64 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 the happiness of having offered my services to your 
 highness." 
 
 "De Launay," cried the duchess, conducting the Prince 
 of Cellamare to the door, "De Launay, here is Monsieur 
 le Chevalier d'Harmental, who says you are the greatest 
 sorceress he has ever known." 
 
 "Well!" said she who has left us such charming 
 memoirs, under the name of Madame de Staal, "do you 
 believe in my prophecies now. Monsieur le Chevalier ? " 
 
 " I believe, because I hope," replied the chevalier. "But 
 new that I know the fairy that sent you, it is not your 
 predictions that astonish me the most. How were you so 
 well informed about the past, and, above all, of the 
 present ? " 
 
 "Well, De Launay, be kind, and do not torment the 
 chevalier any longer, or he will believe us to be two 
 witches, and be afraid of us." 
 
 "Was there not one of your friends, chevalier," asked 
 De Launay, "who left you this morning in the Bois de 
 Boulogne to come and say adieu to us." 
 
 "Valef! It is Valef!" cried D'Harmental. "I under- 
 stand now." 
 
 " In the place of Œdipus you would have been devoured 
 ten times over by the Sphinx." 
 
 "But the mathematics; but the anatomy; but Virgil ? " 
 replied D'Harmental. 
 
 "Do you not know, chevalier," said Malezieux, mixing 
 in the conversation, " that we never call her anything here 
 but our ' savante '? — with the exception of Chaulieu, how- 
 ever, who calls her his flirt, and his coquette ; but all as a 
 poetical license. We let her loose the other day on Du 
 Vernay, our doctoi-, and she beat hira at anatomy." 
 
 "And," said the Marquis de Pompadour, taking D'Har- 
 mental's arm to lead him away, "the good man in his 
 disappointment declared that there was no other girl in 
 France who understood the human frame so well." 
 
 "Ah!" said the Abbé Brigand, folding his papers, "here
 
 THE PRINCE DE CELLAMARE. 65 
 
 IS the first savant on record who has been known to make 
 a bon-mot. It is true that he did not intend it." 
 
 And D'Harmental and Pompadour, having taken leave 
 of the duchess, retired laughing, followed by the Abbé 
 Brigand, who reckoned on them to drive him home. 
 
 "Well," said Madame du Maine, addressing the Car- 
 dinal de Polignac, "does your eminence still find it such a 
 terrible thing to conspire ?" 
 
 "Madame," replied the cardinal, who could not under- 
 stand that any one could laugh when his head was in 
 danger, "I will ask you the same question when we are 
 all in the Bastille." 
 
 And he went away with the good chancellor, deploring 
 the ill-luck which had thrown him into such a rash 
 enterprise. 
 
 The duchess looked after him with a contempt which 
 she could not disguise; then, when she was alone with De 
 Launay : 
 
 "My dear Sophie," said she, "let us put out our lanthorr 
 for I think we have found a man."
 
 66 THE CHEVALIKIi IJ'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ALBERONI. 
 
 When D'Harmental awoke, he wondered if all had been 
 a dream. Events had, during tlie last thirty-six hours, 
 succeeded each other with such rapidity that he had been 
 carried away as by a whirlpool, without knowing where 
 he was going. Now for the first time he had leisure to 
 reflect on the past and the future. 
 
 These were times in which every one conspired more or 
 less. We know the natural bent of the mind in such a, 
 case. The first feeling we experience, after having made 
 an engagement in a moment of exaltation , is one almost of 
 regret for having been so forward. Little by little we 
 become familiarised with the idea of the dangers we are 
 running. Imagination removes them from our sight, and 
 presents instead the ambitions we may realise. Pride 
 soon becomes mingled with it, as we think that we have 
 become a secret power in the State. We walk along 
 proudly with head erect, passing contemptuously those who 
 lead an ordinary life; we cradle ourselves in our hopes, 
 and wake one morning conquering.or conquered, — carried 
 on the shoulders of the people, or broken by the wheels 
 of that machine called the government. 
 
 Thus it Avas with D'Harmentai. After a few moments' 
 reflection, he saw things under the same aspect as he had 
 done the day before, and congratulated himself upon 
 having taken the highest place among such people as the 
 Montmorencies and the Polignacs. His family had trans- 
 mitted to him much of that adventurous chivalry so much 
 in vogue under Louis XIIL, and which Richelieu with 
 his scaiïolds, and Louis XIV. with his antechambers, had
 
 ALBERONI. 67 
 
 not quite "been able to destroy. There was sometliing 
 romantic in enlisting himself, a young man, under the 
 banners of a woman, and that woman a granddaughter of 
 the great Conde. 
 
 D'Harmental lost no time in preparing to keep the prom- 
 ises he had made, for he felt that the eyes of all the 
 conspirators were upon him, and that on his courage and 
 prudence depended the destinies of two kingdoms, and the 
 politics of the world. At this moment the regent was the 
 keystone of the arch of the European edifice ; and France 
 was beginning to take, if not by arms, at least by diplomacy, 
 that influence which she had unfortunately not alwaj's 
 preserved. Placed at the centre of the triangle formed by 
 the three great Powers, with eyes fixed on Germany-, one 
 arm extended towards England, and the other towards 
 Spain, ready to turn on either of these three States that 
 should not treat her according to her dignit}-, she had 
 assumed, under the Due d'Orléans, an attitude of calm 
 strength which she had never had under Louis XIV. 
 
 This arose from the division of interests consequent on 
 the usurpation of William of Orange, and the accession of 
 Philip V. to the throne of Spain. Faithful to his old 
 hatred against the stadtholder, who had refused him his 
 daughter, Louis XIV. had constantly advanced the preten- 
 sions of James II., and, after his death, of the Chevalier 
 de St. George. Faithful to his compact with Philip V., he 
 had constantly aided his grandson against the emperor, 
 with men and money, and, weakened by this double war, 
 he had been reduced to the shameful treaty of Utrecht; 
 but at the death of the old king all was changed, and the 
 regent had adopted a very different line of conduct. The 
 treaty of Utrecht was only a truce, which had been broken 
 from the moment when England and Holland did not pursue 
 common interests with those of France. 
 
 In consequence, the regent had first of all held out his 
 hand to George I., and the treaty of the triple alliance 
 had been signed at La Haye, by Dubois, in the name of
 
 68 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 Frauce; by General Cadogan, for England; and by the 
 pensioner, Heinsiens, for Holland. This was a great step 
 towards the pacification of Europe, but the interests of 
 Austria and Spain were still in suspense. Charles VI. 
 Would not recognise Philip V. as King of Spain-, and Philip 
 v., on his part, would not renounce his rights over those 
 provinces of the Spanish empire which the treaty of Utrecht 
 had given to the Emperor. 
 
 It was in the hopes of bringing these things about that 
 the regent had sent Dubois to London, where he was pur- 
 suing the treaty of the quadruple alliance with as much 
 ardour as he had that of La Haye. This treaty would have 
 neutralised the pretensions of the State not approved by 
 the four Powers. This was what was feared by Philip V. 
 (or rather the Cardinal d'Alberoni). 
 
 It was not thus with Alberoni; his was one of those 
 extraordinary fortunes which one sees, always with new 
 astonishment, spring up around the throne; one of those 
 caprices of destiny which chance raises and destroys; 
 like a gigantic waterspout, which advances on the ocean, 
 threatening to annihilate everything, but which is dis- 
 persed by a stone thrown from the hand of a sailor; or an 
 avalanche, which threatens to swallow towns, and fill up 
 valleys, because a bird in its flight has detached a flake of 
 snow on the summit of the mountain. 
 
 Alberoni was born in a gardener's cottage, and as a child 
 he was the bell-ringer. When still a young man he 
 exchanged his smock-frock for a surplice, but was of a 
 merry and jesting disposition. The Duke of Parma heard 
 him laugh one day so gaily that the poor duke, who did 
 not laugh every day, asked who it was that was so merry, 
 and had him called. Alberoni related to him some gro- 
 tesque adventure. His Highness laughed heartily; and. 
 finding that it was pleasant to laugh sometimes, attached 
 him to his person. The duke soon found that he had 
 mind, and fancied that that mind was not incapable of 
 business.
 
 ALBERONI. 69 
 
 rt was at this time that tho poor Bishop of Parma came 
 back, deeply mortified at his reception by the generalissimo 
 of the French army. The susceptibility of this envoy 
 might compromise the grave interests which his Highness 
 had to discuss with France. His Highness judged that 
 Alberoui was the man to be humiliated by notliing, and he 
 sent the abbe to finish the negotiation which the bishop 
 had left unfinished. Monsieur de Vendôme, who had 
 not put himself out for a bishop, did not do so for an 
 abbé, and received the second ambassador as he had the 
 first; but, instead of following the example of his prede- 
 cessor, he found in Monsieur de Vendôme's own situation 
 so much subject for merry jests and strange praises that 
 the affair was finished at once, and he came back to the 
 duke with everything arranged to his desire. 
 
 This was a reason for the duke to employ him a second 
 time. This time Vendôme was just going to sit down to 
 table, and Alberoni, instead of beginning about business, 
 asked if he would taste two dishes of his cooking, went 
 into the kitchen, and came back, a soiq)e au fromage 
 in one hand, and macaroni in the other. De Vendôme 
 found the soup so good that he asked Alberoni to take 
 some with him at his own table. At dessert Alberoni 
 introduced his business, and, profiting by the good humour 
 of Vendôme, he twisted him round his finger. 
 
 His Highness was astonished. The greatest genius he 
 had met with had never done so much. The next time it 
 was Monsieur de V"endôme who asked the Duke of Parma 
 it he had nothing else to negotiate with him. Alberoni 
 found means of persuading his sovereign that he would be 
 more useful to him near Vendôme than elsewhere, and 
 he persuaded Vendôme that he could not exist without 
 soupe au fromage and macaroni. 
 
 Monsieur de Vendôme attached him to his service, allowed 
 him to interfere in his most secret affairs, and made him 
 his chief secretary. At this time Vendôme left for Spain. 
 Alberoni put himself in communication with Madame des
 
 70 THE CHEVALIER d'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 Ursins; and when Vendôme died, she gave Alberoni the 
 same post near lier he had occupied near the deceased. 
 
 This was anotlier step. The Princesse des Ursins began 
 to get old, — an unpardonable crime in the eyes of Philip V. 
 She resolved to place a young woman near the king, 
 through whom she might continue to reign over him. 
 Alberoni proposed the daughter of his old master, whom 
 he represented as a child, without character and without 
 will, who would claim nothing of royalty but the name. 
 The princess was taken by this promise. The marriage 
 was decided on, and the young princess left Italy for Spain. 
 
 Her first act of authority was to arrest the Princesse des 
 Ursins, who had come to meet her in a court dress, and to 
 send her back as she was, with her neck uncovered, in a 
 bitter frost, in a carriage of which the guard had broken 
 the window with his elbow, first to Burgos, and then to 
 France, where she arrived, after having been obliged to 
 borrow fifty pistoles from her servants. After his first 
 interview with Elizabeth Farnese, the king announced to 
 Alberoni that he was prime minister. From that day, 
 thanks to the young queen, who owed him everything, 
 the ex-ringer of bells exercised an unlimited empire over 
 Philip V. 
 
 Now this is what Alberoni pictured to himself, having 
 always prevented Philip V. from recognising the peace of 
 Utrecht. If the conspiracy succeeded, — if D'Harmental 
 carried off the Due d'Orléans, and took him to the citadel 
 of Toledo or the fortress of Saragossa, — Alberoni would 
 get Monsieur du Maine recognised as regent, would with- 
 draw France from the quadruple alliance, throw the Chev- 
 alier de St. George with the fleet on the English coast, and 
 set Prussia, Sweden, and Russia, with whom he had a 
 treaty of alliance, at variance with Holland. The empire 
 would then profit by their dispute to retake Naples and 
 Sicily; would assure Tuscany to the second son of the 
 King of Spain; would reunite the Catholic Netherlands to 
 France, give Sardinia to the Dukes of Savoy, Commachio
 
 ALBERONI. 71 
 
 to the Pope, and Mantua to tlie Venetians. He would 
 make himself the soul of the great league of the South 
 against the North, and if Louis XV. died would crown 
 riiilip V. king of half the world. 
 
 All these things were now in the hands of a young man 
 twenty-six years of age; and it was not astonishing that 
 he should be, at first, frightened at the responsibility 
 which weighed upon him. 
 
 As he was still deep in thought, the Abbé Brigand 
 entered. He had already found a lodging for the chevalier 
 at No. 5 Rue du Temps Ferdu, — a small furnished room, 
 suitable to a young man who came to seek his fortune in 
 Paris. He brought him also two thousand pistoles from 
 the Prince of Cellamare. 
 
 D'Harmental wished to refuse them, for it seemed as 
 if he would be no longer acting according to conscience and 
 devotion; but Brigand explained to him that in such an 
 enterprise there are susceptibilities to conquer, and accom- 
 plices to pay; and that besides, if the affair succeeded, he 
 would have to set out instantly for Spain, and perhaps 
 make his way by force of gold. Brigand carried away a 
 complete suit of the chevalier's, as a pattern for a fresh 
 one suitable for a clerk in an office. The Abbé Brigand 
 was a useful man. 
 
 D'Harmental passed the rest of the day in preparing for 
 his pretended journey, and removed, in case of accident, 
 every letter which might compromise a friend; then went 
 toward the Rue St. Honoré, where — thanks to La Nor- 
 mande — he hoped to have news of Captain Roquefinette. 
 In fact, from the moment that a lieutenant for his enter- 
 prise had been spoken of, he had thought of this man, who 
 had given him as his second a proof of his careless 
 courage. He had instantly recognised in him one of 
 those adventurers always ready to sell their blood for a 
 good price, and who, in time of peace, when their 
 swords are useless to the State, place them at the service 
 of individuals.
 
 72 THE CIIFA'ALIKK ij'lIAIi.MHNTAL. 
 
 On becoming a conspirator one always becomes supersti- 
 tions, and D'llarinental fancied that it was an intervention 
 of Providence wliicli liad introduced him to Koquefinette. 
 The chevalier, without being a regular customer, went 
 occasionally to the tavern of La Fillon. It was quite 
 fashionable at that time to go and drink at her house. 
 D'Harmental was to her neither her son, a name which 
 she gave to all her habitues, nor her gossip, a word 
 which she reserved for the Abbé Dubois, but simply 
 Monsieur le Chevalier, — a mark of respect which would 
 have been considered rather a humiliation by most of the 
 young men of fashion. La Fillon was much astonished 
 when D'Harmental asked to see one of her servants called 
 La Normande. 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu! Monsieur le Chevalier," said she, 
 "I am really distressed; but La Normande is waiting at 
 a dinner which will last till to-morrow evening." 
 
 " Plague ! what a dinner ! " 
 
 "What is to be done ?" replied La Fillon. "It is a 
 caprice of an old friend of the house. He will not be 
 waited on by any one but her, and I cannot refuse him 
 that satisfaction." 
 
 " When he has money, I suppose ? " 
 
 "You are mistaken. I give him credit up to a certain 
 sum. It is a weakness, but one cannot help being grate- 
 ful. He started me in the world, such as you see me, 
 monsieur, — me, who have had in my house the best people 
 in Paris, including the regent. I was only the daughter 
 of a poor chair-bearer. Oh! I am not like the greater 
 part of your beautiful duchesses, who deny their origin; 
 nor like two thirds of your dukes and peers, who fabricate 
 genealogies for themselves. No! what I am, I owe to my 
 own merit, and I am proud of it." 
 
 "Then," said the chevalier, who was not particularly 
 interested by La Fillon's history, "you say that Tia 
 Normande will not have finished with this dinner til) 
 to-morrow evening ? "
 
 ALBERONI. 73 
 
 "The jolly old captain never stays less time tlian that 
 at table, when once he is there." 
 
 " But, my dear présidente " (this was a name sometimes 
 given to La Fillon, as a certain quid pro quo for the prési^ 
 dente who had the same name as herself), "do you think, 
 by chance, your captain may be my captain ? " 
 
 " What is yours called ? " 
 
 "Captain Roquefinette." 
 
 "It is the same." 
 
 " He is here ? " 
 
 "In person." 
 
 " Well, he is just the man I want ; and I only asked îo\ 
 La Normande to get his address." 
 
 "Then all is right," said the présidente. 
 
 "Have the kindness to send for him." 
 
 " Oh ! he would not come down for the regent himself. 
 If you want to see him you must go up." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 "At No. 2, where you supped the other evening with 
 the Baron de Valef . Oh ! when he has money, nothing is 
 too good for him. Although he is but a captain, he has 
 the heart of a king." 
 
 "Better and better," said D'Harmental, mounting the 
 staircase, without being deterred by the recollection of the 
 misadventure which had happened to him in that room; 
 "that is exactly what I want." 
 
 If D'Harmental had not known the room in question, 
 the voice of the captain would soon have served him for a 
 guide. 
 
 "Now, my little loves," said he, "the third and last 
 verse, and together in the chorus." Then he began sing- 
 ing in a magnificent bass voice, and four or five female 
 voices took up the chorus. 
 
 "That is better," said the captain; "now let us have the 
 Battle of Malplaquet." 
 
 "No, no," said a voice; "I have had enough of your 
 battle."
 
 74 THE CHEVALIER d'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 "Wliut ! enou^^li of it, — a battle I was at inysclf ?" 
 
 "That is nothing to me. I like a romance better than 
 all your wicked battle-songs full of oaths." And she 
 began to sing, " Linval loved Arsène — " 
 
 "Silence! " said the captain. "Am I not master here ? 
 As long as I have any money I will be served as I like. 
 When I have no more, that will be another thing; then 
 you may sing what you like; I shall have nothing to say 
 to it." 
 
 It appeared that the servants of the cabaret thought it 
 beneath the dignity of their sex to subscribe to such a 
 pretension, for there was sucli a noise that D'Harmental 
 tliought it best to announce himself. 
 
 "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up," said the 
 captain. 
 
 D'Harmental followed IRie instruction which was given 
 him in the words of Little Red E,iding-hood ; and, having 
 entered, saw the captain lying on a couch before the 
 remains of an ample dinner, leaning on a cushion, a 
 woman's shawl over his shoulders, a great pipe in his 
 mouth, and a cloth rolled round his head like a turban. 
 Three or four servants were standing round him with 
 napkins in their hands. On a chair near him was placed 
 his coat, on which was to be seen a new shoulder-knot, 
 his hat with a new lace, and the famous sword which had 
 furnished Ravanne with the facetious comparison to his 
 mother's spit. 
 
 "What! is it you?" cried the captain. "You find me 
 like Monsieur de Bonneval, — in my seraglio, and sur- 
 rounded by my slaves. You do not know Monsieur de 
 Bonneval, ladies; he is a pacha of three tails, who, like 
 me, could not bear romances, but who understood how to 
 live. Heaven preserve me from such a fate as his ! " 
 
 "Yes, it is T, captain," said D'Harmental, unable to 
 prevent laughing at the grotesque group which presented 
 itself. " I see you did not give me a false address, and 1 
 congratulate you on your veracity."
 
 ALBEKONI. 75 
 
 "Welcome, chevalier," said the captain. "Ladies, I beg 
 you to serve monsieur with the grace which distinguishes 
 you, and to sing him whatever songs he likes. Sit down, 
 chevalier, and eat and drink as if you were at home, par-" 
 ticularly as it is your horse we are eating and drinking. 
 He is already more than half gone, poor animal, but the 
 remains are good." 
 
 "Thank you, captain, I have just dined; and I have onlj 
 one word to say to you, if you will permit it." 
 
 "No, pardleu ! I do not permit it," said the captain, 
 "unless it is about another engagement; that would come 
 before everything. La Normande, give me my sword." 
 
 "No, captain; it is on business," interrupted D'Har- 
 mental. 
 
 " Oh ! if it is on business, I am your humble servant; but 
 I am a greater tyrant than the tyrants of Thebes or Corinth, 
 — Archias, Pelopidas, Leonidas, or any other that ends in 
 ' as, ' who put off business till to-morrow. I have enough 
 money to last till to-morrow evening; then, after to- 
 morrow, business." 
 
 " But at least after to-morrow, captain, I may count upon 
 you ? " 
 
 "For life or death, chevalier." 
 
 "T believe that the adjournment is prudent." 
 
 "Prudentissimo! " said the captain. "Athenais, light 
 my pipe. La Normande, pour me out something to 
 drink." 
 
 " The day after to-morrow, then, captain ? " 
 
 " Yes ; where shall I find you ? " 
 
 "Listen," replied D'Harmental, speaking so as to be 
 heard by no one but him. "Walk, from ten to eleven 
 o'clock in the morning, in the Rue du Temps Perdu. 
 Look up; you will be called from someAvhere, and you 
 must mount till you meet some one you know. A good 
 breakfast will await you." 
 
 "All right, chevalier," replied the captain; "from ten 
 to eleven in the morning. Excuse me if I do not conduct
 
 76 THE ciir;vALir:u i/iiai:mem'al. 
 
 you to the dooi-; but you kn«)\v it is not the custom with 
 Turks." 
 
 The chevalier made a sign with his liaiul that he dis- 
 pensed with this formality, and descended tue staircase. 
 He was only on the fourth step when he heai'd the captain 
 begin the famous song of the Dragoons of Malplaquet, 
 which had perhaps caused as much blood to be shod in 
 duels as there had teen on the field of batt'L",
 
 THE GARRET. 77 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE GARRET. 
 
 The next day the Abbé Brigand caine to the chevalier's 
 house at the same hour as before. He was a perfectly 
 punctual man. He brought with him three things particu- 
 larly useful to the chevalier, — clothes, a passport, and the 
 report of the Prince of Cellamare's police respecting what 
 the regent was going to do on the present day, March 24, 
 1718. The clothes were simple, as became the cadet of a 
 bourgeois family come to seek his fortune in Paris. The 
 chevalier tried them on, and, thanks to his own good looks, 
 found that they became him admirably. 
 
 The abbé shook his head. He vv^ould have preferred 
 that the chevalier should not have looked quite so well; 
 but this was an irreparable misfortune. The passport was 
 in the name of Signior Diego, steward of the noble house 
 of Oropesa, who had a commission to bring back to Spain 
 a sort of maniac, a bastard of the said house, whose mania 
 was to believe himself regent of France. This was a pre- 
 caution taken to meet anything that the Due d'Orléans 
 might call out from the bottom of the carriage; and, as the 
 passport was, according to rule, signed by the Prince de 
 Cellamare, and vised by Monsieur Voyer d'Argenson, there 
 was no reason why the regent, once in the carriage, should 
 not arrive safely at Pampeluna, when all would be done. 
 
 The signature of Monsieur Voyer d'Argenson was 
 imitated with a truth which did honour to the caligraphers 
 of the Prince de Cellamare. As to the report, it was a chef- 
 cV œuvre of clearness ; and we insert it word for word, to 
 give an idea of the regent's life, and of the manner in 
 which the Spanish ambassador's police was conducted. It 
 was dated two o'clock in the raorninar.
 
 78 THE CHEVALIER D'HAUMENTAL. 
 
 "To-day the regent will rise late. There has been a 
 supper in his private rooms; Madame d'Averne was there 
 for the first time instead of Madame de Farabère. The 
 other womeu were the Duchesse de Falaris, and Saseri, 
 maid of honour to madame. The men were the Marquis 
 lie Broglie, the Count de Noce, the Marquis de CaniUae, 
 the Due de Brancas, and the Chevalier de Simiane. As 
 to the Marquis de Lafare and Monsieur de Fargy, they . 
 were detained in bed by an illness, of which the cause is 
 unknown. At noon there will be a council. The regent 
 will communicate to the Dues du Maine and de Guiche the 
 project of the treaty of the quadruple alliance, which the 
 Abbé Dubois has sent him, announcing his return in three 
 or four da3^s. 
 
 "The rest of the day is given entirely to paternity. The 
 day before yesterday the regent married his daughter by 
 La Desmarets, who was brought up by the nuns of St. 
 Denis. She dines with her husband at the Palais Royal, 
 and after dinner the regent takes her to the opera, to 
 the box of Madame Charlotte de Bavière. La Desmarets, 
 who has not seen her daughter for six years, is told that, 
 if she wishes to see her, she can come to the theatre. 
 The regent, in spite of his caprice for Madame d'Averne, 
 still pays court to Madame de Sabran, who piques herself 
 on her fidelity — not to her husband, but to the Due de 
 Richelieu. To advance his affairs, the regent has appointed 
 Monsieur de Sabran his maître iV hôtel.'''' 
 
 "I hope that is business well done," said the Abbé 
 Brigaud. 
 
 "Yes, my dear abbé," replied D'Harmental; "but if the 
 regent does not give us greater opportunities than that for 
 executing our enterprise, it will not be easy for us to take 
 him to Spain." 
 
 "Patience, patience," said Brigaud; "if there had been 
 an opportunity to-day you would not have been able to 
 profit by it." 
 
 "No; you are right."
 
 THE GARRET. 79 
 
 "Then you see that what God does is well doue. He 
 has left us this day; let us profit by it to move." 
 
 This was neither a long nor diliicult business. D'Har- 
 mental took his treasure, some books, and the packet 
 which contained his wardrobe, and drove to the abbe's 
 house. Then he sent away his carriage, saying he should 
 go into the country in the evening, and would be away ten 
 or twelve days. Then, having changed his elegant clothes 
 for those that the abbé had brought him, he Avent to take 
 possession of his new lodging. It was a room, or rather 
 an attic, with a closet, on the fourtli story, at No. 5 Rue 
 du Temps Perdu. The proprietor of the house was an 
 acquaintance of the Abbé Brigaud'3; therefore, thanks to 
 his recommendation, they had gone to some expense for 
 the young provincial. He found beautifully white cur- 
 tains, very fine linen, and a well-furnished library; so he 
 saw at once that, if not so well off as in his own apart- 
 ments, he should be tolerably comfortable. 
 
 Madame Denis (this was the name of the abbe's friend) 
 was Avaiting to do the honours of the room to her future 
 lodger. She boasted to him of its convenience, and prom- 
 ised him that there would be no noise to disturb him from 
 his work. To all which he replied in such a modest man- 
 ner that, on going down to the first floor, where she lived, 
 Madame Denis particularly recommended him to the care 
 of the porter and his wife. This young man, though in 
 appearance he could certainly compete with the proudest 
 seigneurs of the court, seemed to her far from having the 
 bold and free manners which the young men of the time 
 affected. 'T is true that the Abbé Brigaud, in the name of 
 his pupil's family, had paid her a quarter in advance. 
 
 A minute after, the abbé went down to Madame Denis's 
 room, and completed her good opinion of his young protégé 
 by telling her that he received absolutely nobody but him- 
 self and an old friend of his father's. The latter, in spite 
 of brusque manners, which he had acquired in the field, 
 was a highly respectable gentleman-
 
 80 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 D'Harmental used this precaution for fear the apparition 
 of the captain might frighten Madame Denis if she hap- 
 pened to meet him. When he was alone, the chevalier, who 
 had already taken the inv^entory of his own room, resolved 
 to take that of the neighbourhood. He was soon able to 
 convince himself of the truth of what Madame Denis had 
 said about the quietness ot the street, for it was not more 
 than ten or twelve feet wide; but this was to him a recom- 
 mendation , for he calculated that, if pursued, he might, by 
 means of a plank passed from one window to that opposite, 
 escape to the other side of the street. It was, therefore, 
 important to establish amicable relations with his opposite 
 neighbours. 
 
 Unfortunately, they did not seem much disposed to 
 sociability; for not only were the windows hermetically 
 sealed, as the time of year demanded, but the curtains 
 behind them were so closely drawn that there was not the 
 smallest opening through which he could look. More 
 favoured than that of Madame Denis, the house opposite 
 had a fifth story, or rather a terrace. An attic room pist 
 above the window so carefully closed opened on this 
 terrace. It was probably the residence of a gardener, 
 for he had succeeded, by means of patience and labour, 
 in transforming this terrace into a garden, containing, 
 in some twelve feet square, a fountain, a grotto, and an 
 arbour. 
 
 It is true that the fountain onl}'- played by means of a 
 superior reservoir, which was fed in winter by the rain, and 
 in summer by what he himself poured into it. It is true 
 that the grotto, ornamented with shell-work, and sur- 
 rounded by a wooden fortress, appeared fit only to shelter 
 an individual of the canine race. It is true that the ar- 
 bour, entirely stripped of its leaves, appeared for the time 
 fit only for an immense poultry cage. As there was nothing 
 to be seen but a monotonous series of roofs and chimneys, 
 D'Harmental closed his window, sat down in an arm-chair, 
 put his feet on the hobs, took up a volume by the Abbé
 
 THE GARRET. 8l 
 
 Chaulieu, and began to read the verses addressed to 
 Mademoiselle de Launay, which had a double interest for 
 him, since he knew the heroine. 
 
 The result of this reading was that the chevalier, while 
 smiling at the octogenarian love of the good abbé, discov- 
 ered that he, less fortunate, had his heart perfectly unoccu- 
 pied. For a short time he had thought he had loved 
 Madame d'Averne, and had been loved by her; but on her 
 part this deep affection did not withstand the offer of some 
 jewels from the regent, and the vanity of pleasing him. 
 
 Before this infidelity had occurred, the chevalier thought 
 that it would have driven him to despair. It had occurred, 
 and he had fought, beca-use at that time men fought about 
 everything which arose, probably from duelling being so 
 strictly forbidden. Then he began to perceive how small 
 a place this love had held in his lieart. A real despair 
 would not have allowed him to seek amusement at the bah 
 vidsque, in which case the exciting events of the last few 
 days would not have happened. 
 
 The result of this was, that the chevalier remained 
 convinced that he was incapable of a deep love, and that 
 he was only destined for those charming wickednesses so 
 much in vogue. He got up, and began to walk up and 
 down his room; whilst thus employed he perceived that the 
 window opposite was now wide oppn. He stopped mechan- 
 ically, drew back his curtain, and began to investigate the 
 room thus exposed. 
 
 It was to all appearance occupied by a woman. Near the 
 window, on which a charming little Italian greyhound 
 rested her delicate paws, was an embroidery frame. Oppo- 
 site the window was an open harpsichord between two 
 music stands ; some crayon drawings framed in black wood 
 with a gold bead were hung on the walls, which were 
 covered with a Persian paper. Curtains of Indian 
 chintz, of the same pattern as the paper, hung behind the 
 muslin curtains. Through a second window, half open, 
 he could see the curtains of a recess which probably con-
 
 82 THE CIIEVALlKiC b'lIARMENTAL. 
 
 taiued a bed. The rest of the furniture was perfectly 
 simple, but almost elegaut, which was due evidently not 
 to the fortune, but to the taste, of the modest inhabitant. 
 
 An old woman was sweeping, dusting, and arranging 
 the room, profiting by the absence of its mistress to do 
 this household work, for there was no one else to be seen 
 in the room, and yet it was clear it was not she who 
 inhabited it. All at once the head of the greyhound — 
 whose great eyes had been wandering till then, with the 
 aristocratic indifference characteristic of that animal — 
 became animated. She leaned her head over into the street; 
 then, with a miraculous lightness and address, jumped on 
 to the window-sill, pricking up her long ears, and raising 
 one of her paws. The chevalier understood by these signs 
 that the tenant of the little room was approaching. He 
 opened his window directly; unfortunately it was already 
 too late, the street was solitary. 
 
 At the same moment the greyhound leaped from the 
 window into the room, and ran to the door. D'Har- 
 mental concluded that the young lady was mounting the 
 stairs. In order to see her at his ease, he threw himself 
 back and hid behind the curtain, but the old woman came 
 to the window and closed it. The chevalier did not 
 expect this dénouement. There was nothing for him but 
 to close his window also, and to come back and put his 
 feet on the hobs. This was not amusing, and the chevalier 
 began to feel how solitary he should be in this retreat. 
 He remembered that formerly he also used to play and 
 draw, and he thought that, if he had the smallest spinet 
 and some chalks, he could bear it with patience. 
 
 He rang for the porter, and asked where he could pro- 
 cure these things. The porter replied that every increase 
 of furniture must be at his own expense ; that if he 
 wished for a harpsichord he must hire it, and that as to 
 pencils he could get them at the shop at the corner of the 
 Rue de Cléry. 
 
 D'Harmental gave a double louis to the porter, telling
 
 THE GAKKET. 83 
 
 liim that iu half an hour he wished to have a spinet and 
 some pencils. The double louis was an argument of which 
 he had before found the advantage; reproaching himself, 
 however, with having used it this time with a carelessness 
 which gave the lie to his apparent position, he recalled 
 the porter, and told him that he expected for his double 
 louis to have, not only paper and pencils, but a month's 
 hire of his instrument. 
 
 The porter replied that, as he would speak as if it were 
 for himself, the thing was possible ; but that he must cer- 
 tainly pay the carriage. D'Harmental consented, and 
 half an hour afterwards was in possession of the desired 
 objects. Such a wonderful place is Paris for every 
 enchanter with a golden wand. The porter, when he went 
 down, told his wife that if the new lodger was not more 
 careful of his money he would ruin his family, and showed 
 lier two crowns of six francs, which he had saved out of the 
 double louis. The woman took the two crowns from the 
 hands of her husband, calling him a drunkard, and put 
 them into a little bag, hidden under a heap of old clothes, 
 deploring the misfortune of fathers and mothers who bleed 
 themselves to death for such good-for-nothings. This was 
 the funeral oration of the chevalier's double louis.
 
 84 THE CHEVALIKK DilAKMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A CITIZEN OF THE RUE DU TEMPS PEKDU. 
 
 DuRixG this time D'Harmental was seated before the spinet, 
 playing his best. The shopkeeper had had a sort of con- 
 science, and liad sent him an instrument nearly in tune, so 
 that the chevalier beyan to perceive that he was doing 
 wonders, and almost believed he was born with a genius 
 for music, which had only required such a circumstance to 
 develop itself. Doubtless there was some truth in this, 
 for in the middle of a brilliant shake he saw, from the 
 other side of the street, five little lingers delicately rais- 
 ing the curtain to see whence this unaccustomed harmony 
 proceeded. Unfortunately, at the sight of these lingers, 
 the chevalier forgot his music, and turned round quickly 
 on the stool, in hopes of seeing a face behind the hand. 
 
 This ill-judged manœuvre ruined him. The mistress of 
 the little room, surprised in the act of curiosity, let the 
 curtain fall. D'Harmental, wounded by this prudery, 
 closed his window. The evening passed in reading, draw- 
 ing, and playing. The chevalier could not have believed 
 that there were so many minutes in an hou.r, or so many 
 hours in a day. At ten o'clock in the evening he rang for 
 the porter, to give orders for the next day; but no one 
 answered; he had been in bed a long time, and D'Harmen- 
 tal learned that there were people who went to bed about 
 the time he ordered his carnage to pay visits. 
 
 This set him thinking of the strange manners of that 
 unfortunate class of society who do not know the opera, 
 who do not go to supper parties, and who sleep all night 
 and are awake all day. He thought you must come to the 
 Rue du Temps Perdu to see such things, and promised
 
 A CITIZEN OF THE EUE DU TEMTti PEKDU. 65 
 
 himself to amuse his friends with an account of this singu- 
 larity. He was glad to see also that his neighbour watched 
 like himself. This showed in her a mind superior to that 
 of the vulgar inhabitants of the Rue du Temps Perdu. 
 D'Harmental believed tJiat people only watched becr.use 
 they did not wish to sleep, or because they wanted to be 
 amused. He forgot all those who do so because they are 
 obliged. At midnight the light in the opposite windows 
 was extinguished; D'Harmental also v/ent to his bed. The 
 next day the Abbe Brigaud appeared at eight o'clock. Ke 
 brought D'Harmental the second report of secret police. 
 It was in these terms : — 
 
 " Three o'clock, A. M. 
 
 " In consequence of the regular life which he led yester- 
 day, the regent has given orders to be called at nine. 
 
 " He will receive some appointed persons at that time. 
 
 "From ten to twelve there will be a public audience. 
 
 " From twelve till one the regent will be engaged with 
 La Vrillière and Leblanc. 
 
 " From one to two he will open letters with Torcy. 
 
 "At half -past two there will be a council, and he will 
 pay the king a visit. 
 
 "At three o'clock he will go to the tennis court in the 
 Rue du Seine, to sustain, with Brancas and Canillac, a 
 challenge against the Due de Richelieu, the Marquis de 
 Broglie, and the Comte de Gacé. 
 
 " At six he will go to supper at the Luxembourg with 
 the Duchesse de Berry, and will pass the evening there. 
 
 " From there he will come back, without guards, to the 
 Palais Royal, unless the Duchesse de Berry gives him an 
 escort from hers." 
 
 " Without guards, my dear abbé ! what do you think of 
 that?" said D'Harmental, beginning to dress; "does it 
 not make your mouth water ? " 
 
 "Without guards, yes," replied the abbé; "but with 
 footmen, outriders, a coachman, — all people who do not
 
 86 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKMKNTAL. 
 
 fight much, it is true, but who cry very loud. Oh! 
 patience, patience, my young friend. You are in a great 
 hurry to be a grandee of Spain," 
 
 "No, my dear abbé, but I am in a hurry to give up living 
 in an attic where I lack everything, and where I am 
 obliged to dress myself alone, as you see. Do you think it 
 is nothing to go to bed at ten o'clock, and dress in the 
 morning without a valet ?" 
 
 ''Yes, but you have music," replied the abbé. 
 
 "Ah! indeed!" replied D'Harmental. "Abbé, open 
 my window, I beg, that they may see I receive good 
 company. That will do me honour with my neighbours." 
 
 "Ho! ho!" said the abbé, doing what D'Harmental 
 asked; "that is not bad at all." 
 
 "How, not bad?" replied D'Harmental; "it is very 
 good, on the contrary. It is from Armida; the devil take 
 me if I expected to find that in the fourth story of a 
 house in the Rue du Temps Perdu." 
 
 "Chevalier, I predict," said the abbé, "that, if the 
 singer be young and pretty, in a week there will be as 
 much trouble to get you away as there is now to keep you 
 here." 
 
 "My dear abbé," said D'Harmental, "if your police 
 were as good as those of the Prince de Cellamare, you 
 would know that I am cured of love for a long time, and 
 here is the proof. Do not think I pass my days in sighing. 
 I beg when you go down you will send me something like 
 a pate, and a dozen bottles of good wine. I trust to you. 
 I know you are a connoisseur; besides, sent by you, it will 
 seem like a guardian's attention. Bought by me, it would 
 seem like a pupil's debauch; and I have my provincial 
 reputation to keep up with Madame Denis." 
 
 " That is true. I do not ask you what it is for, but I will 
 send it to you." 
 
 " And you are right, my dear abbé. It is all for the good 
 of the cause." 
 
 "In an hour the pate and the wine will be here."
 
 A CITIZEN OF THE RUE DU TEMPS PERDU. 87 
 
 *' When shall I see you again ? " 
 
 "To-morrow, probably." 
 
 "Adieu, then, till to-morrow." 
 
 "You send me away." 
 
 "I am expecting somebody." 
 
 " All for the good of the cause ? " 
 
 "I answer you, go, and may God preserve you." 
 
 " Stay, and may the devil not get hold of you. Remem- 
 ber that it was a woman who got us turned out of our 
 terrestrial paradise. Defy women." 
 
 "Amen," said the chevalier, making a parting sign with 
 his hand to the Abbé Brigand. 
 
 Indeed, as the abbé had observed, D'Harmental was in 
 a hurry to see him go. The great love for music, which 
 the chevalier had discovered only the day before, had 
 progressed so rapidly that he did not wish his attention 
 called away from what he had just heard. The little 
 which that horrible window allowed him to hear, and 
 which was more of the instrument than of the voice, 
 showed that his neighbour was an excellent musician. 
 Tlie playing was skilful, the voice sweet and sustained, 
 and had, in its high notes and àeep vibrations, something 
 which awoke an answer in the heart of the listener. At 
 last, after a very difficult and perfectly executed passage, 
 D'Harmental could not help clapping his hands and crying 
 bravo! As bad luck would have it, this triumph, to 
 which she had not been accustomed, instead of encoura- 
 ging the musician, frightened her so much that voice and 
 harpsichord stopped at the same instant, and silence imme- 
 diately succeeded to the melody for which the chevalier 
 had so imprudently manifested his enthusiasm. 
 
 In exchange, he saw the door of the room above (which 
 we have said led on to the terrace) open, and a hand was 
 stretched out, evidently to ascertain what kind of weather 
 it was. The answer of the weather seemed reassuring, for 
 the hand was almost directly followed by a head covered 
 by a little chintz cap, tied on the forehead by a violet
 
 88 TUE CHEVALIER D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 ribbon; and the head was only a few instants in advance 
 of a neck and shoulders clothed in a kind of dressing-gown 
 of the same stuff as the cap. This was not quite enough 
 to enable the chevalier to decide to which sex the indi- 
 vidual, who seemed so cautious about exposing himself to 
 the morning air, belonged. At last, a sort of sunbeam 
 having slipped out between two clouds, the timid inhab- 
 itant of the terrace appeared to be encouraged to come out 
 altogether. D'Harmental then saw, by his black velvet 
 knee-breeches and by his silk stockings, that the person- 
 age who had just entered on the scene was of the masculine 
 gender. 
 
 It was the gardener of whom we spoke. The bad 
 weather of the preceding days had, without doubt, de- 
 prived him of his morning walk, and had prevented him 
 from giving his garden his ordinary attention, for he began 
 to walk round it with a visible fear of finding some acci- 
 dent produced by the wind or rain; but, after a careful 
 inspection of the fountain, the grotto, and the arbour, 
 which were its three principal ornaments, the excellent 
 face of the gardener was lighted by a ray of joy, as the 
 weather was by the ray of sun. He perceived, not only 
 that everything was in its place, but that the reservoir was 
 full to overflowing. He thought he might indulge in play- 
 ing his fountains, a treat which, ordinarily, following the 
 example of Louis XIV., he only allowed himself on Sun- 
 days. He turned the cock, and the jet raised itself majes- 
 tically to the height of four or five feet. The good man 
 was so delighted that he began to sing the burden of an 
 old pastoral song which D'Harmental had heard when he 
 was a baby, and, while repeating, 
 
 " Let me ^o 
 And let me play 
 Beneath the hazel-tree/' 
 
 he ran to the window, and called aloud, "Bathilde! Ba- 
 th ilde!"
 
 A CITIZEN OF THE KUE DU TEMPS FEKDU. 89 
 
 The chevalier understood that there was a communica- 
 tion between the rooms on the third and fourth stories, 
 and some relation between the gardener and the musician, 
 and thought that perhaps if he remained at the window- 
 she would not come on to the terrace; therefore he closed 
 liis window with a careless air, taking care to keep a little 
 opening behind the curtain, through which he could see 
 without being seen. What he had foreseen happened. 
 Very soon the head of a charming young girl appeared on 
 the terrace; but as, without doubt, the ground on which 
 lie had ventured with so much courage was too damp, she 
 would not go any farther. The little dog, not less timid 
 than its mistress, remained near her, resting its white 
 paws on the window, and shaking its head in silent denial 
 to every invitation. A dialogue was established between 
 the good man and the young girl, while D'Harmental had 
 leisure to examine her at ease. 
 
 She appeared to have arrived at that delicious time of 
 life when woman, passing from childhood to youth, is in 
 the full bloom of sentiment, grace, and beauty. He saw 
 that she was not less than sixteen nor more than eighteen 
 years of age, and that there existed in her a singular mix- 
 ture of two races. She had the fair hair, thick com- 
 plexion, and graceful neck of an Englishwoman, with the 
 black eyes, coral lips, and pearly teeth of a Spaniard. 
 
 As she did not use either rouge or white, and as at that 
 time powder was scarcely in fashion, and was reserved for 
 aristocratic heads, her complexion remained in its natural 
 freshness, and nothing altered the colour of her hair. 
 
 The chevalier remained as in an ecstasy, — indeed, he 
 had never seen but two classes of women ; — the fat and 
 coarse peasants of the Nivernais, with their great feet 
 and hands, their short petticoats, and their hunting-horn 
 shaped hats; and the women of the Parisian aristocracy» 
 beautiful without doubt, but of that beauty fagged by 
 watching and pleasure, and by that reversing of life which 
 makes them what flowers would be if they only saw the
 
 90 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 sun on some rare occasions, and the vivifying air of the 
 morning and the evening only reached tlunn through 
 the windows of a hot-house. He did not know this inter- 
 mediate type, if one may call it so, between high society 
 and the country people, which had all the elegance of the 
 one and all the fresh health of the other. Thus, as we 
 have said, he remained fixed in his place, and long after 
 the young girl had re-entered he kept his eyes tixed on 
 the window where this delicious vision had appeared. 
 
 The sound of his door opening called him out of his 
 ecstasy : it was the pate and the wine from Abbé Brigand 
 making their solemn entry into the chevalier's garret. 
 The sight of these provisions recalled to his mind tliat he 
 had now something better to do than to abandon himseli 
 to contemplation, and that he had given Captain Roquefi- 
 nette a rendezvous on the most important business. Con- 
 sequently he looked at his watch, and saw that it was 
 ten o'clock. This was, as the reader will remember, the 
 appointed hour. He sent away the man who had brought 
 the provisions, and said he would lay the cloth himself; 
 then, opening his window once more, he sat down to watch 
 for the appearance of Captain "Koqiiefinette. 
 
 He was hardly at his observatory before he perceived 
 the worthy captain coming round the corner from the 
 Rue Gros-Chenet, his head in the air, his hand on his hip, 
 and with the martial and decided air of a man who, like 
 the Greek philosopher, carries everything with him. His 
 hat, that thermometer by which his friends could tell the 
 secret state of its master's finances, and which on his 
 fortunate days was placed as straight on his head as a 
 pyramid on its base, had recovered that miraculous inclina- 
 tion which had so struck the Baron de Valef, and thanks 
 to which one of the points almost touched his right shoul- 
 der, while the parallel one might forty years later have 
 given Franklin, if Franklin had known the captain, the 
 first idea, of his electric kite. 
 
 Having come about a third down the street, he raised
 
 A CITIZEN OF THE EUE DU TEMPS PERDU. 01 
 
 his head as had been arranged, and saw the chevalier just 
 above him. He who waited and he who was waited for 
 exchanged nods, and the captain having calculated the 
 distance at a glance, and recognised the door which ought 
 to belong to the window above, jumped over the threshold 
 of Madame Denis's poor little house with a.s much famil- 
 iarity as if it had been a tavern. The chevalier shut the 
 window, and drew the curtains with the greatest care, — ■ 
 either in order that his pretty neighbour might not see him 
 with the captain, or that the captain might not see her. 
 
 An instant afterwards D'Harmental heard the sound of 
 his steps, and the beating of his sword against the banis- 
 ters. Having arrived at the third story, as the light 
 which came from below was not aided by any light from 
 above, he found himself in a difficulty, not knowing 
 whether to stop where he was, or mount higher. Then, 
 after coughing in the most significant manner, and finding 
 that this call remained unnoticed, — 
 
 "Morbleu!" said he. "Chevalier, as j^ovi did not prob- 
 ably bring me here to break my neck, open your door or call 
 out, so that I may be guided either by the light of heaven, 
 or by the sound of your voice ; otherwise I shall be lost, 
 Deither more nor less than Theseus in the labyrinth." 
 
 And the captain began to sing in a loud voice, — 
 
 " Fair Ariadne, I beg of you, 
 Help me, by lending me your clue. 
 Toutou, toutou, toutaine, toutou ! " 
 
 The chevalier ran to his door and opened it. 
 
 "My friend," said the captain, "the ladder up to your 
 pigeon-house is infernally dark; still, here I am, faithful 
 to the agreement, exact to the time. Ten o'clock wa;- 
 striking as I came over the Pont-Neuf."
 
 92 THE ClIEVALIiai D'il AUiMEiSÏAL. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE AGREEMENT. 
 
 The chevalier extended his hand to Roquefinette, saying, — 
 
 "Yes, you are a man of your word, but enter quickly; it 
 is important that my neighbours should not notice you," 
 
 " In that case I am as dumb as a log, '' answered the 
 captain; "besides," added he, pointing to the pate and the 
 bottles which covered the table, "you have found the true 
 way of shutting my mouth." 
 
 The chevalier shut the door behind the captain and 
 pushed the bolt. 
 
 "Ah! ah! mystery, — so much the better, T am fond of 
 mystery. There is almost always something to be gained 
 when people begin by saying Hush.' In any case you 
 cannot do better than address yourself to your servant," 
 continued the captain, resuming his mythological lan- 
 guage. " You see in me the grandson of Hippocrates, the 
 god of silence. So do not be uneasy." 
 
 "That is well, captain," answered D'Harmental, "for 
 I confess that what I have to say to you is of sufficient 
 importance for me to claim your discretion beforehand." 
 
 " It is granted, chevalier. While I was giving a lesson 
 to little Rava,nne, I saw, out of a corner of my eye, that 
 you were a skilful swordsman, and I love brave men. 
 Then, in return for a little service, only worth a fillip, 
 you made me a present of a horse which was vvorth a 
 hundred louis, and I love generous men. Thus, you are 
 twice my man, why should I not be yours once ?" 
 
 "Well," said the chevalier, "I see that we understand 
 each other." 
 
 "Speak, and I will listen," answered the captain, as 
 suming his gravest air.
 
 THE AGREEMENT. 93 
 
 "You will listen better seated, my dear guest. Let us 
 go to breakfast." 
 
 " You preach like St. John with the golden mouth, chev- 
 alier," said the captain, taking off his sword and placing 
 that and his hat on the harpsichord; "so that," continued 
 he, sitting down opposite D'Harmental, "one cannot differ 
 from you in opinion. I am here; command the manoeuvre, 
 and I will execute it." 
 
 "Taste that wine while I cut the pate'." 
 
 "That is right," said the captain, "let us divide our 
 forces, and fight the enemy separately, then let us reunite 
 to exterminate what remains." 
 
 And, joining practice to theory, the captain seized the 
 first bottle by the neck, drew the cork, and, having filled 
 a bumper, drank it off with such ease that one would have 
 said that nature had gifted him with an especial method 
 of deglutition; but, to do him justice, scarcely had he 
 drunk it thaii he perceived that the liquor which he had 
 disposed of so cavalierly merited a more particular atten- 
 tion than he had given it. 
 
 " Oh ! " said he, putting down his glass with a respectful 
 slowness, "what have I done, unworthy that I am? I 
 drink nectar as if it were trash, and that at the beginning 
 of the feast! Ah! " continued he, shaking his head, 
 " Roquefinette, my friend, you are getting old. Ten years 
 ago you would have known what it was at the first drop 
 that touched your palate, while now you want many trials 
 to know the worth of things. To your health, chevalier." 
 
 And this time the captain, more circumspect, drank the 
 second glass slowly, and set it down three times before 
 he finished it, winking his eyes in sign of satisfaction. 
 Then, when he had finished, — 
 
 "This is hermitage of 1702, the yt^ar of the 1>attle of 
 Priedlingon. If your wine-merchant has much like that, 
 and if he will give credit, let me have his address. I 
 promise him a good customer." 
 
 "Captain," answered the chevalier, slipping an enor-
 
 94 THE CIIIîVALIEli d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 mous slice of pate on to tlie plate of his guest, "uiy wine- 
 iiiercliant not only gives credit, but to my friends he gives 
 altogether." 
 
 "Oh, the honest man!" cried the captain. Then, after 
 a minute's silence, during which a superficial observer 
 would have thought him absorbed in the appreciation of 
 the patéj as he had been an instant before in that of the 
 wine, lie leant his two elbows on the table, and, looking 
 at D'Harmental with a penetrating glance between his 
 knife and fork, — 
 
 "So, my dear chevalier," said he, "we conspire, it 
 seems, and in order to succeed wo have need of poor 
 Captain Koquefinette." 
 
 "And who told you that, captain?" broke in the chev- 
 alier, trembling in spite of himself. 
 
 "Who told me that, pardieu! It is an easy riddle to 
 answer. A man who gives away horses worth a hundred 
 louis, who drinks wine at a pistole the bottle, and wlio 
 lodges in a garret in the Eue du Temps Perdu, what 
 should he be doing if not conspiring?" 
 
 "Well, captain," said D'Harmental, laughing, "I shall 
 never be discreet; you have divined the truth. Does a, 
 conspiracy frighten you ?" continued he, lilling his guest's 
 glass. 
 
 "Frighten tne! Who says that anything on earth can 
 frighten Captain Koquefinette? " 
 
 "JSTot I, captain; for at the first glance, at the first 
 word, I fixed on you as my second." 
 
 "Ah, that is to say that, if you are hung on a scaffold 
 twenty feet high, I shall be hung on one ten feet high, 
 that's all!" 
 
 "Peste! captain," said D'Harmental, "if one always 
 began by seeing things in their worst light, one would 
 never attempt anything." 
 
 "Because I have spoken of the gallows?" answered the 
 captain. "That proves nothing. What is the gallov/s in 
 the eyes of a philosopher? One of the thousand ways of
 
 THE AGREEMENT. 95 
 
 [carting from life, and certainly one of the least disagree- 
 able. One can see that you have never looked the thing 
 in the face, since you have such an aversion to it. 
 Besides, on proving our noble descent, we shall have our 
 iieads cut off, like Monsieur de Rohan. Did you see 
 Monsieur de Eohan's head cut off? " continued the cap- 
 tain, looking at D'Harmental. " He was a handsome young 
 man, like you, and about your age. He conspired, but 
 the thing failed. What would you have? Everybody 
 may be deceived. They built him a beautiful black 
 scaffold; they allowed him to turn towards the window 
 where his mistress was; they cut the neck of his shir*-, 
 with scissors, but tlie executioner was a bungler, accus- 
 tomed to hang, and not to decapitate, so that he was 
 obliged to strike three or four times to cut the head off, 
 and at last he only managed by the aid of a knife which 
 he drew from his girdle, and with which he chopped so 
 well that he got the neck in half. Bravo! you are brave! " 
 continued the captain, seeing that the chevalier had 
 listened without frowning to all the details of this horri- 
 ble execution. "That will do, — I am your man. Against 
 whom are we conspiring? Let us see. Is it against 
 Monsieur le Duc du Maine? Is it against Monsieur le 
 Duc d'Orléans? Must we break the lame one's other leg? 
 Must we cut out the blind one's other eye? I am ready." 
 
 "Nothing of all that, captain; and if it pleases God, 
 there will be no blood spilt." 
 
 "What is going on then? " 
 
 "Have you ever heard of the abduction of the Duke of 
 Mantua's secretary?" 
 
 "Of Matthioli?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Pardieu ! I know the affair better than any one, for I 
 saw them pass as they were conducting him to Pignerol. 
 It was the Chevalier de Saint-Martin and Monsieur de 
 Villebois who did it; and by this token they each had 
 three thousand livres for themselves and their men."
 
 96 THE CHEVALIER p'lIARMENTAL. 
 
 "That was only inifldlincj p:iy," said D'Harmental, with 
 a disdainful aiv, 
 
 " You tliiuk so, chevalier? Nevertheless three thou- 
 sand livres is a nice little sum." 
 
 "Then for three thousand livres you would have under- 
 taken it? " 
 
 "I would have undertaken it," answered the captain. 
 
 "But if, instead of carrying off a secretary, it had been 
 proposed to you to carry off a duke?" 
 
 "That would have been dearer." 
 
 "But you would have undertaken it all the same?" 
 
 " Why not ? I should have asked double, — that is all." 
 
 " And if, in giving you double, a man like myself had said 
 to you, 'Captain, it is not an obscure danger that 1 plunge 
 you into; it is a struggle in which I am myself engaged, 
 like you, and in which I venture my name, my future, and 
 my head,' — what would you have answered?" 
 
 "I would have given him my hand, as I now give it 
 you. Now what is the business? " 
 
 The chevalier filled his own glass and that of the 
 captain. 
 
 "To the health of the regent," said he, "and may he 
 arrive without accident at the Spanish frontier, as Mat- 
 thioli arrived at Pignerol." 
 
 "Ah! ah!" said the captain, raising his glass. Then, 
 after a pause, "And why not?" continued he, "the regent 
 is but a man after all. Only we shall neither be hung nor 
 decapitated; we shall be broken on the wheel. To any 
 one else I should say that a regent would-be dearer, but to 
 you, chevalier, I have only one price. Give me six thou- 
 sand livres, and I will find a dozen determined men." 
 
 "But those twelve men, do you think that you may 
 trust them?" 
 
 "What need for their knowing what they are doing? 
 They shall think they are only carrying out a wager." 
 
 "And I," answered D'Harmental, "will show you that 
 I do not haggle with my friends. Here are two thousand
 
 THE AGREEMENT. 97 
 
 crowns in gold, take them on account if we succeed; if we 
 fail, we will cry quits." 
 
 "Chevalier," answered the captain, taking the bag of 
 money and poising it on his hand witii an indescribable 
 air of satisfaction, "I will not do you the injustice of 
 counting after you. When is the aifair to be?" 
 
 "I do not know yet, captain; but if you find the 
 pate to your taste, and the wine good, and if you will 
 do me the pleasure of breakfasting with me every day 
 as you have done to-day, I will keep you informed of 
 everything." 
 
 "That would not do, chevalier," said the captain. "I 
 should not have come to you three mornings before the 
 police of that cursed Argenson would have found us out. 
 Luckily he has found some one as clever as himself, and 
 it will be some time before we are at the bar together. 
 No, no, chevalier, from now till the moment for action, 
 the less we see of each other the better; or rather, we 
 must not see each other at all. Your street is not a long 
 one, and as it opens at one end on the Rue du Gros Chenet, 
 and at the other on the Rue Montmartre, I shall have no 
 reason for coming through it. Here," continued he, de- 
 taching his shoulder knot, " take this ribbon. The day 
 that you want me, tie it to a nail outside your window. I 
 shall understand it, and I will come to you." 
 
 "How, captain!" said D'Harmental, seeing that his 
 companion was fastening on his sword. "Are you going 
 without finishing the bottle? What has the wine, which 
 you appeared to appreciate so much a little while ago, 
 done to you that you despise it so now?" 
 
 "It is just because I appreciate it still that I separate 
 myself from it; and the proof that I do not despise it," 
 said the captain, filling his glass, " is that I am going to 
 take an adieu of it. To your health, chevalier; you may 
 boast of having good wine. Hum ! And now, n — o, no, 
 that is all. I shall take to water till I see the ribbon 
 flutter from your window. Try to let it be as soon as 
 
 7
 
 98 THE CHEVALIER d'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 possible, for water is a liquid that does not suit my 
 constitution.'" 
 
 "But why do you go so soon?" 
 
 "Because I know Captain Roquefinette. He is a good 
 fellow; but when he sits down before a bottle he must 
 drink, and when he has drunk he must talk; and, however 
 well one talks, remember that those who talk much always 
 finish by making some blunder. Adieu, chevalier. Do 
 not forget the crimson ribbon; I go to look after our 
 business." 
 
 "Adieu, captain," said D'Harmeutal, "I am pleased to 
 see that I have no need to preach discretion to you." 
 
 The captain made the sign of the cross on his mouth 
 with his right thumb, placed his hat straight on his head, 
 raised his sword for fear of its making a noise or beating 
 against the wall, and went down stairs as silently as if 
 he had feared that every step would echo in the Hôtel 
 d'Argenson.
 
 PROS AND CONS. 99 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 PROS AND CONS. 
 
 The chevalier remained alone; but this time there waa 
 in what had just passed between himself and the captaiu 
 sufficient matter for reflection to render it unnecessary for 
 him to have recourse either to the poetry of the Abbé 
 Chaulieu, his harpsichord, or his chalks. Indeed, until 
 now, he had been only half engaged in the hazardous 
 enterprise of which the Duchesse du Maine and the Prince 
 de Cellamare had shown him the happy ending, and of 
 which the captain, in order to try his courage, had so 
 brutally exhibited to him the bloody catastrophe. As 
 yet he had only been the end of a chain, and, on breaking 
 away from one side, he would have been loose. N"ow he 
 was become an intermediate ring, fastened at both ends, 
 and attached at the same time to people above and below 
 him in society. In a word, from this hour he no longer 
 belonged to himself, and he was like the Alpine traveller 
 who, having lost his way, stops in the middle of an un- 
 known road and measures with his eye, for the first time, 
 the mountain which rises above him and the gulf which 
 yawns beneath his feet. 
 
 Luckily the chevalier had the calm, cold, and resolute 
 courage of a man in whom fire and determination — those 
 two opposite forces — instead of neutralising, stimulated 
 each other. He engaged in danger with all the rapidity 
 of a sanguine man ; he weighed it with all the considera- 
 tion of a phlegmatic one. Madame du Maine was right 
 when she said to Madame de Launay that she might put 
 out her lanthorn, and that she believed she had at last 
 found a man.
 
 100 THE CIIEVALIKR d'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 But this man was young, twenty-six years of age, with 
 a heart open to all the illusions and all the poetry of that 
 first part of existence. As a child he had laid down his 
 playthings at the feet of his mother. As a young man 
 he had come to exhibit his handsome uniform as colonel 
 to the eyes of his mistress; indeed, in every enterprise of 
 his life some loved image had gone before him, and he 
 threw himself into danger with the certainty that, if he 
 succiimbed, there would be some one surviving wlio would 
 mourn his fate. 
 
 But his mother was dead, the last woman by whom he 
 had believed himself loved had betrayed him, and he felt 
 alone in the world, — bound solely by interest to men to 
 whom he would become an obstacle as soon as he ceased 
 to be an instrument, and who, if he broke down, far from 
 mourning his loss, would only see in it a cause of satis- 
 faction. But this isolated position, which ought to be the 
 envy of all men in a great danger, is almost always (such 
 is the egotism of our nature) a cause of the most profound 
 discouragement. Such is the horror of nothingness in man, 
 that he believes he still survives in the sentiments which 
 he has inspired, and he in some measure consoles himself 
 for leaving the world by thinking of the regrets which will 
 accompany his memory, and of the pity which will visit 
 his tomb. Thus at this instant the chevalier would have 
 given everything to be loved, if it was only by a dog. 
 
 He was plunged in the saddest of these reflections when, 
 passing and repassing before his window, he noticed that 
 his neighbour's was open. He stopped suddenly, and 
 shook his head, as if to cast off the most sombre of these 
 thoughts; then, leaning his elbow on the table and his 
 head on his hand, he tried to give a different direction to 
 his thoughts by looking at exterior objects. 
 
 The young girl whom he had seen in the morning was 
 seated near her window, in order to benefit by the last 
 rays of daylight; she was working at some kind of 
 embroidery. Behind her the harpsichord was open, and,
 
 PROS AND CONS. 101 
 
 on a stool at her feet, her greyhound slept the light sleep 
 of an anima,] destined by nature to be the guard of man, 
 waking at every noise which arose from the street, raising 
 its ears, and stretching out its elegant head over the 
 window-sill; then it lay down again, placing one of its 
 little paws upon its mistress's knees. All this was deli- 
 ciously lighted up by the rays of the sinking sun, which 
 penetrated into the room, sparkling on the steel ornaments 
 of the harpsichord and the gold beading of the picture- 
 frames. The resb was in twilight. 
 
 Then it seemed to the chevalier (doubtless on account 
 of the disposition of mind he was in when this picture had 
 struck his eye) that this young girl, with the calm and 
 sweet face, entered into his life like one of those person- 
 ages who always remain behind a veil, and make their 
 entrance on a piece in the second or third act to take part 
 in the action, and sometimes to change the dénouement. 
 
 Since the age when one sees angels in one's dreams, he 
 had seen no one like her. She was a mixture of beauty, 
 candour, and simplicity, such as Greuze has copied, not 
 from nature, but from the reflections in the mirror of his 
 imagination. Then, forgetting everything, the humble 
 condition in which without doubt she had been born, the 
 street where he had found her, the modest room which she 
 had inhabited, seeing nothing in the woman except the 
 woman herself, he attributed to her a heart corresponding 
 with her face, and thought what would be the happiness 
 of the man who should first cause that heart to beat; who 
 should be looked upon Avith love by those beautiful eyes, 
 and who, in the words, "I love you!" should gather from 
 those lips, so fresh and so pure, that flower of the soul, 
 a first kiss. 
 
 Such are the different aspects which the same objects 
 borrow from the situation of him who looks at them. A 
 week before, in the midst of his gaiety, in his life which 
 no danger menaced, between a breakfast at the tavern 
 and a stag-hunt, between a wager at tennis and a supper
 
 102 TlIK CIFEVALIKi: d'iIARMENTAL. 
 
 at La Fiilou's, if D'Harmental had met this young girl, 
 he would doubtless have seen in her nothing but a charm- 
 ing grisette, whom he would have had followed by his 
 valet de chambre, and to whom the next day he would 
 have outrageously offered a present of some twenty-five 
 louis. 
 
 But the D'Harmental of a week ago existed no more. 
 In the place of the handsome seigneur — elegant, wild, 
 dissipated, and certain of life — was an insulated young 
 man, walking in the shade, alone, and self-reliant, without 
 a star to guide him, who might suddenly feel the earth 
 open under his feet and the heavens burst above his head. 
 He had need of a support, so feeble was he ; he had need 
 of love, he had need of poetry. It was not then wonderful 
 that, searching for a Madonna to whom to address his 
 prayers, he raised in his imagination this young and beau- 
 tiful girl from the material and prosaic sphere in which 
 he found her, and that, drawing her into his own, he 
 placed her, not such as she was, doubtless, but such as 
 he wished her to be, on the empty pedestal of his past 
 adorations. 
 
 All at once the young girl raised her head, and hap- 
 pened to look in his direction, and saw the pensive figure 
 of the chevalier through the glass. It appeared evident 
 to her that the young man remained there for her, and 
 that it was at her he was looking. Then a bright blush 
 spread over her face. Still she pretended she had seen 
 nothing, and bent her head once more over her embroidery. 
 But a minute afterwards she rose, took a few turns round 
 her room; then, without affectation, without false pru- 
 dery, but nevertheless with a certain embarrassment, she 
 returned and shut the window. D'Harmental remained 
 where he was, and as he was; continuing, in spite of the 
 shutting of the window, to advance into the imaginary 
 country where his thoughts were straying. 
 
 Once or twice he thought that he saw the curtain of liis 
 neighbour's window raised, as if she wished to know
 
 PROS AND CONS. 103 
 
 whether he whose indiscretion had driven her from her 
 place was still at his. At last a few masterly chords 
 were heard; a sweet harmony followed; and it was then 
 D'Harmental who opened his window in his turn. 
 
 He had not been mistaken, his neighbour was an admi- 
 rable musician; she executed two or three little pieces, but 
 without blending her voice witli the sound of the instru- 
 ment; and D'Harmental found almost as much pleasure in 
 listening to her as he had fouud in looking at her. Sud- 
 denly she stopped in the midst of a passage. D'Harmental 
 supposed either that she had seen him at his window, 
 and wished to punish him for his curiosity, or that some 
 one had come in and interrupted her. He retired into 
 his room, but so as not to lose sight of the window, and 
 soon discovered that his last supposition was the true 
 one. 
 
 A man came to the window, raised the curtain, and 
 pressed his fat, good-natured face against the glass, 
 whilst with one hand he beat a march against the panes. 
 The chevalier recognised, in spite of a sensible difference 
 which there was in his toilet, the man of the water-jet 
 whom he had seen on the terrace in the morning, and who, 
 with a perfect air of familiarity, had twice pronounced the 
 name of "Bathilde." 
 
 This apparition, more than prosaic, produced the effect 
 which might naturally have been expected; that is to say, 
 it brought D'Harmental back from imaginary to real life. 
 He had forgotten this man, who made such a strange and 
 perfect contrast with the young girl, and who must doubt- 
 less be either her father, her lover, or her husband. But 
 in either of these cases what could there be in common 
 between the daughter, the wife, or the mistress of such a 
 man, and the noble and aristocratic chevalier? The wife! 
 It is a misfortune of her dependent situation that she rises 
 and falls according to the grandeur or vulgarity of him on 
 whose arm she leans; and it must be confessed that the 
 gardener was not formed to maintain poor Bathilde at the
 
 104 THE CHEVALIER D'HAHMENTAL. 
 
 height to which the chevalier had raised her in his 
 dreams. 
 
 Then he began to laugh at his own folly; and the night 
 having arrived, and as he had not been outside tlie door 
 since the day before, he determined to take a walk through 
 the town in order to assure himself of the truth of the 
 Prince de Cellamare's reports. He wrapped himself in 
 his cloak, descended the four stories, and bent his steps 
 towards the Luxembourg, where the note which the Abbé 
 Brigand had brought him in the morning said that the 
 regent was going to supper without guards. 
 
 Arrived opposite the palace of the Luxembourg, the 
 chevalier saw none of those signs which should announce 
 that the Due d'Orléans was at his daughter's house: there 
 was only one sentinel at the door, whilst from the moment 
 that the regent entered a second was generally placed 
 there. Besides, he saw no carriage waiting in the court, 
 no footmen or outriders; it was evident, then, that he had 
 not come. The chevalier waited to see him pass, for, as 
 the regent never breakfasted, and took nothing but a cup 
 of chocolate at two o'clock in the afternoon, he rarely 
 supped later than six o'clock; but a quarter to six had 
 struck at the St. Sulpice at the moment when the chev- 
 alier turned the corner of the Rue de Condé and the 
 Rue de Vaugirard. 
 
 The chevalier waited an hour and a half in the Rue de 
 Tournon, going from the Rue du Petit Lion to the palace, 
 without seeing what he had come to look for. At a 
 quarter to eight he saw some movement in the Luxem- 
 bourg. A carriage, with outriders armed with torches, 
 came to the foot of the steps. A minute after three women 
 got in; he heard the coachman call to the outriders, "To 
 the Palais Royal," and the outriders set off at a gallop ; 
 the carriage followed, the sentinel presented arms; and, 
 quickly as the elegant equipage with the royal arms of 
 France passed, the clievalier recognised the Duchesse 
 de Berry, Madame de Mouchy, her lady of honour, and 
 Madame de Pons, her tirewoman.
 
 PEOS AND CONS. 105 
 
 There had been an important error in the report sent to 
 the chevalier; it was tlie daughter who went to the father, 
 not the father who came to the daughter. 
 
 Nevertheless, the chevalier still waited, for some acci- 
 dent might have happened to the regent which detained 
 him at home. An hour after he saw the carriage repass. 
 The Duchesse de Berry was laughing at a story which 
 Broglie was telling her. There had not then been any 
 serious accident; it was the police of the Prince de Cella- 
 mare, then, that were at fault. 
 
 The chevalier returned home about ten o'clock without 
 having been met or recognised. He had some trouble to 
 get the door opened, for, according to the patriarchal 
 habits of Madame Denis's house, the porter had gone 
 to bed, and came out grumbling to unfasten the bolts. 
 D'Harmental slipped a crown into his hand, saying to 
 him, once for all, that he should sometimes return late, 
 but that each time that he did so he would give him the 
 same; upon which the porter thanked him, and assured 
 him that he was perfectly welcome to come home at any 
 time he liked, or even not to return at all. On returning 
 to his room, D'Harmental saw that his neighbour's was 
 lighted up; he placed his candle behind apiece of furni- 
 ture, and approached the window, so that he could see into 
 her room as much as the muslin curtains allowed, while 
 she could not see into his. 
 
 She was seated near a table, drawing, probably, on a 
 card which she held on her knees, for he saw her profile 
 standing out black against the light behind her. Shortly 
 another shadow, which the chevalier recognised as that 
 of the good man of the terrace, passed twice between the 
 light and the window. At last the shade approached the 
 young girl, she offered her forehead, the shadow imprinted 
 a kiss on it, and went away, with his candle in his hand. 
 Directly afterwards the windows of the fifth story were 
 lighted up. All these little circumstances spoke a lan- 
 guage which it was impossible not to understand. The
 
 106 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKiMENTAL. 
 
 man of tho terrace was not the husband of Bathilde, he 
 must be her father. 
 
 D'Harmental, without knowing why, felt overjoyed at 
 this discovery; lie opened his window as softly as he 
 could, and leaned on the bar, which served him as a sup- 
 port, with his eyes fixed on the shadow. He fell into the 
 same reverie out of which he had been startled that morning 
 by the grotesque apparition of his neighbour. In about an 
 hour the girl rose, put down her card and crayons on the 
 table, advanced towards the alcove, knelt on a chair before 
 the second window, and offered up her prayers. D'Har- 
 mental understood that her laborious watch was finished, 
 but, remembering the curiosity of his beautiful neighbour 
 when he had begun to play the first time, he wished to see 
 it he could prolong that watch, and he sat down to his 
 spinet. What he had foreseen happened; at the first 
 notes which reached her, the young girl, not knowing that 
 from the position of the light he could see her shadow 
 through the curtains, approached the window on tip-toe, 
 and, thinking herself hidden, she listened to the melodious 
 instrument which, like the nightingale, awoke to sing in 
 the middle of the night. 
 
 The concert would have probably continued thus for 
 some hours, for D'Harmental, encouraged by the result 
 produced, felt an energy and an ease of execution such as 
 he had never known before. Unluckily, the occupier of 
 the third floor was undoubtedly some clown, no lover of 
 music, for D'Harmental heard suddenly, just below his 
 feet, the noise of a stick knocking on the ceiling with such 
 violence that he could not doubt that it was a warning to 
 him to put off his melodious occupation till a more suit- 
 able period. Under other circumstances, D'Harmental 
 would have sent the impertinent adviser to the devil; but 
 reflecting that any ill-feeling on the lodger's part would 
 injure his own reputation with Madame Denis, and that 
 he was playing too heavy a game to risk being recognised, 
 and not to submit philosophically to all the inconveniences
 
 PROS AND CONS. 107 
 
 of the new position which he had adopted, instead of 
 setting himself in opposition to the rules established with- 
 out doubt between JNIadame Denis and her lodgers, he 
 obeyed the intimation, forgetting in what manner that 
 intimation had been given him. 
 
 On her part, as soon as she heard nothing more, the 
 young gild left the window, and as she let the inner cur- 
 tains fall behind her she disappeared from D'Harmental's 
 eyes. For some time longer he could still see a light in 
 her room; then the light was extinguished. As to the 
 window on the fifth floor, for some time that had been in 
 the most perfect darkness. D'Harmental also went to 
 bed, joyous to think that there existed a point of sym- 
 pathy between himself and his neighbour. 
 
 The next day the Abbé Brigaud entered the room with 
 his accustomed punctuality. The chevalier had already 
 been up more than an hour; he had gone twenty times to 
 his window, but without seeing his neighbour, although 
 it was evident that she was up, even before himself; 
 indeed, on waking he had seen the large curtains put up 
 in their bands. Thus he was disposed to let out his ill- 
 humour on any one. 
 
 " Ah ! pardieu ! my dear abbé ! " said he, as soon as the 
 door was shut; ''congratulate the prince for me on his 
 police; it is perfectly arranged, on my honour!" 
 
 "What have you got against them?" asked the abbé, 
 with the half-smile which was habitual to him. 
 
 "What have 1! I have, that, wishing to judge for 
 myself last evening' of its truth, I went and hid myself 
 in the Rue de Tournon. I remained there four hours, and 
 it was not the regent who came to his daughter, but 
 Madame de Berry who went to her father." 
 
 "Well, we know that." ' 
 
 "Ah! you know that!" said D'Harmental. 
 
 "Yes, and by this token, that she left the Luxembourg 
 at five minutes to eight, with Madame de Mouchy and 
 Madame de Pons, and that she returned at half-past nine,
 
 108 TIIK CIIKVALIEll l/lIARMENTAL. 
 
 bringing Broglie with lier, who came to take the regent's 
 place at table." 
 
 "And where was the regent?" 
 
 "The regent?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That is another story; you shall learn. Listen, and 
 do not lose a word; then we shall see if you will say that 
 the prince's police is badly arranged." 
 
 "I attend." 
 
 "Our report announced that at three o'clock the duke 
 regent would go to play tennis in the Rue de Seine." • 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He went. Tn about half an hour he left, holding his 
 handkerchief over his eyes. He had hit himself on the 
 brow with the racket, and with such violence that he had 
 torn the skin of his forehead." 
 
 " Ah, this then was the accident ! " 
 
 "Listen. Then the regent, instead of returning to the 
 Palais Royal, was driven to the house of Madame de 
 Sabran. You know where Madame de Sabran lives ? " 
 
 "She lived in the Rue de Tournon, but since her 
 husband has become maître dliôtel to the regent, she 
 lives in the Rue des Bons Enfants, near the Palais 
 Royal." 
 
 "Exactly; but it seems that Madame de Sabran, who 
 until now was faithful to Richelieu, was touched by the 
 pitiable state in which she saw the prince, and wished to 
 justify the proverb, 'Unlucky at play, lucky at love.' 
 The prince, by a little note, dated half-past seven, from 
 the drawing-room of Madame de Sabran, with whom he 
 supped, announced to Broglie that he should not go to the 
 Luxembourg, and charged him to go in his stead, and 
 make his excuses to the Duchesse de Berry." 
 
 "Ah, this then was the story which Broglie was telling, 
 and at which the ladies were laughing." 
 
 "It is probable; now do you understand?" 
 
 "Yes; I understand that the regent is not possessed of
 
 PROS AND CONS. 109 
 
 ubiquity, and could not be at the house of Madame de 
 Sabran and at his daughter's at the same time." 
 
 " And you only understand that ? " 
 
 "My dear abbé, you speak like an oracle; explain 
 yourself." 
 
 "This evening, at eight o'clock, I will come for you; 
 we will go to the Rue des Bons Enfants together. To me 
 the locality is eloquent." 
 
 "Ah! ah!" said D'Harmental, "I see; so near the 
 Palais lioyal, he will go on foot. The hôtel which 
 IVIadame de Sabran inhabits has an entrance from the Rue 
 des Bons Enfants ; after a certain hour they shut the pas- 
 sage from the Palais Royal, which opens on the Rue des 
 Bons Enfants; and he will be obliged on his return to 
 follow either the Cour des Fontaines or the Rue Neuve 
 des Bons Enfants, and then we shall have him. Mordieit ! 
 you are a great man, and if Monsieur du Maine does not 
 make you cardinal, or at least archbishop, there will be 
 no justice done." 
 
 "I think, therefore, that now you must hold yourself 
 in readiness." 
 
 "I am ready." 
 
 " Have you the means of execution prepared? '* 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "Then you can correspond with your men?" 
 
 "By a sign." 
 
 "And that sign cannot betray you?" 
 
 "Impossible." 
 
 " Then all goes well, and we may have breakfast ; for I 
 was in such haste to tell you the good news that I came 
 out fasting." 
 
 "Breakfast, my dear abbé! you speak coolly; I have 
 nothing to offer you, except the remains of the pate and 
 two or three bottles of wine which, I believe, survived 
 the battle." 
 
 "Hum! hum!" murmured the abbé; "we will do better 
 than that, my dear chevalier."
 
 no THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "I am at your orders." 
 
 " Let us go down and breakfast with our good hostess, 
 Madame Denis." 
 
 "And why do you want me to breakfast with her? Do 
 I know her?" 
 
 "That concerns me. I shall present you as my 
 pupil." 
 
 "But we shall get a detestable breakfast." 
 
 "Comfort yourself. I know her table." 
 
 "But this breakfast will be tiresome." 
 
 "But you will make a friend of a woman much known 
 in the neighbourhood for her good conduct, for her devo- 
 tion to the government, — a woman incapable of harbour- 
 ing a conspirator. Do you understand that?" 
 
 "If it be for the good of the cause, abbé, I sacrifice 
 myself." 
 
 "Moreover, it is a very agreeable house, where there 
 are two young people who play, — one on the spinet, and 
 the other on the guitar, — and a young man who is an 
 attorney's clerk; a house where you may go down on Sun- 
 day evenings to play lots." 
 
 "Go to the devil with your Madame Denis. Ah! 
 pardon, abbé, perhaps you are her friend. In that case, 
 imagine that I have said nothing." 
 
 "I am her confessor," replied the Abbé Brigaud, with 
 a modest air. 
 
 "Then a thousand excuses, my dear abbé; but you are 
 right indeed. Madame Denis is still a beautiful woman, 
 perfectly well preserved, with superb hands and very 
 pretty feet. Peste ! I remember that. Go down first ; I 
 will follow." 
 
 " Why not together ? " 
 
 "But my toilet, abbé. Would you have me appear 
 before the Demoiselles Denis with my hair in its present 
 state? One must try to look one's best, — que diable! 
 Besides, it is better that you should announce me : I have 
 not a confessor's privilege."
 
 PROS AND CONS. Ill 
 
 "You are right. I will go down and announce you, and 
 in ten minutes you will arrive — will you not ?" 
 
 "In ten minutes." 
 
 "Adieu!" 
 
 " Au revoir ! " 
 
 The chevalier had only told half the truth. He might 
 have remained partly to dress, but also in the hope of 
 seeing his beautiful neighbour, of whom he had dreamed 
 all the night, but in vain. He remained hidden behind 
 the curtains of his window: those of the young girl with 
 the fair hair and the beautiful black eyes remained closed. 
 It is true that, in exchange, he could perceive his neigh- 
 bour, who, opening his door, passed out, with the same 
 precaution as the day before, first his hand, then his head; 
 but this time his boldness went no further, for there was 
 a slight fog, and fog is essentially contrary to the organ- 
 isation of the Parisian bourgeois. Our friend coughed 
 twice, and then, drawing in his head and his arm, re- 
 entered his room like a tortoise into his shell. D'Har- 
 mental saw with pleasure that he might dispense with 
 buying a barometer, and that this neighbour would render 
 him the same service as the butterflies which come out in 
 the sunshine, and remain obstinately shut up in their 
 hermitages on the days when it rains. 
 
 The apparition had its ordinary effect, and reacted on 
 poor Bathilde. Every time that D'Harmental perceived 
 the young girl, there was in her such a sweet attraction 
 that he saw nothing but the woman, — young, beautiful, 
 and graceful, a musician and painter, — that is to say, the 
 most delicious and complete creature he had ever met. 
 But when, in his turn, the man of the terrace presented 
 himself to the chevalier's gaze, with his common face, 
 his insignificant figure, — that indelible type of vulgarity 
 which attaches to certain individuals, — directly a sort of 
 miraculous transition took place in the chevalier's mind. 
 All the poetry disappeared, as a machinist's whistle causes 
 the disappearance of a fairy palace. Everything was seen
 
 112 THE CHEVALIEK D'HAUMENTAL. 
 
 by a different light. D'Harmental's native aristocracy 
 regained the ascendency. Bathilde was then nothing but 
 the daughter of this man, — that is to say, a grisette: her 
 beauty, her grace, her elegance, even her talents, were but 
 an accident, an error of nature, — something like a rose 
 flowering on a cabbage-stalk. The chevalier shrugged his 
 shoulders as he stood before the glass, began to laugh, and 
 to wonder at the impression which he had received. He 
 attributed it to the preoccupation of his mind, to the 
 strange and solitary situation, to everything, in fact, 
 except its true cause, the sovereign and irresistible power 
 of distinction and beauty. D'Harmental went down to his 
 hostess disposed to find the Demoiselles Denis charming.
 
 THE DENIS FAMILY. 113 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE DENIS FAMILY. 
 
 Madame Denis did not think it proper that two young 
 persons as innocent as her daughters should breakfast with 
 a young man who, although he had been only three days 
 in Paris, already came in at eleven o'clock at night, and 
 played ou the harpsichord till two in the morning. In 
 vain the Abbé Brigand afl&rmed that this double infraction 
 of the rules of her house should in no degree lower her 
 opinion of his pupil, for whom he could answer as for 
 himself. All he could obtain was that the young ladies 
 should appear at the dessert; but the chevalier soon per- 
 ceived that, if their mother had ordered them not to be 
 seen, she had not forbidden them to be heard, for scarcely 
 were they at table, round a veritable devotee's breakfast, 
 composed of a multitude of little dishes tempting to the 
 eye and delicious to the palate, when the sounds of a 
 spinet were heard accompanying a voice which was not 
 wanting in compass, but whose frequent errors of intona- 
 tion showed lamentable inexperience. At the first notes 
 Madame Denis placed her hand on the abbe's arm, then, 
 after an instant's silence, during which she listened with 
 a pleased smile to that music which made the chevalier's 
 flesh creep, '' Do you hear ? " she said. " It is our Athenais 
 who is playing, and it is Emilie who sings." 
 
 The Abbé Brigaud, making signs that he heard perfectly, 
 trod on D'Harmental's foot under the table, to hint that 
 this was an opportunity for paying a compliment. 
 
 "Madame," said the chevalier, who understood this 
 appeal to his politeness perfectly, "we are doubly indebted 
 to you ; for you offer us not only an excellent breakfast, 
 but a delightful concert."
 
 114 THE CIIEVALIEll D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 "Yes," replied Madame Denis, negligently, "it is those 
 children: they do not know you are here, and they are 
 pra(!tising; but I will go and tell them to stop." 
 
 JMadanie Denis was going to rise. 
 
 "What, madame!" said D'Harmental, " because I come 
 from liavenue do you believe me unworthy to make ac- 
 quaintance with the talents of the capital 'i " 
 
 " Heaven preserve nic, monsieur, from having such an 
 opinion of you," said Madame Denis, maliciously, "for 1 
 know you are a musician; the lodger on the third story 
 told me so." 
 
 " l\\ that case, madame, perhaps he did not give you a 
 very high idea of my merit," replied the chevalier, laugh- 
 ing, " for he did not appear to appreciate the little I may 
 possess." 
 
 "He only said that it appeared to him a strange time 
 for music. But listen, Monsieur Raoul," added Madame 
 Denis; "the parts are changed now, my dear abbé: it is 
 our Athenais who sings, and it is Emilie who accompanies 
 her on the guitar." 
 
 It appeared that Madame Denis had a weakness for 
 Athenais, for instead of talking as she did when Emilie 
 was singing, she listened from one end to the other to the 
 romance of her favourite, her eyes tenderly fixed on the 
 Abbé Brigand, who, still eating and drinking, contented 
 himself with nodding his head in sign of approbation. 
 Athenais sang a little more correctly than her sister, but 
 for this she made up by a defect at least equivalent in the 
 eyes of the chevalier. Her voice was equally vulgar. 
 
 As to Madame Denis, she beat wrong time with her 
 head, with an air of beatitude which did infinitely more 
 honour to her maternal affection than to her musical 
 intelligence. 
 
 A duet succeeded to the solos. The young ladies 
 appeared determined to give their whole répertoire. 
 D'Harmental, in his turn, sought under the table for the 
 abbe's foot, to crush at least one; but he only found those
 
 THE DENIS FAMILY. 115 
 
 of Madame Denis, wlio, taking this for a personal atten- 
 tion, turned graciously towards him. 
 
 "Then, Monsieur ilaoul," she said, "you come, young and 
 inexperienced, to brave all the dangers of the capital?" 
 
 "Yes," said the Abbé Brigaud, taking upon himself to 
 answer, for fear that D'Harmental might not be able to 
 resist answering by some joke. "Yuu see in this young 
 man, Madame Denis, the son of a friend who was very 
 dear to me," (the abbé put his table napkin up to his 
 eyes,) "and who, I hope, will do credit to the care I have 
 bestowed on his education." 
 
 "And monsieur is right," replied Madame Denis; "for, 
 with his talents and appearance, there is no saying to what, 
 he may attain." 
 
 "Ah! but, Madame Denis," said the Abbé Brigaud, "if 
 you spoil him thus, I shall not bring him to you again. 
 My dear Kaoul," continued the abbé, addressing him iu 
 a paternal manner, "I hope you will not believe a word 
 of all this." Then, whispering to Madame Denis, "Such 
 as you see him, he might have remained at Sauvigny, and 
 taken the first place after the squire. He has three 
 thousand livres a year in the funds." 
 
 "That is exactly what I intend giving to each of my 
 daughters," replied Madame Denis, raising her voice, so 
 as to be heard by the chevalier, and giving a side glance 
 to discover what effect the announcement of such magnifi' 
 cence would have upon him. 
 
 Unfortunately for the future establishment of the 
 Demoiselles Denis, the chevalier was not thinking of 
 uniting the three thousand livres which this generous 
 mother gave to her daughters to the thousand crowns 
 a year which the Abbé Brigaud had bestowed on him. 
 The shrill treble of Mademoiselle Emilie, the contralto 
 of Mademoiselle Athenais, the accompaniment of both, 
 had recalled to his recollection the pure and flexible voice 
 and the distinguished execution of his neighbour. Thanks 
 to that singular power which a great preoccupation gives
 
 IIG THE CHEVALIER d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 US over exterior objects, tlie chevalier had escaped from 
 the charivari which was executed in the adjoining room, 
 and was following a sweet melody which floated in his 
 mind, and which protected him, like an enchanted armour, 
 from the sharp sounds which were flying around him. 
 
 "Plow he listens!" said Madame Denis to Brigand. 
 " 'ïis worth while taking trouble fora young man like 
 that. I shall have a bone to pick with Monsieur 
 Fremond." 
 
 "Who is Monsieur Fremond?" said the abbé, pouring 
 himself out something to drink. 
 
 "It is the lodger on the third floor. A contemptible 
 little fellow, with twelve hundred francs a year, and 
 whose temper has caused me to have quarrels with every 
 one in the house ; and who came to complain that Mon- 
 sieur Kaoul prevented him and his dog from sleei)ing." 
 
 "My dear Madame Denis," replied the abbé, "you nnist 
 not quarrel with Monsieur Fremond for that. Two o'clock 
 in the morning is an unreasonable time; and if my pujiil 
 must sit up till then, he must play in the daytime and 
 draw in the evening." 
 
 "What! Monsieur Kaoul draws also!" cried Madame 
 Denis, quite astonished at so much talent. 
 
 "Draws like Mignard." 
 
 "Oh! my dear abbé," said Madame Denis, "if you could 
 but obtain one thing." 
 
 " What ? " asked the abbé. 
 
 "That he would take the portrait of our Athenais." 
 
 The chevalier awoke form his reverie, as a traveller 
 asleep on the grass feels a serpent glide up to him, and 
 instinctively understands that a great danger threatens 
 him. 
 
 " Abbé ! " cried he, in a bewildered manner, " no 
 folly ! " 
 
 " Oh ! what is the matter with your pupil ? " asked 
 Madame Denis, quite frightened. 
 
 Happily, at the moment when the abbé was seeking a
 
 THE DENIS FAMILY. 117 
 
 subterfuge, the door opened, and the two young ladies 
 entered blushing, and, stepping from right to left, each 
 made a low curtsey. 
 
 " Well ! " said ûladame Denis, affecting an air of 
 severity, " what is this ? Who gave you permssion to 
 leave your room ? " 
 
 "Mamma," replied a voice which the chevalier recog- 
 nised by its shrill tones for that of Mademoiselle Emilie, 
 "we beg pardon if we have done wrong, and are willing 
 to return." 
 
 "But, mamma," said another voice, which the chevalier 
 concluded must belong to Mademoiselle Athenais, "we 
 thought that it was agreed that we were to come in at 
 dessert." 
 
 " Well, come in, since you are here ; it would be ridic- 
 ulous now to go back. Besides," added Madame Denis, 
 seating Athenais between herself and Brigand, and Emilie 
 between herself and the chevalier, "young persons are 
 always best — are they not, abbé? — under their mother's 
 wing." 
 
 And Madame Denis presented to her daughters a plate 
 of bon-bons, from which they helped themselves with a 
 modest air which did honour to their education. 
 
 The chevalier, during the discourse and action of 
 Madame Denis, had time to examine her daughters. 
 
 Mademoiselle Emilie was a tall and stiff personage, 
 from twenty-two to twenty-three, who was said to be very 
 much like her late father: an advantage which did not, 
 however, suffice to gain for her in the maternal heart an 
 affection equal to what Madame Denis entertained for her 
 other two children. Thus poor Emilie, always afraid of 
 being scolded, retained a natural awkwardness, which the 
 repeated lessons of her dancing-master had not been able 
 to conquer. 
 
 Mademoiselle Athenais, on the contrary, was little, 
 plump, and rosy; and, thanks to her sixteen or seventeen 
 years, had what is vulgarly called the devil's beauty. She
 
 118 tup: chevalier d'harmental. 
 
 did not resemble either Monsieur or Madame Denis, a sin- 
 gularity which had often exercised the tongues of the Rue 
 St. Martin before she went to inhabit the house which her 
 husband had bought in the Rue du Temps Perdu. In 
 spite of this absence of all likeness to her parents, Made- 
 moiselle Athenais was the declared favourite of her 
 mother, which gave her the assurance that poor Emilie 
 wanted. Athenais, however, it must be said, always 
 profited l)y this favour to excuse the pretended faults of 
 her sister. 
 
 Although it was scarcely eleven o'clock in the morning, 
 the two sisters were dressed as if for a ball, and carried 
 all the trinkets they possessed on their necks, arms, and 
 ears. 
 
 This apparition, so conformable to the idea which 
 D'Harmental had formed beforehand of the daughters of 
 his landlady, gave him a new subject for reflection. Since 
 the Demoiselles Denis were so exactly what they ought 
 to be, that is to say, in such perfect harmony with their 
 position and education, why was Bathilde, who seemed 
 their equal in rank, as visibly distinguished as they were 
 vulgar? Whence came this immense difference between 
 girls of the same class and age? There must be some 
 secret, which the chevalier would no doubt know some 
 day or other. A second pressure of the Abbé Brigand's 
 f(jot against his made him understand that, however true 
 his reflections were, he had chosen a bad moment for 
 abandoning himself to them. Indeed, Madame Denis took 
 so sovereign an air of dignity that D'Harmental saw that 
 he had not an instant to lose if he wished to efface from 
 her mind the bad impression which his distraction had 
 caused. 
 
 "Madame," said he directly, with the most gracious 
 air he could assume, "that which I already see of your 
 family fills me with the most lively desire to know the 
 rest. Is not your son at home, and shall not I hare the 
 pleasure of seeing him ? "
 
 THE DENIS FAMILY. 119 
 
 "Monsieur," answered Madame Denis, to whom so 
 amiable an address had restored all her good humour, ''my 
 non is with M. Joulu, his master; and, unless his busi- 
 ness brings him this way, it is improbable that he will 
 make your acquaintance." 
 
 ^^Parhleuf my dear pupil," said the Abbé Brigand, 
 extending his hand towards the door; "you are like 
 Aladdin. It is enough for you to express a wish, and it 
 is fulfilled " 
 
 Indeed, at this moment tliey heard on the staircase the 
 song about Marlborough, which at this time had all the 
 charm of novelty; the door was thrown open, and gave 
 entrance to a boy with a laughing face, who much re- 
 sembled Mademoiselle Athenais. 
 
 " Good, good, good," said the new-comer, crossing his 
 arms, and remarking the ordinary number of his family 
 increased by the abbé and the chevalier. "Not bad, 
 Madame Denis; she sends Boniface to his office with a bit 
 of bread and cheese, saying, 'Beware of indigestion,' and 
 in his absence she gives feasts and suppers. Luckily, 
 poor Boniface has a good nose. He comes through the 
 Rue Montmartre; he snuffs the wind, and says, 'What is 
 going on there at No. 5 Rue du Temps Perdu? ' So he 
 came, and here he is. Make a place for one." 
 
 And, 3oining the action to the word, Boniface drew a 
 chair to the table, and sat down between the abbé and the 
 chevalier. 
 
 "Monsieur Boniface," said Madame Denis, trying to 
 assume a severe air, "do you not see that there are 
 strangers here?" 
 
 " Strangers ! " said Boniface, taking a dish from the 
 table, and setting it before himself; "and who are the 
 strangers? Are you one, Papa Brigand? Are you one, 
 JMonsieur Raoul? You are not a stranger, you are a 
 lodger." And, taking a knife and fork, he set to work in 
 a manner to make up for lost time. 
 
 ^^Pardieuf madame," said the chevalier, "I see with
 
 120 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 pleasure that I am further advanced than I thought I was. 
 I did not know that I had the honour of being known tu 
 Monsieur Konilace." 
 
 "It would be odd if I did not know you," said the 
 lawyer's clerk, with his mouth full; "you have got my 
 bedroom." 
 
 "How, Madame Denis!" said D'Harmental, "and you 
 left me in ignorance that I had the honour to succeed in 
 my room to the heir-apparent of your family? I am no 
 longer astonished to find my room so gaily fitted up; I 
 recognise the cares of a mother." 
 
 "Yes, much good may it do you; but I have one bit 
 of advice to give you. Don't look out of window too 
 much." 
 
 "Why?" asked D'Harmental. 
 
 "Why? because you have a certain neighbour opposite 
 you." 
 
 "Mademoiselle Bathilde," said the chevalier, carried 
 away by his first impulse. 
 
 "Ah! you know that already?" answered Boniface; 
 "good, good, good; that will do." 
 
 "Will you be quiet, monsieur!" cried Madame Denis. 
 
 "Listen!" answered Boniface; "one must inform one's 
 lodgers when one has prohibited things about one's 
 house. You are not in a lawyer's office; you do not 
 know that." 
 
 "The child is full of wit," said the Abbé Brigand in that 
 bantering tone thanks to which it was impossible to know 
 whether he was serious or not. 
 
 "But," answered Madame Denis, "what would you have 
 in common between Monsieur Raoul and Bathilde ? " 
 
 "What in common? Why, in a week he will be madly 
 in love with her, and it is not worth loving a coquette." 
 
 "A coquette ?" said D'Harmental. 
 
 "Yes, a coquette, a coquette," said Boniface; "I have 
 said it, and I do not draw back. A coquette, who flirts 
 with the young men and lives with an old one, without
 
 THE DENIS FAMILY. 121 
 
 counting that little brute of a Mirza, who eats up all my 
 bon-bons, and now bites ine every time she meets me." 
 
 "Leave the room, mesdemoiselles," cried Madame Denis, 
 rising and making her daughters rise also. '' Leave the 
 room. Ears so pure as yours ought not hear such things." 
 
 And she pushed Mademoiselle Athenais and Mademoi- 
 selle Emilie towards the door of their room, where she 
 entered with them. 
 
 As to D'Harmental, he felt a violent desire to break 
 Boniface's head with a wine-bottle. Nevertheless, seeing 
 the absurdity of the situation, he made an effort and 
 restrained himself. 
 
 "But," said he, "I thought that the bourgeois whom I 
 saw on the terrace — for no doubt it is of him that you 
 speak. Monsieur Boniface — " 
 
 "Of himself, the old rascal; what did you think of 
 him?" 
 
 "That he was her father." 
 
 " Her father ! not quite. Mademoiselle Bathilde has no 
 father." 
 
 " Then at least her uncle? " 
 
 " Her uncle after the Bretagne fashion, but in no other 
 manner." 
 
 "Monsieur," said Madame Denis, majestically coming 
 out of the room, to the most distant part of which she 
 had doubtless consigned her daughters, "I have asked 
 you, once for all, not to talk improprieties before your 
 sisters." 
 
 "Ah, yes," said Boniface, "my sisters: do you believe 
 that at their age they cannot understand what I said, 
 particularly Emilie, who is three-and-twenty years old ? " 
 
 "Emilie is as innocent as a new-born child," said 
 Madame Denis, seating herself between Brigand and 
 D'Harmental. 
 
 " I should advise you not to reckon on that. I found a 
 pretty romance for Lent in our innocent's room. I will 
 show it to you, Père Brigand j you are her confessor, and
 
 :!22 THE ciievalip:r d'iiarmental. 
 
 we shall sec if you gave her permission to read her prayers 
 from it." 
 
 "Hold your tongue, mischief-maker," said the abbé; "do 
 you not see liow you are grieving your mother?" 
 
 Indeed, Madame Denis, ashamed at this scene passing 
 before a young juau on whom, with a mother's foresight, 
 she had already begun to cast an eye, was nearly fainting. 
 There is nothing in which men believe less than in 
 women's faintings, and nothing to which they give way 
 more easily. Whether he believed in it or not, D'Har- 
 mental was too polite not to show his hostess some atten- 
 tion in such circumstances. He advanced towards her 
 with his arms extended. Madame Denis no sooner saw 
 this support offered to her than she let herself fall, 
 and, throwing her head back, fainted in the chevalier's 
 arms. 
 
 "Abbé," said D'Harmental, while Boniface profited by 
 the circumstance to fill his pockets with all the bon-bons 
 left on the table, "bring a chair." 
 
 The abbé pushed forward a chair with the nonchalance 
 of a man familiar with such accidents, and who is before- 
 hand quite secure as to the result. 
 
 They seated Madame Denis, and D'Harmental gave her 
 some salts, while the Abbé Brigand tapped her softly in 
 the hollow of the hand; but, in spite of these cares, 
 Madame Denis did not appear disposed to return to her- 
 self; when all at once, when they least expected it, she 
 started to her feet as if by a spring, and gave a loud 
 cry. 
 
 D'Harmental thought that a fit of hysterics was follow- 
 ing the fainting. He was truly frightened, there was 
 such an accent of reality in the scream that the poor 
 woman gave. 
 
 "It is nothing," said Boniface; "I have only just 
 emptied the water-bottle down her back. That is what 
 brought her to; you saw tliat she did not know how to 
 manage it. Well, what? " continued the pitiless fellow,
 
 THE DENIS FAMILY, 123 
 
 seeing Madame Denis look angrily at Lim; ''it is I; do 
 you not recognise me, Mother Denis? It is your little 
 Boniface, who loves you so." 
 
 "Madame," said D'Harmental, much embarrassed at the 
 situation, " I am truly distressed at what has passed." 
 
 "Oh, monsieur ! " cried Madame Denis, in tears, "I am 
 indeed unfortunate." 
 
 "Come, come; do not cry, Mother Denis, you are 
 already wet enough," said Boniface; "you had better go 
 and change j^our linen; there is nothing so unhealthy as 
 wet clothes." 
 
 "The child is full of sense," said Brigand, "and I think 
 you had better follow his advice." 
 
 "If I might join my prayers to those of the abbé," said 
 D'Harmental, "I should beg you, madame, not to incon- 
 venience yourself for us. Besides, we were just going to 
 take leave of you." 
 
 " And you also, abbé ? " said Madame Denis, with a 
 distressed look at Brigand. 
 
 "As for me," said Brigand, who did not seem to fancy 
 the part of comforter, " I am expected at the Hôtel 
 Colbert, and I must leave you." 
 
 "Adieu, then," said Madame Denis, making a curtsey; 
 but the water trickling down her clothes took away a great 
 part of its dignity. 
 
 "Adieu, mother," said Boniface, throwing his arms 
 round her neck with the assurance of a spoiled child. 
 "Have you nothing to say to Maître Joulu?" 
 
 "Adieu, viauvais si/Jet,^' replied the poor woman, em- 
 bracing her son, and yielding to that attraction which a 
 mother cannot resist; "adieu, and be steady." 
 
 " As an image, mother, on condition that you will give 
 us a nice little dish of sweets for dinner." 
 
 He joined the Abbé Brigand and D'Harmental, who 
 were already on the landing. 
 
 "Well, well," said the abbé, lifting his hand quickly 
 to his waistcoat pocket, " what are you doing there ? "
 
 124 THE CIIEVALIKR D'il A RMENTAL. 
 
 "Oh, 1 was only loolcin;^' if there was not a crown in 
 your pocket for your friend lîoniface." 
 
 "Here," said the abho, "hero is one, and now leave us 
 alone." 
 
 "Papa Brigaudj" said Boniface, in the effusion of his 
 gratitude, "you have tlie heart of a cardinal, and if the 
 kir.g only makes you an archlùshop, on iny honour you 
 will be robbed of half. Adieu, Monsieur Eaoul," con- 
 tinued he, addressing the chevalier as familiarly as if he 
 had known him for years. "I repeat, take care of Made- 
 moiselle Bathilde if you wish to keep your heart, and give 
 some sweetmeats to Mirza if you care for your legs; " and, 
 holding by the banister, he cleared the first flight of twelve 
 steps at one bound, and reached the street door without 
 having touched a stair. 
 
 Brigand descended more quietly behind him, after hav- 
 ing given the chevalier a rendezvous for eight o'clock in 
 the evening. 
 
 As to D'Harmental, he went back thoughtfully to his 
 attic.
 
 THE CRIMSON RIBBON. 125 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE CRIMSON RIBBON. 
 
 What occupied the mind of the chevalier was neither the 
 dénouement of the drama where he had chosen so impor- 
 tant a part, nor the admirable prudence of the Abbé 
 Brigand in placing him in a house which he habitually 
 visited almost daily, so that his visits, however frequent, 
 could not be remarkable. It was not the dignified speeches 
 of Madame Denis, nor the soprano of Mademoiselle Emilie. 
 It was neither the contralto of Mademoiselle Athenais, nor 
 the tricks of Monsieur Boniface. It was simply poor Ba- 
 thilde, whom he had heard so lightly spoken of; but our 
 reader would be mistaken if he supposed that Monsieur 
 Boniface's brutal accusation had in the least degree altered 
 the sentiments of the chevalier for the young girl, for an 
 instant's reflection showed him that such an alliance was 
 impossible. 
 
 Chance might give a charming daughter to an undis- 
 tinguished father. Necessity may unite a young and 
 elegant woman to an old and vulgar husband; but a 
 liaison such as that attributed to the young girl and the 
 bourgeois of the terrace can only result from love or 
 interest. Xow between these two there could be no love ; 
 and as to interest, the thing was still less probable ; fur, 
 if they were not in absolute poverty, their situation was 
 certainly not above mediocrity, — not even that gilded 
 mediocrity of which Horace speaks, with a country house 
 at Tibur or Montmorency, and which results from a 
 pension of thirty thousand sestercia from the Augustan 
 treasury, or a government annuity of six thousand francs, 
 but that poor and miserable mediocrity which only pro-
 
 126 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 vides from day to day, and which is only prevented from 
 becoming real poverty by incessant labour. 
 
 D'Harmental gathered from all this the certainty that 
 Bathilde was neither the daughter, wife, nor mistress of 
 this terrible neighbour, the sight of whom had sufficed to 
 produce such a strange reaction on the growing 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 what she appeared to be. All was explained, her 
 aristocratic beauty, her finished education. Bathilde was 
 above the position which she was temporarily forced to 
 occupy : there had been in the destiny of this young girl 
 one of those overthrows of fortune which are for individ- 
 uals what eartliquakes are for towns, and she had been 
 forced to descend to the inferior sphere where he found 
 her. 
 
 The result of all this was, that the chevalier might, 
 without losing rank in his own estimation, allow himself 
 to love Bathilde. When a man's heart is at war with his 
 pride, he seldom wants excuses to defeat his haughty 
 enemy. Bathilde had now neither name nor family, and 
 nothing prevented the imagination of the man who loved 
 her from raising her to a height even above his own; con- 
 sequently, instead of following the advice of Monsieur 
 Boniface, the first thing D'Harmental did was to go to his 
 window and inspect that of his neighbour. It was wide 
 open. If a week ago any one had told the chevalier that 
 such a simple thing as an open window would have made 
 his heart beat, he would have laughed at the idea. How- 
 ever, so it was; and, after drawing a long breath, he settled 
 himself in a corner, to watch at his ease the young girl 
 in the opposite room, without being seen by her, for he 
 was afraid of frightening her by that attention whicli she 
 could only attribute to curiosity; but he soon perceived 
 that the room was deserted. 
 
 D'Harmental then opened his window, and at the noise 
 he made in doing so he saw the elegant head of the grey
 
 THE CRIMSON RIBBON. 127 
 
 iiouud, which, with her ears always on the v/atch, and 
 well worthy of the trust that her mistress had reposed in 
 her in making her guardian of the house, was awake, and 
 looking to see who it was that thus disturbed her sleep. 
 
 Thanks to the indiscreet counter-tenor of the good man of 
 the terrace and the malice of Monsieur Boniface, the chev- 
 alier already knew two things very important to know; 
 namely, that his neighbour was called Bathilde, a sweet 
 and euphonious appellation, suitable to a young, beautiful, 
 and graceful girl; and that the greyhound was called 
 Mirza, a name which seemed to indicate a no less distin- 
 guished rank in the canine aristocracy. Now as nothing 
 is to be disdained when we wish to conquer a fortress, and 
 the smallest intelligence from within is often more effica- 
 cious than the most terrible machines of war, D'Harmental 
 resolved to commence opening communications with the 
 greyhound; and, with the most caressing tone he could 
 give to his voice, he called Mirza. Mirza, who was indo- 
 lently lying on the cushion, raised her head quickly, with 
 an expression of unmistakable astonishment; and, indeed, 
 it must have appeared strange to the intelligent little 
 animal that a man so perfectly unknown to her as the 
 chevalier should address her by her Christian name. She 
 contented herself with fixing on him her uneasy eyes, 
 which, in the half-light where she was placed, sparkled 
 like two carbuncles, and uttering a little dull sound which 
 might pass for a growl. 
 
 D'Harmental remembered that the Marquis d'Uxelle 
 had tamed the spaniel of jMademoiselle Choin, which was 
 a much more peevish beast than any greyhound in the 
 world, with roast rabbits' heads; and that he had received 
 for this delicate attention the baton of Maréchal de France ; 
 and he did not despair of being able to soften b}- the same 
 kind of attention the surly reception which Mademoiselle 
 Mirza had given to his advances : so he went towards the 
 sugar-basin; then returned to the window, armed with two 
 pieces of sugar large enough to be divided ad infinitum.
 
 128 THE CHEVALIER d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 The chevalier was not mistaken; at the first piece of 
 sugar which fell near her, Mirza negligently advanced her 
 head; then, being by the aid of smell made aware of the 
 nature of the temptation offered to her, she extended her 
 paw towards it, drew it towards her, took it in her teeth, 
 and began to eat it with that languid air peculiar to the 
 race to which she belonged. This operation finished, she 
 passed over her mouth a little red tongue, which showed 
 that, in spite of her apparent indifference, Avhich was 
 owing, no doubt, to her excellent education, she was not 
 insensible to the surprise her neighbour had prepared for 
 her; instead of lying down again on the cushion as she 
 had done the first time, she remained seated, yawning 
 languidly, but wagging her tail to show that she would 
 wake entirely after two or three such little attentions as 
 she had just had paid to her. 
 
 D'Harmental, who was well acquainted with the hab- 
 its of all the King Charles dogs of the pretty women 
 of the day, understood the amiable intentions of Mirza, 
 and, not wishing to give her time to change her mind, 
 threw a second piece of sugar, taking care that it should 
 fall at such a distance as to oblige her to leave her cushion 
 to get it. This test would decide whether she was most 
 inclined to laziness or greediness. Mirza remained an 
 instant uncertain, but then greediness carried the day, and 
 she went across the room to fetch the piece of sugar, 
 which had rolled under the harpsichord. At this moment 
 a third piece fell near the window, and Mirza came towards 
 it; but there the liberality of the chevalier stopped; he 
 thought that he had now given enough to require some 
 return, and he contented himself with calling Mirza in a 
 more imperative tone, and showing her the other pieces 
 of sugar which he held in his hand. 
 
 Mirza this time, instead of looking at the chevalier with 
 imeasiness or disdain, rested her paws on the window, and 
 began to behave as she would to an old acquaintance. It 
 was finished; Mirza was tamed.
 
 THE CRIMSON RIBBON. 129 
 
 The chevalier remarked that it was now his turn to play 
 the contemptuous with 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, who sustained her 
 part in the dialogue by little whines and grumblings, he 
 threw her a fourth piece of sugar, which she seized with 
 greater avidity from having been kept waiting. This 
 time, without being called, she came to take her place at 
 the window. The chevalier's triumph was complete, — so 
 complete, that Mirza, who the day before had given signs of 
 so superior an intelligence in discovering Bathilde's return, 
 and m running to the door as she ascended the staircase, 
 this time discovered neither the one nor the other, so that 
 her mistress, entering all at once, surprised her in the 
 midst of these coquetries with her neighbour. It is but 
 just to say, however, that at the noise the door made in 
 opening Mirza turned, and, recognising Bathilde, bounded 
 towards her, lavishing on her the most tender caresses; 
 but we must add, to the shame of the species, that, this 
 duty once accomplished, she hastened back to the window. 
 This unusual action on the part of the dog naturally 
 guided Bathilde's eyes towards the cause which occasioned 
 it. Her eyes met those of the chevalier. 
 
 Bathilde blushed: the chevalier bowed; and Bathilde, 
 without knowing what she was doing, returned the salute. 
 
 Her first impulse was to go and close the window, but 
 an instinctive feeling restrained her. She understood that 
 this was giving importance to a thing which had none, and 
 that to put herself on the defensive was to avow herself 
 attacked. In consequence, she crossed to that part of the 
 room where her neighbour's glance could not reach. Then, 
 at the end of a few minutes, when she returned, she found 
 that he had closed his window. Bathilde understood that 
 there was discretion in this action, and she thanked him. 
 Indeed, the chevalier had just made a master stroke. On 
 the terms which he was on with his neighbour, it was 
 impossible that both windows should remain open at oncej
 
 130 THE CHEVALIER d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 if the chevalier's window Avas o[)en, bis neighbour's must 
 be shut, and he knew that when that was closed there 
 was nut a chance of seeing even the tip of Mirza's nose 
 behind the curtain; while if, on the contrary, his window 
 was closed, hers might possibly remain open, and he could 
 watch her passing to and fro, or working, which was a 
 great amusement for a poor devil condemned to absolute 
 seclusion; besides, he had made an immense step, — he 
 had saluted Bathilde, and she had returned it. They were 
 no longer strangers to each other, but, in order that their 
 acquaintance might advance, he must be careful not to be 
 too brusque. To risk speaking to her after the salute 
 would have been risking too much; it was better to allow 
 Bathilde to believe that it was all the effect of chance. 
 Bathilde did not believe it, but she appeared to do so. 
 The result was that she left her window open, and, seeing 
 her neighbour's closed, sat down by her own with a book 
 in her hand. As to Mirza, she jumped on to the stool at 
 her mistress's feet, but, instead of resting her head as usual 
 on the knees of the young girl, she placed it on the sill of 
 the window, so much was she occupied with the generous 
 unknown. The chevalier seated himself in the middle of 
 his room, took his pencils, and, thanks to a corner of his 
 curtain skilfully raised, he sketched the delicious picture 
 before him. Unfortunately the days were short, and 
 towards three o'clock the little light which the clouds and 
 rain had permitted to descend to the earth began to 
 decline, and Bathilde closed her window. Nevertheless, 
 even in this short time the chevalier had finished the 
 young girl's head, and the likeness was perfect. There 
 was her waving hair, her fine transparent skin, the grace- 
 ful curve of her swan-like neck ; in fact, all to which art 
 can attain with one of those inimitable models which are 
 the despair of artists. 
 
 When night closed in, the Abbé Brigand arrived. The 
 chevalier and he wrapped themselves in their mantles, 
 and went towards the Palais Eoyal; they had, it will be
 
 THE CRIMSON KIBBON, 131 
 
 remembered, to examine the ground. The house in which 
 Madame de Sabran lived, since her husband had been 
 named maître d^ hôtel to the regent, was No. 22, between 
 the Hôtel de la Roche-Guyon and the passage formerly 
 called Passage du Palais Koyal, because it was the only 
 one leading from the Kue des Bons Enfants to the Rue de 
 Valois. This passage, now called Passage du Lycée, was 
 closed at the same time as the other gates of the garden, 
 that is to say, at eleven o'clock in the evening; therefore, 
 having once entered a house in the Rue des Bons Enfants, 
 unless it had a second door opening on the Rue de Valois, 
 no one could return to the Palais Royal after eleven o'clock 
 without making the round, either by the Rue Neuve des 
 Petits Champs, or by the Cour des Fontaines. 
 
 Thus it was with Madame de Sabran's house; it was 
 an exquisite little hôtel, built towards the end of the last 
 century, some five-and-twenty years before, by a merchant 
 who wished to ape the great lords and have a jjetite maison 
 of his own. It was a one-storied house, with a stone 
 gallery, on which the servants' attics opened, and sur- 
 mounted by a low tilted roof. Under the first-floor 
 windows was a large balcony, which jutted out three or 
 four feet and extended right across the house; but some 
 iron ornaments similar to the balcony, and which reached 
 to the terrace, separated the two windows on each side 
 from the three in tlie centre, as is often done when it is 
 desired to interrupt exterior communications. The two 
 façades were exactly similar, only, as the Rue de Valois 
 was eight or ten feet lower than that of the Bons Enfants, 
 tlie ground-floor windows and door opened on a terrace 
 where was a little garden, filled in spring with charming 
 flowers, but which did not communicate 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 into Madame de Sabran's house, would — 
 provided he stayed after eleven o'clock, which was prob-
 
 132 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 able — be taken as in a trap, and nothing would be easier 
 than to carry out their plan in tlie Rue des Bons Enfants, 
 one of the most deserted and gloomy places in the neigh- 
 bourhood. Moreover, as this street was surrounded by very 
 suspicious houses, and frequented by very bad company, 
 it was a hundred to one that they would not pay any atten- 
 tion to cries, which were too frequent in that street to 
 cause any uneasiness, and that, if the watch arrived, it 
 would be, according to the custom of that estimable force, 
 long after their intervention could be of any avail. The 
 inspection of the ground finished, the plans laid, and the 
 number of the house taken, they separated: the abbé to 
 go to the Arsenal to give Madame du Maine an account 
 of the proceedings, and D'Harmental to return to his 
 attic. 
 
 As on the preceding night, Bathilde's room was lighted, 
 but this time the young girl was not drawing, but working; 
 her light was not put out till one o'clock in the morning. 
 As to the good man, he had retired long before D'Har- 
 mental returned. The chevalier slept badly; between a 
 love at its commencement and a conspiracy at its height, 
 he naturally experienced some sensations little favourable 
 to sleep; but towards morning fatigue prevailed, and he 
 only awoke on feeling himself violently shaken by the 
 arm. Without doubt the chevalier was at that moment in 
 some bad dream, of which this appeared to him the end, 
 for, still half asleep, he stretched out his hand towards 
 the pistols which were at his side. 
 
 "Ah, ah!" cried the abbé, "an instant, young man. 
 What a hurry you are in ! Open your eyes wide, — so. 
 Do you not recognise me?" 
 
 "Ah!" said D'Harmental, laughing, "it is you, abbé. 
 You did well to stop me. I dreamed that I was arrested." 
 
 "A good sign," said the Abbé Brigand; "you know that 
 dreams always go by contraries. All will go well." 
 
 "Is there anything new ?" asked D'Harmental. 
 
 "And if there were, how would you receive it?"
 
 THE CRIMSON RIBBON. 133 
 
 "I should be enchaiiTF^d. A thing of this kind once 
 undertaken, the sooner it is finished the better." 
 
 "Well, then," said Erigaud, drawing a paper from his 
 pocket and presenting 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 matter of no moment, and read as follows : — 
 
 ''Report of the 21th 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 Abbé Dubois. As by chance the regent was supping 
 with madame, the despatch 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 has prom- 
 ised to conduct her there; but on the receipt of this let- 
 ter 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 téte-à-tête, for he is 
 beginning to be impatient at the obstinacy of the Maréchal 
 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, weighing every word. 
 
 " Well, what do you think of this paragraph ? " asked 
 the abbé. 
 
 The chevalier jumped from his bed, put on his dressing 
 gown, took from his drawer a crimson ribbon, a hammer
 
 134 THE CHEVALIER ])"hAKMENTAL. 
 
 aud a nail, and, having opened his window (not without 
 throwing a stolen glance at that of his neighbour), 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'Hannental, "that you may go 
 and tell IVIadame du Maine that I hope this evening to 
 fulfil my promise to her. And now go away, my dear 
 abbé, and do not come back for two hours, for I expect 
 some one whom it would be better you should not meet." 
 
 The abbé, who was prudence itself, did not wait to be 
 told twice, but pressed the chevalier's hand and left him. 
 Twenty minutes afterward? Captain Roquefinette entered.
 
 THE RUE DES BONS ENFANTS. 
 
 135 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE RUE DES BONS ENFANTS. 
 
 The evening of the same clay, which was Sunday, towards 
 eight o'clock, at the moment when a considerable group 
 of men and women, assembled round a street singer who 
 was playing at the same time the cymbals with his knees 
 and the tambourine with his hands, obstructed the entrance 
 to the Rue de Valois, a musketeer and two of the light 
 horse descended a back staircase of the Palais Royal, and 
 advanced towards the Passage du Lycée, which, as every 
 one knows, opens on to that street; but, seeing the crowd 
 which barred the way, the three soldiers stopped and 
 appeared to take counsel. The result of their deliberation 
 was doubtless that they must take another route, for the 
 musketeer, setting the example of a new manoeuvre, 
 threaded the Cour des Fontaines, turned the corner of the 
 Rue des Bons Enfants, and walking rapidly — though he 
 was extremely corpulent — arrived at No. 22, which 
 opened as by enchantment at his approach, and closed 
 again on him and his two companions. 
 
 At the moment when they commenced this little detour, 
 a young man dressed in a dark coat, wrapped in a mantle 
 of the same colour, and wearing a broad-brimmed hat 
 pulled down over his eyes, quitted the group which sur- 
 rounded the singer, singing himself, to the tune of Les 
 Pendus, "Vingt-quatre, vingt-quatre, vingt-quatre," and, 
 advancing rapidly towards the Passage du Lycée, arrived 
 at the farther end in time to see the three illustrious vaga- 
 bonds enter the house as we have said. He threw a glance 
 round him, and by the light of one of the three lanterns, 
 which lighted, or rather ought to have lighted, the whole
 
 136 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 length of tlie street, lie perceived one of tliose immense 
 coal heavers, with a face the colour of soot, so well stereo- 
 typed by Greuze, who was resting against one of the posts 
 of he Hôtel de la Roche-Guyon, on which he had hung 
 his bag. For an instant he appeared to hesitate to 
 approach this man; but the coalheaver having sung the 
 same air and the same burden, he appeared to lose all 
 hesitation, and went straight to him. 
 
 "Well, captain," said the man in the cloak, "did you 
 see them?" 
 
 " As plainly as I see you, colonel, — a musketeer and 
 two light horse; but I could not recognise them. How- 
 ever, as the musketeer hid his face in his handkerchief, 
 I presume it was the regent." 
 
 "Himself; and the two light horse are Simiane and 
 Eavanne." 
 
 " Ah, ah ! my scholar, " said the captain ; " I shall have 
 great pleasure in seeing him again: he is a good boy." 
 
 "At any rate, captain, take care he does not recognise 
 you." 
 
 "Eecognise me! It must be the devil himself to recog- 
 nise me, accoutred as I am. It is you, rather, chevalier, 
 who should take the caution. You have an unfortunately 
 aristocratic air, which does not suit at all with your dress. 
 However, there they are in the trap, and we must take 
 care they do not leave it. Have our people been told? " 
 
 "Your people, captain. I know no more of them than 
 they do of me. I quitted the group singing the burden 
 which was our signal. Did they hear me? Did they 
 understand me? I know nothing of it." 
 
 " Be easy, colonel. These fellows hear half a voice, and 
 understand half a word." 
 
 Indeed, as soon as the man in the cloak had left the 
 group, a strange fluctuation which he had not foreseen 
 began to take place in the crowd, which appeared to be 
 composed only of passers-by, so that the song was not 
 finished, nor the collection received. The crowd dispersed
 
 THE RUE DES BOISS ENFANTS. 137 
 
 A great many men left the circle, singly, or two and two, 
 turning towards each other with an imperceptible gesture 
 of the hand, some by the Rue de Valois, some by the 
 Cour des Fontaines, some by the Palais Royal itself, tlius 
 surrounding the Rue des Rons Enfants, which seemed to 
 be the centre of the rendezvous. In consequence of this 
 manoeuvre, the intention of which it is easy to understand, 
 there only remained before the singer ten or twelve 
 women, some children, and a good bourgeois of about forty 
 years old, who, seeing that the collection was about to 
 begin again, quitted his place with an air of profound 
 contempt for all these new songs, and humming an old 
 pastoral which he placed infinitely above them. It seemed 
 to him that several men as he passed them made him 
 signs ; but as he did not belong to any secret society or any 
 masonic lodge, he went on, singing his favourite, 
 
 " Then let me go, 
 And let me play 
 Beneath the hazel-tree," 
 
 and after having followed the Rue St. Honoré to the 
 Barrière des Deux Sergents, turned the corner and disap- 
 peared. Almost at the same moment, the man in the 
 cloak, who had been the first to leave the group, reap- 
 peared, and, accosting the singer, — 
 
 "My friend," said he, "my wife is ill, and your music 
 will prevent her sleeping. If you have no particular 
 reason for remaining here, go to the Place du Palais 
 Royal, and here is a crown to indemnify you." 
 
 "Thank you, my lord," replied the singer, measuring 
 the social position of the giver by his generosity. "I 
 will go directly. Have you any commissions for the Rue 
 Mouffetard?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Because I would have executed them into the bargain." 
 
 The man went away, and, as he was at once the centre 
 and the cause of the meeting, all that remained disap- 
 peared with him. At this moment the clock of the Palais
 
 1.38 thp: chevalier d'harmental. 
 
 Royal struck nine. The young man drew from liis pocket 
 a watch, whose diamond setting contrasted strangely with 
 his simple costume. He set it exactly, then turned and 
 went into the Rue des Bons Enfants. On arriving oppo- 
 site No. 24, he found the coalheaver. 
 
 "And the singer?" asked the latter. 
 
 "He is gone." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "And the post-chaise? " asked the man in the cloak. 
 
 "It is waiting at the corner of the Rue Kaillif." 
 
 "Have they taken the precaution of wrapping the 
 wheels and horses' hoofs in rags ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Very good. Now let us wait," said the man in the 
 cloak. 
 
 "Let us wait," replied the coalheaver. And all was 
 silent. 
 
 An hour passed, during which a few rare passers-by 
 crossed the street at intervals, but at length it became 
 almost deserted. The few lighted windows were darkened 
 one after another, and night, having now nothing to con- 
 tend with but the two lanterns, one of which was opposite 
 the chapel of St. Clare, and the other at the corner of the 
 Rue Baillif, at length reigned over the domain which it 
 had alone claimed. Another hour passed. They heard 
 the watch in the Rue de Valois; behind him, the keeper 
 of the passage came to close the door. 
 
 "Good," murmured the man in the cloak; "now we are 
 sure not to be interrupted." 
 
 "Provided," replied the coalheaver, "he leaves before 
 day." 
 
 "If he were alone, we might fear his remaining; but 
 Madame de Sabran will scarcely keep all three." 
 
 " Peste ! you are right, captain ; and I had not thought 
 of it; however, are all your precautions taken?" 
 
 " All." 
 
 " And your men believe that it is a question of a bet ? "
 
 THE lUJR DES BONS ENFANTS. 139 
 
 "They appear to believe it at least, and we cannot ask 
 more." 
 
 "Then it is well understood, captain. You and your 
 people are drunk. You push me. I fall between the 
 regent and him w^ho has his arm. I separate them. You 
 seize on him and gag him, and at a whistle the carriage 
 arrives, while Simiane and Ravanne are held with pistols 
 at their throats." 
 
 "But," answered the coalheaver, in a low voice, "if he 
 declares his name." 
 
 The man in the cloak replied, in a still lower tone, " In 
 conspiracies there are no half-measures. If he declares 
 himself, you must kill him." 
 
 "Pes^e/" said the coalheaver; "let us try to prevent 
 his doing so." 
 
 There was no reply, and all was again silent. A quarter 
 of an hour passed, and then the centre windows were 
 lighted up. "Ah! ah! there is something new," they both 
 exclaimed together. 
 
 At this moment they heard the step of a man who came 
 from the Rue St. Honoré, and who was preparing to go 
 the whole length of the street. 
 
 The coalheaver muttered a terrible oath; however, the 
 man came on, but whether the darkness sufficed to frighten 
 him, or whether he saw something suspicious moving 
 there, it was evident that he experienced some fear. As 
 he reached the Hôtel St. Clare, employing that old ruse 
 of cowards who wish to appear brave, he began to sing; 
 but as he advanced, his voice trembled, and though the 
 innocence of the song proved the serenity of his heart, on 
 arriving opposite the passage he began to cough, which, 
 as we know, in the gamut of terror, indicates a greater 
 degree of fear than singing. Seeing, however, that 
 nothing moved round him, he took courage, and, in a voice 
 more in harmony with his present situation than with the 
 sense of the words, he began, — 
 
 " Then let me go."
 
 140 THE ciiF-VALiEii d'ilvkmkntal. 
 
 But there he stopped short, not only in his song, but in 
 his walk; for, having perceived two men standing in a 
 doorway, he felt liis voice and his legs fail him at once, 
 and he dreAv up, motionless and silent. Unfortunately, at 
 this moment a shadow approached the window. The 
 coalheaver saw that a cry might lose all, and moved, as if 
 to spring on the passenger; his companion held him back. 
 
 "Captain," said he, "do not hurt this man;" and then, 
 approaching him, "Pass on, my friend," said he, "but 
 pass quickly, and do not look back." 
 
 The singer did not wait to be told twice, but made off 
 as fast as his little legs and his trembling condition 
 allowed, so that in a few minutes he had disappeared at 
 the corner of the Hôtel de Toulouse. 
 
 "'Twas time," murmured the coalheaver; "they are 
 opening the window." 
 
 The two men drew back as far as possible into the 
 shade. The window was opened, and one of the light 
 horse appeared on the balcony. 
 
 "Well?" said a voice, which the coalheaver and his 
 companion recognised as that of the regent, from the 
 interior of the room. "Well, Simiane, what kind of 
 weather is it?" 
 
 "Oh!" replied Simiane, "I think it snows." 
 
 "You think it snows?" 
 
 "Or rains, I do not know which," continued Simiane. 
 
 "What ! " said Ravanne, "can you not tell what is fall- 
 ing?" and he also came on to the balcony. 
 
 "After all," said Simiane, "I am not sure that anything 
 is falling." 
 
 "He is dead drunk," said the regent. 
 
 "I!" said Simiane, wounded in his amour jpropre as a 
 toper, "I dead drunk! Come here, monseigneur, come." 
 
 Though the invitation was given in a strange manner, 
 the regent joined his companions, laughing. By his gait 
 it was easy to see that he himself was more than warmed. 
 
 "Ah! dead drunk," replied Simiane, holding out his
 
 THE RUE DES BONS ENFANTS. 141 
 
 Hand to the prince. "Well, I bet you a hundred louis that, 
 regent of France as you are, you will not do what I do." 
 
 "You hear, monseigneur," said a female voice from the 
 room; "it is a challenge." 
 
 "And as such I accept it." 
 
 "Done, for a hundred louis." 
 
 "I go halves with whoever likes," said Ravanne. 
 
 "Bet with the marchioness," said Simiane; "I admit no 
 one into my game." 
 
 "Nor T," said the regent. 
 
 "Marchioness," cried Ravanne, "fifty louis to a kiss." 
 
 "Ask Philippe if he permits it." 
 
 "Yes," said the regent, "it is a golden bargain 5 you are 
 sure to win. Well, are you ready, Simiane ? " 
 
 "I am; will you follow me ?" 
 
 "Everywhere." 
 
 "What are you going to do ?" 
 
 "Look." 
 
 "Where the devil are you going?" 
 
 " I am going into the Palais Royal." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "By the roofs." 
 
 And Simiane, seizing that kind of iron fan which we 
 have said separated the windows of the drawing-room from 
 those of the bedrooms, began to climb like an ape. 
 
 "Monseigneur," cried Madame de Sabran, bounding on 
 to the balcony, and catching the prince by the arm, "I 
 hope you will not follow." 
 
 "Not follow!" said the regent, freeing himself from 
 the marchioness's arm; "do you know that I hold as a 
 principle that whatever another man tries I can do ? If 
 he goes up to the moon, devil take me if I am not there 
 to knock at the door as soon as he. Did you bet on me, 
 Kavanne ? " 
 
 "Yes, my prince," replied the young man, laughing. 
 
 " Then take your kiss, you have won ; " and the regent 
 seized the iron bars, climbing behind Simiane, who, active, 
 tall, and slender, was in an instant on the terrace.
 
 142 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "But I hope you, at least, will remain, Eavanne?" said 
 the marchioiicsfj. 
 
 "Long enough to claim your stakes," said the young 
 man, kissing the beautiful fresh cheeks of ^Madame do 
 Sabran. "Now, adieu," continued he, " I am monseigneur's 
 page; you understand that 1 must follow him." 
 
 And Ravanne darted on to the perilous road already 
 taken by his companions. The coalheaver and the man 
 in the cloak uttered an exclamation of astonishment, which 
 was repeated along the street as if every door liad an 
 echo. 
 
 " Ah ! what is that ? " said Simiane, who had arrived 
 first on the terrace. 
 
 "Do you see double, drunkard?" said the regent, seiz- 
 ing the railing of the terrace. "It is the watch, and you 
 will get us taken to the guard-house; but I promise you I 
 will leave you there." 
 
 At these words those who were in the street were silent, 
 hoping that the duke and his companions would push the 
 joke no further, but would come down and go oiit by the 
 ordinary road. 
 
 "Oh! here I am," said the regent, landing on the ter- 
 race; "have you had enough, Simiane?" 
 
 "No, monseigneur," replied Simiane; and, bending 
 down to Ravanne, "that is not the watch," continued he, 
 "not a musket, — not a jerkin." 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked the regent. 
 
 "Nothing," replied Simiane, making a sign to Ravanne, 
 "except that I continue my ascent, and invite you to 
 follow me." 
 
 And at these words, holding out his hand to the regent, 
 he began to scale the roof, drawing him after him. 
 Ravanne brought up the rear. 
 
 At this sight, as there was no longer any doubt of their 
 intention, the coalheaver uttered a malediction, and the 
 man in the cloak a cry of rage. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! " said the regent, striding on the roof, and
 
 THE RUE DES BONS ENFANTS. 143 
 
 looking down the street, where, by the light from the open 
 window, they saw eight or ten men moving, "what the 
 devil is that? a plot! Ah! one would suppose they 
 wanted to scale the house, — they are furious. 1 have a 
 mind to ask them what we can do to help them.". 
 
 "No joking, monseigneur," said Simianc^; "let us go on." 
 
 "Turn by the Rue St. Honoré," said the man in the 
 cloak. "Forward, forward." 
 
 "They are pursuing us," said Simiane; " quick to the 
 other side; back." 
 
 "I do not know what prevents me," said the man in the 
 cloak, drawing a pistol from his belt and aiming at the 
 regent, "from bringing him down like a partridge." 
 
 " Thousand furies ! " cried the coalheaver, stopping him, 
 "you will get us all hung and quartered." 
 
 "But what are we to do? " 
 
 " Wait till they come down alone and break their necks, 
 for, if Providence is just, that little surprise awaits us." 
 
 " What an idea, Roquefinette ! " 
 
 "Eh! colonel; no names, if you please." 
 
 " You are right. Pardleu ! " 
 
 "There is no need; let us have the idea." 
 
 "Follow me," cried the man in the cloak, springing into 
 the passage. " Let us break open the door and we will take 
 them on the other side wlien they jump down." 
 
 And all that remained of his companions followed 
 him. The others, to the number of five or six, were 
 already making for the Rue St. Honoré. 
 
 "Let us go, monseigneur," said Simiane; "we have not 
 a minute to lose; slide on your back. It is not glorious, 
 but it is safe." 
 
 "I think I hear them in the passage," said the regent; 
 " what do you think, Ravanne ? " 
 
 "I do not think at all," said Ravanne, "I let myself 
 slip." 
 
 And all three descended rapidly, and arrived on the 
 terrace.
 
 144 THE CUEVALIEK D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "Here, here!" said a woman's voice, at the moment 
 when Simiane strode over the parapet to descend his iron 
 ladder. 
 
 "Ah! is it you, marchioness?" said the regent; "you 
 are indeed a friend in need." 
 "Jump in here, and quickly." 
 
 The three fugitives sprang into the room. 
 
 "Do you like to stop here?" asked Madame de Sabran. 
 
 "Yes," said Kavanne; "I will go and look for Canillac 
 and his night-watch." 
 
 "No, no," said the regent ; "they will be scaling your 
 house and treating it as a town taken by assault. Let us 
 gain the Palais Royal." 
 
 And they descended the staircase rapidly and opened 
 the garden door. There they heard the despairing blows 
 of their pursuers against the iron gates. 
 
 "Strike, strike, my friends," said the regent, running 
 with the carelessness and activity of a young man; "the 
 gate is solid, and will give you plenty of work." 
 
 "Quick, quick, monseigneur," cried Simiane, who, 
 thanks to his great height, had jumped to the ground 
 hanging by his arms, "there they are at the end of the 
 Rue de Valois. Put your foot on my shoulder, — now the 
 other, — and let yourself slip into my arms. You are 
 saved, thank God." 
 
 "Draw your sword, Ravanne, and let us charge these 
 fellows," said the regent. 
 
 "In the name of Heaven, monseigneur," cried Simiane, 
 "follow us. I am not a coward, I believe, but what you 
 would do is mere folly. Here, Ravanne." 
 
 And the young men, each taking one of the duke's arms, 
 led him down a passage of the Palais Royal at the moment 
 when those who were running by the Rue de Valois were 
 at twenty paces from them, and when the door of the 
 passage fell under the efforts of the second troop. The 
 whole reunited band rushed against the gate at the moment 
 that tiie three gentlemen closed it behind them.
 
 THE RUE DES BONS ENFANTS. 145 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the regent, saluting with his hand, 
 for as to his hat, Heaven knows where that was, "I hope, 
 for the sake of your heads, that aJl this was only a joke, 
 for you are attacking those who are stronger than your- 
 selves. Beware to-morrow of the lieutenant of police. 
 Meanwhile, good night." 
 
 And a triple shout of laughter petrified the two con- 
 spirators leaning against the gate at the head of their 
 breathless companions. 
 
 "This man must have a compact with Satan," cried 
 D'Harmental. 
 
 " We have lost the bet, my friends, " said Roquefinette, 
 addressing his men, who stood waiting for orders, " but 
 we do not dismiss you yet; it is only postponed. As to 
 the promised sum, you have already had half : to-morrow — 
 you know where, for the rest. Good evening. I shall be 
 at the rendezvous to-morrow." 
 
 All the people dispersed, and the two chiefs remained 
 alone. 
 
 " Well, colonel," said Koquefinette, looking D'Harmental 
 full in the face. 
 
 "Well, captain," replied the chevalier; "I have a great 
 mind to ask one thing of you." 
 
 "What?" asked Roquefinette. 
 
 " To follow me into some cross-road and blow my brains 
 out with your pistol, that this miserable head may be 
 punished and not recognised." 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 "Why? Because in such matters, when one fails one 
 is but a fool. What am I to say to Madame du Maine 
 now ? " 
 
 "What! " cried Roquefinette, " is it about that little hop- 
 o'-my-thumb that you are bothering yourself? Pardieu! 
 you are frantically susceptible, colonel. Why the devil 
 does not her lame husband attend to his own affairs. I 
 should like to have seen your prude with her two cardinals 
 and her three or four marquises, who are bursting with 
 
 lu
 
 146 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 fear a.t this moment in a corner of the arsenal, while wft 
 remain masters of the field of battle. 1 should like to 
 have seen if they would have climbed walls like lizards. 
 Stay, colonel, listen to an old fox. To be a good conspir- 
 ator, 3^ou must have, first, what you have, courage; but 
 you must also have what you have not, patience. Morhleu! 
 if I had such an affair in my hands, I would answer lor 
 it that I would bring it to a good end, and if you like to 
 make it over to me we will talk of that." 
 
 "But in my place," asked the colonel, "what would 
 you say to Madame du Maine ? " 
 
 "Oh, I should say, 'My princess, the regent must have 
 been warned by his police, for he did not leave as we 
 expected, and we saw none but his roué companions.' 
 Then the Prince de Cellamare will say to you, *My dear 
 D'Harmental, we have no resources but in you.' Madame 
 du Maine will say that all is not lost since the brave 
 D'Harmental remains to us. The Comte de Laval will 
 grasp your hand trying to pay you a compliment, which 
 he will not finish, because since his jaw is broken his 
 tongue is not active, particularly for compliments. The 
 Cardinal de Folignac will make the sign of the cross. 
 Alberoni will swear enough to shake the heavens. In 
 this manner you will have conciliated everybody, saved 
 your amour jjropre, and may return to hide in your attic, 
 which I advise you not to leave for three or four days if 
 you do not wish to be hung. Frojn time to time I will 
 pay you a visit. You will continue to bestow on me some 
 of the liberalities of Spain, because it is of importance to 
 me to live agreeably, and keep up my spirits; then, at the 
 first opportunity we recall our brave fellows, and take 
 our revenge." 
 
 "Yes, certainly," said D'Harmental; "that is what any 
 other would do; but you see I have some foolish ideas — 
 I cannot lie." 
 
 "Whoever cannot lie cannot act," replied the captain; 
 "but what do I see there? The bayonets of the watch;
 
 THE RUE DES BONS ENFANTS. 147 
 
 amicable institution, I recognise you tliere; always a 
 quarter of an hour too late. But now adieu, colonel ; 
 there is your road, we must separate," said the cap- 
 tain, showing the Passage du Palais Koyal, "and here is 
 mine," added he, pointing to the Rue Neuve des Petits 
 Champs. "Go quietly, that they may not know that you 
 ought to run as fast as you can, your hand on your hip 
 so, and singing La Mère Gaudichon." And the captain 
 followed the Eue de Valois at the same pace as the watch, 
 who were a hundred paces behind him, singing carelessly 
 as he went. 
 
 As to the chevalier, he re-entered the Rue des P>ons 
 Enfants, now as quiet as it had been noisy ten minutes 
 before ; and at the corner of the Rue Baillif he found the 
 carriage, which, according to its orders, had not moved, 
 and was waiting with the door open, the servant at the 
 step, and the coachman on his box. 
 
 "To the arsenal," said the chevalier. 
 
 "It is useless," said a voice which made D'Harmental 
 start; "I know all that has passed, and I will inform 
 those who ought to know. A visit at this hour would be 
 dangerous for all." 
 
 " Is it you, abbé ? " said D'Harmental, trying to recog- 
 nise Brigaud in the livery in which he was disguised; " you 
 would render me a real service in taking the news instead 
 of me, for on my honour I do not know what to say." 
 
 "Well, I shall say," said Brigaud, "that you are a brave 
 and loyal gentleman, and that if there were ten like you 
 in France, all would soon be finished; but we are not here 
 to pay compliments : get in quickly. Where shall I take 
 
 you 
 
 ?" 
 
 "It is useless," said D'Harmental; "I will go on foot." 
 
 "Get in. It is safer." 
 
 D'Harmental complied, and Brigaud, dressed as he was, 
 came and sat beside him. 
 
 " To the corner of the Rue du Gros Chenet and the Rue 
 de Cléry," said the abbé.
 
 148 THE CHEVALIEK D lIAliMENTAL. 
 
 The coachman, inii)atieut at having wailed so lung, 
 obeyed quickly. At the place indicated the carriage 
 stopped; the chevalier got out, and soon disappeared 
 round the corner of the E,ue du Temps Perdu. As to tlie 
 carriage, it rolled on noiselessly towards the Boulevards, 
 like a fairy car which does not touch the earth.
 
 JEAN BU VAT. 140 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 JEAN BUVAT. 
 
 Our readers must now make a better acquaintance with 
 one of the principal personages in the history which we 
 have undertaken to relate, of whom we have scarcely 
 spoken. We would refer to the good bourgeois whom we 
 have seen quitting the group in the Rue de Valois, and 
 making for the Barrière des Sergents at the moment when 
 the street-singer began his collection, and who, it will be 
 remembered, we have since seen at so inopportune a 
 moment in the Rue des Bons Enfants, 
 
 Heaven preserve us from questioning the intelligence of 
 our readers, so as to doubt for a moment that they had 
 recognised in the poor devil to whom the Chevalier d'Har- 
 mental had rendered such timely assistance the good man 
 of the terrace in the Rue du Temps Perdu. But they can- 
 not know, unless we tell them in detail, what he was 
 physically, morally, and socially. If the reader has not 
 forgotten the little we have already told him, it will be 
 remembered that he was from forty to forty-five years of 
 age. Now, as every one knows, after forty years of age 
 the bourgeois of Paris entirely forgets the care of his 
 person, with which he is not generally much occupied, a 
 negligence from which his corporeal graces suffer consider- 
 ably, particularly when, as in the present instance, his 
 appearance is not to be admired. 
 
 Our bourgeois was a little man of five feet four, short 
 and fat, disposed to become obese as he advanced in age; 
 and with one of those placid faces where all — hair, eye- 
 brows, eyes, and skin — seem of the same colour; in fact, 
 one of those faces of which, at ten paces, one does not
 
 l50 THE CHEVALIER D'HAUMENTAL. 
 
 distinguish a feature. The most enthusiastic physiogno- 
 mist, if he had sought to read on this countenance some 
 high and curious destiny, woukl have been stopped in his 
 examination as he mounted from liis great blue eyes to his 
 depressed forehead, or descended from liis half-open mouth 
 to the fold of his double chin. There he would have 
 understood that he had under his eyes one of those heads 
 to which all fermentation is unkiiown, whose fresluK ss is 
 respected by the passions, good or bad, and wIjo turn 
 nothing in the empty corners of their brain but the burden 
 of some old nursery song. Let us add, that Providence, 
 who does nothing by halves, had signed tiie original, of 
 which we have just oifered a copy to our readers, by the 
 characteristic name of Jean Buvat. 
 
 It is true that the persons who ought to have appreciated 
 the profound nullity of spirit and excellent qualities of 
 heart of this good man suppressed his patronymic, and 
 ordinarily called him Le Bonhomme Buvat. 
 
 From his earliest youth the little Buvat, who had a 
 marked repugnance for all other kinds of study, mani- 
 fested a particular inclination for caligraphy: thus he 
 arrived every morning at the Collège des Oratoriens, 
 where his mother sent him gratis, with his exercises and 
 translations full of faults, but written with a neatness, 
 a regularity, and a beauty which it was charming to see. 
 The little Buvat was whipped every day for the idleness 
 of his mind, and received the writing prize every year for 
 the skill of his hand. At fifteen years of age he passed 
 from the Epitome Sacrœ, which he had recommenced five 
 times, to the Epitome Grsecae; but the professor soon per- 
 ceived that this was too much for him, and put him back 
 for the sixth time in the Epitome Sacrae. Passive as he 
 appeared, young Buvat was not wanting in a certain pride. 
 He came home in the evening crying to his mother, and 
 complaining of the injustice which had been done him, 
 declaring in his grief a thing which till then he had 
 been careful not to confess, namely, that there were in
 
 JEAN BUVAT. 151 
 
 the school children of ten years old more advanced than 
 he was. 
 
 Widow Buvat, who saw her son start every morning 
 with his exercises perfectly neat, (wliich led her to believe 
 that there could be no fault to be found with them,) went 
 the next day to abuse the good fathers. They replied that 
 her sou was a good boy, incapable of an evil thought 
 towards God, or a bad action towards his neighbour: but 
 that at the same time he was so awfully stupid that they 
 advised her to develop, by making him a writing master, 
 the only talent with which nature had blessed him. This 
 counsel was a ray of light for Madame Buvat; she under- 
 stood that, in this manner, the benefit she should derive 
 from her son would be immediate. She came back to her 
 house, and communicated to her son the new plans she 
 had formed for him. Young Buvat saw in this only a 
 means of escaping the castigation which he received every 
 morning, for which the prize, bound in calf, that he 
 received every year was not a compensation. 
 
 He received the propositions of his mother with great 
 joy; promised her that, before six months were over, he 
 would be the first writing-master in the capital; and the 
 same day, after having from his little savings bought a 
 knife with four blades, a packet of quills, and two copy- 
 books, set himself to the work. The good Oratoriens 
 were not deceived as to the true vocation of young Buvat. 
 Caligraphy was with him an art which almost became 
 drawing. At the end of six months, like the ape in the 
 Arabian Nights, he wrote six kinds of writing; and 
 imitated men's faces, trees, and animals. At the end of 
 a year he had made such progress that he thought he 
 might now give out his prospectus. He worked at it for 
 three months, day and night; and almost lost his sight 
 over it. At the end of that time he had accomplished a 
 chef-<Vœuvre. 
 
 It was not a simple writing, but a real picture represent- 
 ing the creation of the world, and divided almost like The
 
 152 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENÏAL. 
 
 Transfiguration of Raphael. In the upper part, consecrated 
 to Eden, was the Eternal Father drawing Eve from the 
 side of the sleeping Adam, and surrounded by those 
 animals which the nobility of their nature brings near to 
 man, such as the lion, the horse, and the dog. At the 
 bottom was the sea, in the depths of which were to be seen 
 swimming the most fantastic fishes, and on the surface a 
 superb three-decked vessel. On the two sides, trees full 
 of birds put the heavens, which they touched with their 
 topmost branches, in communication with the earth, which 
 they grasped with their roots ; and in the space left in the 
 middle of all this, in the most perfectly horizontal line, 
 and reproduced in six different writings, was the adverb 
 "pitilessly." This time the artist was not deceived; the 
 picture produced the effect which he expected. A week 
 afterwards young Buvat had five male and two female 
 scholars. His reputation increased ; and Madame Buvat, 
 after some time passed in greater ease than she had known 
 even in her husband's lifetime, had the satisfaction of 
 dying perfectly secure about her son's future. 
 
 As to him, after having sufficiently mourned his mother, 
 he pursued the course of his life, one day exactly like the 
 other. He arrived thus at the age of twenty-six or twenty- 
 seven, having passed the stormy part of existence in the 
 eternal calm of his innocent and virtuous good nature. It 
 was about this time that the good man found an opportu- 
 nity of doing a suoiiine action, which he did instinctively 
 and simply, as he did everything; but perhaps a man of 
 mind might have passed it over without seeing it, or 
 turned away from it if he had seen it. There was in the 
 house No. 6 in the Rue des Orties, of which Buvat 
 occupied the attio, a young couple who were the admira- 
 tion of the whole quarter for the harmony in which they 
 lived. They appeared made for each other. The hus- 
 band was a man of from thirty-four to thirty-five years 
 of age, of a southern origin, with black eyes, beard, and 
 hair, sunburnt complexion, and teeth like pearls. He was
 
 JEAN BUVAT. 153 
 
 called Albert du Rocher, and was tlie son of an ancient 
 Cévenol chief, who had been forced to turn Catholic, with 
 all his family, at the persecutions of Monsieur Baville; 
 and half from opposition, half because youth seeks youth, 
 he had entered the household of M. le Duc de Chartres, 
 which was being reformed just at that time, having suf- 
 fered much in the campaign preceding the battle of 
 Steinkirk, where the prince had made his début in arms. 
 Du Rocher had obtained the place of La Neuville, who 
 had been killed in that charge which, conducted by the 
 Due de Chartres, had decided the victory. 
 
 The winter had interrupted the campaign, but in the 
 spring M, de Luxembourg had recalled all those ofiicers who 
 shared their life between war and pleasure. The Due de 
 Chartres, always eager to draw a sword which the jealousy 
 of Louis XIV. had so often replaced in the scabbard, was 
 one of the first to answer this appeal. Du Rocher followed 
 him with all his military household. The great day of 
 Neerwinden arrived. The Due de Chartres had, as usual, 
 the command of the guards ; as usual he charged at their 
 head, but so furiously that five times he found himself 
 almost alone in the midst of the enemy. At the fifth 
 time he had near him only a young man whom he scarcely 
 knew; but in the rapid glance which he cast on him he 
 recognised one of those spirits on whom one may rely, and 
 instead of yielding, as a brigadier of the enemy's army 
 who had recognised him proposed to him, he blew the pro- 
 poser's brains out with his pistol. At the same instant 
 two shots were fired, one of which took off the prince's 
 hat, and the other turned from the handle of his sword. 
 Scarcely had these two shots been fired when those who 
 had discharged them fell simultaneously, thrown down by 
 the prince's companion, — one by a sabre-stroke, the other 
 by a bullet. A general attack took place on these two 
 men, who were miraculously saved from any ball. The 
 prince's horse, however, fell under him. The young man 
 who was with him jumped from his, and offered it to him.
 
 154 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 Tlio piince hesitated to accept this service, whicli might 
 cost him who rendered it so dear; but the youug man, who 
 was tall and powerful, tliinking that this was not a 
 moment to exchange politenesses, took the prince in his 
 arms and forced him into the saddle. At tliis moment, 
 M. d'Arcy, who had lost his pupil in the mêlée, and who 
 was seeking for him with a detachment of light horse, 
 came up, just as, in spite of their courage, the prince and 
 his companion were about to be killed or taken. Both 
 were without wound, although the prince had received 
 four bullets in his (dothes. The Due de Chartres held out 
 his hand to his companion, and asked him his name; for, 
 although his face was known to him, he had been so short 
 a time in his service that he did not remember his name. 
 The young man replied tliat he was called Albert du 
 Rocher, and that he had taken the place of La Neuville, 
 who was killed at Steinkirk. 
 
 Then, turning towards those who had just arrived, — 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the prince, "you have prevented me 
 from being taken, but this gentleman," pointing to Du 
 Rocher, "has saved me from being killed." 
 
 At the end of the campaign, the Due de Chartres named 
 Du Rocher his first equerry, and, three years afterv/ards, 
 having retained the grateful affection which he had vowed 
 to him, he married him to a young person whom he loved, 
 and gave her a dov/ry. 
 
 As M. le Duc de Chartres was still but a young man, 
 this dowry was not large, but he promised to take charge 
 of the advancement of his protégée. This young person 
 was of English origin; her mother had accompanied 
 Madame Henriette when she came to France to marry 
 Monsieur; and after that princess had been poisoned by 
 the Chevalier d'Effiat, she had passed, as lady in wait- 
 ing, into the service of tlie Grande Dauphine. But in 1690 
 the Grande Dauphine died, and the Englishwoman, in her 
 insular pride, refused to stay with Mademoiselle Choin, 
 and retired to ;j little country house which she hired near
 
 JEAN lîUVAT. l.JO 
 
 St. Cloud, where she gave herself up entirely to the educa- 
 tion of her little Clarice. It was in the journeys of the 
 Due de Chartres to St. Cloud that Du Rocher made ac- 
 quaintance with this young girl, whom, as we have said, 
 he married in 1607. It was, then, these young people 
 who occupied the first floor of the house of which liuvat 
 had the attic. The young couple had first a son, whose 
 caligraphic education was confided to Buvat from the age 
 of four years. The young pupil was making the most 
 satisfactory progress when he was carried olî by the 
 measles. The despair of the parents was great; Buvat 
 shared it, the more sincerely that his pupil had shown 
 such aptitude. This sympathy for their grief on the part 
 of a stranger attached them to him; and one day, when 
 the young man was complaining of tlie precarious future 
 of artists, Albert du Rocher proposed to him to use his 
 influence to procure him a place at the government library. 
 Buvat jumped with joy at the idea of becoming a public 
 functionary; and, a month afterwards, Buvat received his 
 brevet as employee at the library in the manuscript depart- 
 ment, with a salary of nine huulrod livres a year. From 
 this day, Buvat, in the pride natural to his new position, 
 neglected his scholars, and gave himself up entirely to the 
 preparation of forms. Nine hundred livres, secured to the 
 end of his life, was quite a fortune, and the worthy writer, 
 thanks to the royal munificence, began to lead a life of 
 ease and comfort, promising his good neighbours that, if 
 they had a second child, no one but himself should teach 
 him to write. On their part, the poor parents wished 
 much to give this increase of occupation to the worthy 
 writer. God granted their desire. Towards the termina- 
 tion of 1702, Clarice was delivered of a daughter. 
 
 Great was the joy through the whole house. Buvat did 
 not feel at all at his ease; he ran up and down stairs, 
 beating his thighs with his hands, and singing below his 
 breath the burden of his favourite song, " Then let me go, 
 and let me play," etc. That day, for th.e first time since
 
 15G THE CIIKVALIEK j/lIAKMENTAL. 
 
 he had been appointed, that is to say, during two years, 
 he arrived at his office at a quarter past ten, instead of ten 
 o'clock exactly. A supernumerary, who thought that he 
 must be dead, had asked for his place. 
 
 The little Bathilde was not a week old before Buvat 
 wished to begin teaching her her strokes and pot-hooks, 
 saying that, to learn a thing well, it is necessary to com- 
 mence young. It was with the greatest difficulty that he 
 was made to understand that he must wait till she was 
 tww or three years old. He resigned himself; but, in 
 expectation of that time, he set about preparing copies. 
 At the end of three years Clarice kept her word, and Buvat 
 had the satisfaction of solemnly putting her first pen into 
 the hands of Bathilde. 
 
 It was the beginning of the year 1707, and the Due de 
 Chartres had become Due d'Orléans by the death of 
 Monsieur, and had at last obtained a command in Spain, 
 where he was to conduct the troops to the Maréchal de 
 Berwick. 
 
 Orders were directly given to all his military household 
 to hold themselves in readiness for the 5th of March. As 
 first equerry, it was necessary that Albert should accom- 
 pany the prince. This news, which would have formerly 
 given him the highest joy, made him now almost sad, for 
 the health of Clarice began to fill him with the greatest 
 uneasiness ; and the doctor had allowed the word consump- 
 tion to escape him. Whether Clarice felt herself seriously 
 attacked, or whether, more natural still, she feared only 
 for her husband, her burst of grief was so wild that Albert 
 himself could not help crying with her, and little Bathilde 
 and Buvat cried because they saw the others cry. 
 
 The 5th of March arrived; it was the day fixed for the 
 departure. In spite of her grief, Clarice had busied her- 
 self with her husband's outfit, and had wished that it was 
 worthy of the prince whom he accompanied. Moreover, 
 in the midst of her tears a ray of proud joy lit up her face 
 when she saw Albert in his elegant uniform, and on his
 
 JEAN BU VAT. 157 
 
 noble war-lîorse. As to Albert, lie was full of liope and 
 pride; the poor wife smiled sadly at his dreams for the 
 future; but in order not to dispirit him at this moment 
 she shut her grief up in her own heart, and, silencing 
 fears which she h;id for lii;n, and perhaps also those 
 which she experienced for herself, she was the first to say 
 to him, "Think not of me, but of your honour." 
 
 The Due d'Orléans and his corps d'armée entered Cata- 
 lonia in the first days of April, and advanced directl}-, 
 by forced marches, across Aragon. On arriving at 
 Segorbe, the duke learnt that the Maréchal de Berwick 
 held himself in readiness for a decisive battle; and in his 
 eagerness to arrive in time to take part in the action, he 
 sent Albert on at full speed, charging him to tell the 
 marshal that the Due d'Orléans was coming to his aid 
 with ten thousand men, and to pray that, if it did not 
 interfere with his arrangements, he would wait for him 
 before joining battle. 
 
 Albert left, but bewildered in the mountains, and misled 
 by ignorant guides, he was only a day before the army, 
 and he arrived at the marshal's camp at the very moment 
 when the engagement was going to commence. Albert 
 asked where the marshal was; they showed his position 
 on the left of the army^ on a little hill, from which he 
 overlooked the whole plain. The Due de Berwick was 
 there surrounded by his staff; Albert put his horse to the 
 gallop, and made straight towards him. 
 
 The messenger introduced himself to the marshal and 
 told him the cause of his coming. The marshal's only 
 answer was to point to the field of battle, and tell him to 
 return to the prince, and inform him what he had seen. 
 But Albert had smelt powder, and was not willing to 
 leave thus. He asked permission to wait till he could at 
 least give him the news of a victory. At that moment 
 a charge of dragoons seemed necessary to the marshal; he 
 told one of his aides-de-camp to carry the order to charge 
 to the colonel. The young man started at a gallop, but
 
 158 THE CHEVALIER d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 he had scarcely gone a tliirti of the distance which sepa- 
 rated the hill from the position of the regiment, wlien his 
 head was carried off by a cannon-ball. Scarcely had he 
 fallen from his stirrups when Albert, seizing this occasion 
 to take part in the battle, set spurs to his horse, trans- 
 mitted the order to the colonel, and, instead of returning to 
 the marshal, drew his sword, and charged at the head of 
 the regiment. 
 
 This charge was one of the most brilliant of the day, 
 and penetrated so completely to the heart of the imperial 
 guard, that they began to give way. The marshal had 
 involuntarily watched the young officer throughout the 
 mêlée, recognising him by liis uniform. He saw him 
 arrive at the enemy's standard, engage in a personal con- 
 test with him who carried it; then, when the regiment 
 had taken flight, he saw him retiirning with his conquest 
 in his arms. On reaching the marshal he threw the 
 colours at his feet; opening his mouth to speak, instead 
 of words, it was blood that came to his lips. The marshal 
 saw him totter in his saddle, and advanced to support him, 
 but before he had time to do so Albert had fallen; a ball 
 had pierced his breast. The marshal sprang from his 
 horse, but the brave young man lay dead on the standard 
 he had just taken. The Due d'Orléans arrived the day 
 after the battle. He regretted Albert as one regrets a 
 gallant gentleman ; but, after all, he had died the death of 
 the brave, in the midst of victory, and on the colours he 
 himself had taken. What more could be desired by a 
 Frenchman, a soldier, and a gentleman? 
 
 The duke wrote with his own hand to the poor widow. 
 If anything could console a wife for the death of her 
 husband, it would doubtless be such a letter; but poor 
 Clarice thought but of one thing, that she had no longer 
 a husband, and that her eliiid had no longer a father. At 
 four o'clock Buvat came in from the library; they told 
 him that Clarice wanted him, and he went down directly. 
 The poor woman did not cry, she did not complain; she
 
 JEAN BU VAT. 159 
 
 stood tearless and speechless, her eyes fixed and hollow as 
 those of a maniac. When Buvat entered, she did not even 
 turn her head towards him, but, merely holding out her 
 hand, she presented him the letter. Buvat looked right 
 and left to endeavour to liud out what was the matter, but 
 seeing nothing to direct his conjectures, he looked at the 
 paper and read aloud : — 
 
 Madame, — Your husband has died for France and for me. 
 Neither France nor I can give you back your husband ; but remem- 
 ber that, if ever you are in want of anything, we are both your 
 debtors. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Philippe d'Orléans. 
 
 " What ! " cried Buvat, fixing his great eyes on Clarice, 
 " M. du Rocher, — it is not possible ! " 
 
 "Papa is dead," said little Bathilde, leaving the corner 
 where she was playing with her doll, and running to her 
 mother; "is it true that papa is dead ?" 
 
 " Alas ! yes, my dear child ! " said Clarice, finding at 
 once words and tears. "Oh, yes, it is true; it is but too 
 true, unhappy that we are ! " 
 
 "Madame," said Buvat, who had been seeking for some 
 consolation to offer, "you must not grieve thus; perhaps 
 it is a false report." 
 
 "Do you not see that the letter is from the Due 
 d'Orléans himself? " cried the poor widow. " Yes, my 
 child, your father is dead. Weep, my child; perhaps in 
 seeing your tears God will have pity on me." And saying 
 these things, the poor widow coiighed so painfully that 
 Buvat felt his own breast torn by it; but his fright was 
 still greater when he saw that the handkerchief which she 
 drew from her mouth was covered with blood. Then he 
 understood that a greater misfortune threatened Bathilde 
 than that which had just befallen her. 
 
 The apartments which Clarice occupied were now too 
 large for her. No one was astonished when she left them
 
 160 THE CHEVALIER d'IIAKMENTAL. 
 
 for smaller ones on the second floor. Besides her grief, 
 which annihilated all her other faculties, Clarice felt, in 
 common with all other noble hearts, a certain unwilling- 
 ness to ask, even from her country, a reward for the blood 
 which had been spilt for it, particularly when that blood 
 is still warm, as was that of Albert. The poor widow 
 hesitated to present herself to the minister at war to ask 
 for her due. At the end of three months, when she took 
 courage to make the hrst steps, the taking of Requena and 
 that of Saragossa had already thrown into the shade the 
 battle of Almanza. Clarice showed the prince's letter. 
 The secretary replied that with such a letter she could not 
 fail in obtaining what she wanted, but that she must wait 
 for his Highness's return. Clarice looked in a glass at her 
 emaciated face, and smiled sadly. 
 
 "Wait!" said she; "yes, it would be better, but God 
 knows if I shall have the time." 
 
 The result of this repulse was, that Clarice left her 
 lodging on the second floor for two little rooms on the 
 third. The poor widow had no other fortune than her 
 husband's savings. The little dowry which the duke had 
 given her had disajDpeared in the purchase of furniture 
 and her husband's outfit. As the new lodging which she 
 took was much smaller than the other, no one was aston- 
 ished that Clarice sold part of her furniture. 
 
 The return of the Due d'Orléans was expected in the 
 autumn, and Clarice counted on this to ameliorate her 
 situation; but, contrary to the usual custom, the army, 
 instead of taking winter quarters, continued the campaign, 
 and news arrived that, instead of returning, the duke 
 was about to lay siege to Lerida. Now, in 1647, the great 
 Conde himself had failed before Lerida, and the new siege, 
 even supposing that it ever came to a successful issue, 
 threatened to be of a terrible length. 
 
 Clarice risked some new advances. This time they had 
 forgotten even her husband's name. She had again re- 
 course to the prince's letter, which had its ordinary effect;
 
 JEAN BUY AT. 161 
 
 but they told her that after the seige of Lerida the duke 
 could not fail to return, and the poor widow was again 
 obliged to wait 
 
 She left her two rooms for a little attic opposite that of 
 Buvat, and she sold the rest of her furniture, only keeping 
 a table, some chairs, Bathilde's little cot, and a bed for 
 herself. 
 
 Buvat had seen, without taking much notice, these 
 frequent removals, but it was not very difficult to under- 
 stand his neighbour's situation. Buvat, who was a care- 
 ful man, had some savings which he had a great wish 
 to put at his neighbour's service; but Clarice's pride 
 increased with her poverty, and poor Buvat had never yet 
 dared to make the offer. Twenty times he had gone to 
 her with a little rouleau, which contained his whole for- 
 tune of fifty or sixty louis, but every time he left without 
 having dared to take it out of his pocket; but one day it 
 happened that Buvat, descending to go to business, having 
 met the landlord, who was making his quarterly round, 
 and guessing that his neighbour might be embarrassed, 
 even for so small a sum , took the proprietor into his own 
 room, saying that the day before Madame du Rocher had 
 given him the money, that he might get both receipts at 
 once. The landlord, who had feared a delay on the part 
 of his tenant, did not care whence the money came, and 
 willingly gave the two receipts. 
 
 Buvat, in the naïveté of his soul, was tormented by this 
 good action as by a crime. He was three or four days 
 without daring to present himself to his neighbour, so that 
 when he returned, he found her quite affected by what 
 she thought an act of indifference on his part. Buvat 
 found Clarice so much changed during these few days 
 that he left her wiping his eyes, and for the first time he 
 went to bed without having sung, during the fifteen turns 
 he generally took in his bedroom, — 
 
 " Then let me go," etc., 
 11
 
 162 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 which was a proof of melancholy preoccupation. The 
 last days of winter passed, and brought, in passing, the 
 news that Lerida had surrendered, and that the young and 
 indefatigable general was about to besiege Tortosa. This 
 was the last blow for poor Clarice. She understood that 
 spring was coming, and with it a new campaign, which 
 would retain the duke with the army. Strength failed 
 her, and she was obliged to take to her bed. 
 
 The position of Clarice was frightful. She did not 
 deceive herself as to her illness. She felt that it was 
 mortal, and she had no one in the world to whom she 
 could recommend her child. The poor woman feared 
 death, not on her own account, but on her daughter's, who 
 would not have even the stone of her mother's tomb to 
 rest her head on, for the unfortunate have no tomb. Her 
 husband had only distant relations, from whom she could 
 not solicit aid; as to her own family, born in France, where 
 her mother died, she had not even known them ; besides, 
 she understood that, if there were any hope from that 
 quarter, there was no longer the time to seek it. Death 
 was approaching. 
 
 One night Buvat, who the evening before had left 
 Clarice devoured by fever, heard her groaning so deeply 
 that he jumped from his bed and dressed himself to go and 
 offer her help ; but on arriving at the door, he did not dare 
 to enter or to knock, — Clarice was sobbing and praying 
 aloud. At this moment Bathilde woke and called her 
 mother. Clarice drove back her tears, took her child from 
 the cradle, and, placing her on her knees on her own bed, 
 made her repeat what prayers she knew, and between each 
 of them Buvat heard her cry in a sad voice, — 
 
 "Oh, my God! listen to my poor child! " 
 
 There was in this nocturnal scene — the child scarcely 
 out of the cradle, and a mother half-way to the grave, 
 both addressing the Lord as their only support in the 
 silence of night — something so deeply sad that good Buvat 
 fell on his knees, and inwardly swore, what he had not
 
 JEAN BUVAT. 163 
 
 dared to offer aloud, that though Bathilde might be an 
 orphan, yet she should not be abandoned. God had heard 
 the double prayers which had ascended to Him, and he 
 had granted them. 
 
 The next day Buvat did what he had never dared to do 
 before. He took Bathilde in his arms, leaned his good- 
 natured round face against the charming little face of the 
 child, and said softly, — 
 
 " Be easy, poor little innocent, there are yet good people 
 on the earth." 
 
 The little girl threw her arms round his neck and kissed 
 him. Buvat felt that the tears stood in his eyes, and as 
 he had often heard that you must not cry before sick 
 people, for fear of agitating them, he drew out his watch, 
 and assuming a gruff voice to conceal his emotion, — 
 
 "Hum, it is a quarter to ten, I must go. Good day, 
 Madame du Rocher." 
 
 On the staircase he met the doctor, and asked him what 
 he thought of the patient. As he was a doctor who came 
 through charity, and did not consider himself at all bound 
 to be considerate when he was not paid, he replied that in 
 three days she would be dead. 
 
 Coming back at four o'clock, Buvat found the whole 
 house in commotion. The doctor had said that they must 
 send for the viaticum. They had sent for the curé, and 
 he had arrived, and, preceded by the sacristan and his 
 little bell, he had without any preparation entered the 
 sick-room. Clarice received it with her hands joined, and 
 her eyes turned towards heaven; but the impression pro- 
 duced on her was not the less terrible. Buvat heard 
 singing, and thought what must have happened. He went 
 up directly, and found the landing and the door of the sick- 
 room surrounded by all the gossips of the neighbourhood, 
 who had, as was the custom at that time, followed the 
 holy sacrament. Round the bed where the dying woman 
 was extended, already so pale and motionless that if it had 
 not been for the two great tears tliat ran down her cheeks
 
 164 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 she might have been taken for a marble statue lying on a 
 tomb, the priests were singing the prayers for tlie dying, 
 and in a corner of the room the little Bathilde, whom they 
 had separated from her mother that she might not distract 
 her attention during her last act of religion, was seated on 
 the ground, not daring to cry, friglitened at seeing so 
 many people she did not know, and hearing so much she 
 did not understand. 
 
 As soon as she saw Buvat, the child ran to him as the 
 only person she knew in this grave assembly. Buvat took 
 her in his arms, and knelt with her near the bed of the 
 dying woman. At this moment Clarice lowered her eyes 
 from the heavens towards the earth. Without doubt she 
 had been addressing a prayer to Pleaven to send a protector 
 to her daughter. She saw Bathilde in the arms of the 
 only friend she had in the world. With the penetrating 
 glance of the dying she read this pure and devoted heart, 
 and saw what he had not dared to tell her; and as she sat 
 up in bed she held out her hand to him, uttering a cry of 
 gratitude and joy such as the angels only can understand; 
 and, as if she had exhausted her remaining strength in this 
 maternal outburst, she sank back fainting on the bed. 
 
 The religious ceremony was finished. The priests re- 
 tired first, then the pious followed; the indifferent and 
 curious remained till the last. Among this number were 
 several women. Buvat asked if there was none amongst 
 them who knew a good sick nurse. One of them presented 
 berself directly, declared, in the midst of a chorus of her 
 companions, that she had all the necessary virtues for this 
 honourable situation, but that, just on account of these 
 good qualities, she was accustomed to be paid a week in 
 advance, as she was much sought after in the neighbour- 
 hood. Buvat asked the price of this week. She replied 
 that to any other it would be sixteen livres, but as the 
 poor lady did not seem rich, she would be contented with 
 twelve. Buvat, who had just received his month's pay, 
 took two crowns from his pocket and gave them to her
 
 JEAN BUVAT. 165 
 
 without bargaining. He would have given double if she 
 had asked it. 
 
 Clarice was still fainting. The nurse entered on her 
 duty by giving her some vinegar instead of salts. Buvat 
 retired. As to Bathilde, she had been told that her 
 mother was asleep. The poor child did not know the 
 difference between sleep and death, and returned to her 
 corner to play with her doll. 
 
 At the end of an hour Bnvat returned to ask news of 
 Clarice. She had recovered from her fainting, but though 
 her eyes were open she did not speak. However, she 
 recognised him, for as soon as he entered she joined her 
 hands as if to pray, and then she appeared to seek for 
 something under her bolster. The nurse shook her head, 
 and approaching the patient, — 
 
 "Your pillow is very well," said she, "you must not 
 disarrange it." Then, turning to Buvat, "Ah! these sick 
 peoi)le ! " added she, shrugging her shoulders, "they are 
 always fancying that there is something making them 
 uncomfortable: it is death, only they do not know it." 
 
 Clarice sighed deeply, but remained motionless. The 
 nurse approached her, and passed over her lips the feather 
 of a quill dipped in a cordial of her own invention, which 
 she had just been to fetch at the chemist's. Buvat could 
 not support this spectacle; he recommended the mother 
 and child to the care of the nurse, and left. 
 
 The next day Clarice was still worse, for though her 
 e)'es were open, she did not seem to recognise any one but 
 her daughter, who was lying near her on the bed, and 
 whose little hand she held. On her part, the child, as if 
 she felt that this was the last maternal embrace, remained 
 quiet and silent. On seeing her kind friend she only said, 
 "Mamma sleeps." 
 
 It appeared to Buvat that Clarice moved as if she heard 
 and recognised her child's voice, but it might have been 
 only a nervous trembling. He asked the nurse if the 
 sick woman had wanted anything. She shook her head,
 
 166 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 saying, "What would be the use? It wouhl be money 
 thrown away. These apothecaries make quite enough 
 already." Buvat would have liked to stay with Clarice, 
 for he saw that she had not long to live, but he never 
 would have thought of absenting himself for a day from 
 business unless he were dying himself. He arrived there, 
 then, as usual, but so sad and melancholy that the king 
 did not gain much by his presence. They remarked with 
 astonishment that that day Buvat did not wait till four 
 o'clock had struck to take off the false blue sleeves which 
 he wore to protect his coat, but that at the first stroke of 
 the clock he got up, took his hat, and went out. The 
 supernumerary, Avho had already asked for his place, 
 watched him as he went, then, when he had closed the 
 door, " Well ! " said he, loud enough to be heard by the 
 chief, "there is one who takes it easy." 
 
 Buvat's presentiments were confirmed. On arriving at 
 the house he asked the porter's wife how Clarice was. 
 
 "Ah, God be thanked!" replied she, "the poor woman 
 is happy; she suffers no more." 
 
 "She is dead! " cried Buvat, with that shudder always 
 produced by this terrible word. 
 
 "About three-quarters of an hour ago," replied she; 
 and she went on darning her stocking, and singing a merry 
 song which she had interrupted to reply to Buvat. 
 
 Buvat ascended the steps of the staircase one by one, 
 stopping frequently to wipe his forehead; then, on arriv- 
 ing on the landing, where was his room and that of 
 Clarice, he was obliged to lean his head against the wall, 
 for he felt his legs fail him. He stood silent and hesitat- 
 ing, when he thought he heard Bathilde's voice crying. 
 He remembered the poor child, and this gave him courage. 
 At the door, however, he stopped again; then he heard 
 the groans of the little girl more distinctly. 
 
 " Mamma ! " cried the child, in a little voice broken' by 
 sobs, " will you not wake ? Mamma, why are you so 
 cold?" Then, running to the door, and striking with her
 
 JEAN RU VAT. 167 
 
 hand, "Come, my kind friend, come," said she; "I am 
 alone, and I am afraid." 
 
 Buvat was astonished that they had not removed the 
 child from her mother's room; and the profound pity 
 which the poor little creature inspired made him forget 
 the painful feeling which had stopped him for a moment. 
 He then raised his hand to open the door. The door was 
 locked. At this moment he heard tlie porter's wife call- 
 ing him. He ran to the stairs, and asked her where tlie 
 key was. 
 
 "Ah! " replied she, "how stupid I am; I forgot to give 
 it you as you passed." 
 
 Buvat ran down as quickly as he could. 
 
 "And why is the key here? " he asked. 
 
 " The landlord placed it here after he had taken away 
 the furniture," answered she. 
 
 "What ! taken away the furniture?" cried Buvat. 
 
 "Of course he has taken away the furniture. Your 
 neighbour was not rich, Monsieur Buvat, and no doubt 
 she owes money on all sides. Ah ! the landlord will not 
 stand tricks; the rent first. That is but fair. Besides, 
 she does not want furniture any more, poor dear ! " 
 
 "But the nurse, where is she?" 
 
 "When she saw that her patient was dead, she went 
 away. Her business was finished, but she will come back 
 to shroud her for a crown, if you like. It is generally the 
 portress who does this: but I cannot; I am too sensitive." 
 
 Buvat understood, shuddering at all that had passed. 
 He went up quickly. His hand shook so that he could 
 scarcely find the lock; but at length the key turned, and 
 the door opened. Clarice was extended on the ground on 
 the mattress out of her bed, in the middle of the dis- 
 mantled room. An old sheet was thrown over her, and 
 ought to have hidden her entirely, but little Bathilde had 
 moved it to seek for her mother's face, which she was 
 kissing when he entered. 
 
 "Ah, my friend," cried she, "wake my mamma, who
 
 168 THE chp:valikii d'haumental. 
 
 sleeps still. Wake her, I beg! " And the child ran to 
 liuvat, who was watching from the door this pitiable 
 spectacle. Buvat took Bathilde back to tlie corpse. 
 
 "Kiss your mother for the last time, my poor child," 
 said lie. 
 
 The child obeyed. 
 
 "And now," said he, "let her sleep. One day God will 
 wake her;" and he took the child in his arms and carried 
 her away. The child made no resistance. She seemed to 
 understand her weakness and her isolation. 
 
 He put her in his own bed, for they had carried away 
 even the child's cot; and when she was asleep, he went out 
 to give information of the death to the commissary of the 
 quarter, and to make arrangements for the funeral. 
 
 When he returned, the portress gave him a paper, which 
 the nurse had found in Clarice's hand. Buvat opened and 
 recognised the letter from the Due d'Orleans. This was 
 the sole inheritance which the poor mother had left to her 
 daughter.
 
 BATHILDE. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 . BATHILDE. 
 
 In going to make his declaration to the commissary of 
 the quarter and his arrangements for the funeral, Buvat 
 had not forgotten to look for a woman who could take care 
 of little Bathilde, an office which he could not undertake 
 himself; first, because he was entirely ignorant of its du- 
 ties; and, secondly, because it would be impossible to 
 leave the child alone during the six hours he spent daily 
 at the office. Fortunately, he knew the very person he 
 wanted; a woman of from thirty-five to tiàrty-eight years 
 of age, who had been in IVIadame Buvat's service, and 
 whose good qualities he had duly appreciated. It was 
 arranged with Nanette — for this was the good woman's 
 name — that she should live in the house, do the cooking, 
 take care of little Bathilde, and have fifty livres a year 
 wages, and her board. This new arrangement must greatly 
 change all Buvat's habits, by obliging him to have a house- 
 keeper, whereas he had always lived as a bachelor, and 
 taken his meals at an eating-house. He could no longer 
 keep his attic, which was now too small for him, and next 
 morning he went in search of a new lodging. He found 
 one, Rue Pagevin, as he wished to be near the royal 
 library, that he might not have too far to walk in wet 
 weather. This lodging contained two rooms, a closet, 
 and a kitchen. He took it on the spot, and went to buy 
 the necessary furniture for Bathilde and Nanette's rooms; 
 and the same evening, after their return from business, 
 they moved to their new lodgings. 
 
 The next day, which was Sunday, Clarice was buried; 
 so that Buvat had no need to ask for a day's leave even 
 for this.
 
 170 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 For the first week or two, Bathilde asked constantly for 
 her mamma; but her friend Buvat had brought her a great 
 many pretty phiythings to console her, so that she soon 
 began to ask for her less frequently; and as she had been 
 told she had gone to join her father, she at length only 
 asked 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 and netted splendidly. In spite of these 
 divers talents, Buvat understood that he and Nanette 
 would not suffice for the education of a young girl; and 
 that though she might write magnificently, know her five 
 rules, and be able to sew and net, she would still know 
 only half of what she should. Buvat had looked the 
 obligation he had undertaken full in the face. His was 
 one of those happy organisations which think with the 
 heart, and he had understood that, though she had become 
 his ward, Bathilde remained the child of Albert and 
 Clarice. He resolved, then, to give her an education con- 
 formable, not to her present situation, but to the name she 
 bore. 
 
 In arriving at this resolution, Buvat had reasoned, very 
 simply, that he owed his place to Albert, and consequently 
 the income of that place belonged to Bathilde. This is 
 how he divided his nine hundred livres a year: four hun- 
 dred and fifty for music, drawing, and dancing masters; 
 four hundred and fifty for Bath il de' s dowry. 
 
 Now, supposing that Bathilde, who was four years old, 
 should marry at eighteen, the interest and the capital 
 together would amount to something like nine or ten thou- 
 sand francs. This was not much, he knew, and was much 
 troubled by that knowledge; but it was in vain to think, 
 he could not make it more. 
 
 To defray the expense of their living, lodgings, and 
 clothing for himself and Bathilde, he would again begin 
 to give writing lessons and make copies. For this purpose
 
 BATIIILDE. 171 
 
 he got up at five o'clock in the morning, and went to bed 
 at ten at night. This would be all profit; for, thanks to 
 this new arrangement, he would lengthen his life by two 
 or three hours daily. For some time these good resolu- 
 tions prospered; neither lessons nor copies were wanting-, 
 and, as two years passed before Bathilde had finished the 
 early education he himself undertook to give her, he was 
 able to add nine hundred francs to her little treasure. At 
 six years old Bathilde had what the daughters of the 
 richest and noblest houses seldom have, — masters for 
 music, drawing, and dancing. Making sacrifices for this 
 charming child was entirely pleasure; for she appeared to 
 have received from God one of those happy organisations 
 whose aptitude makes us believe in a former world, for 
 they appear not so much to be learning a new thing as to 
 be remembering one formerly known. As to her beauty, 
 which had given such early promise, it had amply ful- 
 filled it. 
 
 Buvat was happy the whole week, whilst after each 
 lesson he received the compliments of the master, and 
 very proud on Sundays, when, having put on his salmon- 
 coloured coat, his black velvet breeches, and chiné stock- 
 ings, he took Bathilde by the hand and went for his 
 weekly walk. 
 
 It was generally towards the Chemin des Porcherons 
 that he directed his steps. This was a rendezvous for 
 bowls, and Buvat had formerly been a great lover 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 so correct, that he could tell at the first glance, 
 and without fail, which ball was nearest the mark. From 
 his judgments there was no appeal, and they were received 
 with neither more nor less respect than those of St. Louis 
 at Vincennes. But it must be said to his credit that his 
 predilection for this walk was not entirely egotistical : it 
 also led to the marsh of the Grange Batelière, whose black 
 and gloomy waters attracted a great many of those dragon-
 
 172 THE CHEVALIKIl l/ll VKxMENTAL. 
 
 flies with the gauzy wings and golden bodies wliich cliil 
 dren delight to pursue. One of Bathilde's greatest amuse- 
 ments was to run, with her green net in her hand, her 
 beautiful fair curls floating in the wind, after the butter- 
 flies and dragon-flies. The result of this was that lîathilde 
 had many accidents to her white frock, but, provided she 
 was amused, Buvat took very philosophically a spot or a 
 tear. Tliis was Nanette's affair. The good woman scolded 
 well on their return, but Buvat closed her mouth by shrug- 
 ging his shoulders and saying, "lîah! one can't put old 
 heads on young shoulders." 
 
 And, as Nanette had a great respect for proverbs, which 
 she occasionally used herself, she generally gave way to 
 the moral of this one. It happened also sometimes, but 
 this was only on fete days, that Buvat complied with 
 Bathilde's request to take her to Montmartre to see the 
 windmills. Then they set out earlier. Nanette took 
 dinner with them, which was destined to be eaten on the 
 esplanade of the abbey. They did not get home till eight 
 o'clock in the evening, but from the Cross des Porcherons 
 Bathilde slept in Buvat's arms. 
 
 Things went on thus till the year 1712, at which time 
 the great king found himself so embarrassed in his affairs 
 that the only thing left for him to do was to leave off 
 paying his employees. Buvat was warned of this admin- 
 istrative measure by the cashier, who announced to him 
 one fine morning, when he presented himself to receive his 
 month's paj^, that there was no mone}'. Buvat looked at 
 the man with an astonished air: it had 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 
 accident only had interrupted the payment, and went back 
 to his oftice singing his favourite 
 
 "Then let me go," etc. 
 
 "Pardon," said the supernumerary, who after waiting 
 for seven years had at last been named employee the first
 
 BATHILDE. 173 
 
 of tlie preceding montli, "you must be very ligiit-hearted 
 to sing Wiien 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, Ducou- 
 dray? He thinks they will 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 shall see next month." 
 
 "And if they do not pay you next month, nor the 
 following months, what shall you do, Buvat?" 
 
 "What shall I do!" said Buvat, astonished that there 
 could be a doubt as to his resolution, "I should come just 
 the same." 
 
 What! if you were not paid you would come still? " 
 
 "^lonsieur," said Buvat, "for ten years the king has 
 paid me down on the nail; surely after that he has a right 
 to ask for a little credit if he is embarrassed." 
 
 " Vile flatterer," said the clerk. 
 
 The month passed and pay-day came again. Buvat pre- 
 sented himself with the most perfect confidence that they 
 would pay his arrears; but to his astonishment they told 
 him that there was still no money. Buvat asked when 
 there would be any. The cashier replied that he should 
 like to know. Buvat was quite confused, and went away; 
 but this time without singing. The same day the clerk 
 resigned. Now, as it was difficult to replace a clerk who 
 resigned because he was not paid, and whose work must 
 be done all the same, the chief told Buvat, besides his 
 own work, to do that of the missing clerk. Buvat under-
 
 174 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 took it without murmur; and as his ordinary work had 
 left him some time free, at the end of the month the busi- 
 ness was done. 
 
 They did not pay the third month any more than the 
 two others, — it was a real bankruptcy. But as has been 
 seen, Buvat never bargained with his duties. 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 or fourteen years old, whose 
 beauty became every day more remarkable, and who began 
 to understand all the difficulties of her position. For some 
 time the walks in the Porcheron and the expedition to 
 Montmartre had been given up, under pretext that she 
 preferred remaining at home to draw or play on the 
 harpsichord. 
 
 Buvat did not understand these sedentary tastes which 
 Bathilde had acquired so suddenly. And as, after having 
 tried two or three times to go out without her, he found 
 that it was not the walk itself he cared for, he resolved, 
 as he must have air upon a Sunday, to look for a lodging 
 with a garden. But lodgings with gardens were too dear 
 for his finances, and having seen the lodging in the Rue 
 du Temps Perdu, he had the bright idea of replacing the 
 garden by a terrace. He came back to tell Bathilde what 
 he had seen, telling her that the only inconvenience in 
 this lodging would be that their rooms must be separated, 
 and that she would be obliged to sleep on the fourth floor 
 with Nanette, and he on the fifth. This was rather a 
 recommendation to Bathilde. For some time she had 
 begun to feel it inconvenient that her room should be only 
 separated by a door from that of a man still young, and 
 who was neither her father nor her husband. She there- 
 fore assured Buvat that the lodging must suit him admi- 
 rably, and advised him to secure it at once. Buvat was 
 delighted, and the same day gave notice to quit his old 
 lodgings, and at the half-term he moved.
 
 BATHILDE. 175 
 
 Bathilde was right; for since her black mantle sketched 
 her beautiful shoulders, since her mittens showed the 
 prettiest fingers in the world, since of the Bathilde of 
 former times there was nothing left but her childish feet, 
 every one began to remark that Euvat was young, — that 
 the tutor and the pupil were living under the same roof. 
 In fact, the gossips who, when Bathilde was six years old, 
 worshipped Buvat's footsteps, now began to cry out about 
 his criminality because she was fifteen. Poor Buvat! If 
 ever echo was innocent and pure, it was that of the room 
 which adjoined Bathilde's, and which for ten years had 
 sheltered his good round head, into which a bad thought 
 had never entered, even in dreams. 
 
 But on arriving at the Rue du Temps Perdu it was still 
 worse. In the Rue Pagevin, where his admirable conduct 
 to the child was known, this remembrance had protected 
 him against calumny; but in their new quarter this was 
 quite unknown, and their inscribing themselves under two 
 different names prevented any idea of very near relation- 
 ship. Some supposed that they saw in Bathilde the result 
 of an old passion which the Church had forgotten to 
 consecrate, but this idea fell at the first examination. 
 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. In fact, Bathilde's whole 
 person breathed elegance and distinction, while poor Buvat 
 was the type of vulgar good nature. The result of this 
 was, that the women began to look at Bathilde with con- 
 tempt, and that men called Buvat a lucky fellow. Tho 
 previsions of the clerk who resigned were realised. For 
 eighteen months Buvat had not touched a sou of his pay, 
 and yet had not relaxed for a moment in his punctu- 
 ality. Moreover, he was haunted with a fear that the 
 ministry would turn away a third of the clerks for the 
 sake of economy. Buvat would have looked on the loss of 
 his place as a great misfortune, although it took him six
 
 176 TUE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 hours a day which he might have employed in a lucrative 
 manner. They took care not to dismiss a man who worked 
 the better the less they paid him. 
 
 Bathilde began to think that there was something pass- 
 ing of which she was ignorant. She thought it would be 
 of no use to ask Buvat, and, addressing herself to Nanette, 
 who after a short time avowed all to her, Bathilde learnt 
 for the first time all she owed to Buvat; and that to pay 
 her masters and to amass her dowry Buvat worked from 
 morning till night; and that in spite of this, as his salary 
 was not paid, he would be obliged sooner or later to tell 
 Bathilde that they must retrench all expenses that were 
 not absolutely necessary. 
 
 Bathilde's first impulse on learning this devotion was 
 to fall at Buvat's feet and express her gratitude; but she 
 soon understood that, to arrive at her desired end, she 
 must feign ignorance. 
 
 The next day Bathilde told Buvat, laughing, that it was 
 throwing away money 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 beautiful things in th& 
 world, and as when she sang he was in the seventh 
 heaven, he found no difficulty in believing her, particularly 
 as her masters, with unusual candour, avowed that their 
 pupil knew enough to study alone; but Bathilde had a 
 purifying influence on all who approached her. Bathilde 
 was not satisfied with saving expense, but also wished to 
 increase his gains. Although she had made equal progress 
 in music and drawing, she understood that drawing was her 
 only resource, and that music could be nothing but a re- 
 laxation. She reserved all her attention for drawing; and 
 as she was really very talented, she soon made charming 
 sketches. At last one day she wished to know what they 
 were worth; and she asked Buvat, in going to his office, 
 to show them to the person from whom she bought her 
 paper and crayons, and who lived at the corner of the 
 Rue de Cléry. She gave him two children's heads which
 
 BATHILDE. 177 
 
 she had drawn from fancy, to ask their value. Buvat 
 undertook the commission without suspecting any trick, 
 and executed it with his ordinary naivete. The dealer, 
 accustomed to such propositions, turned them round and 
 round with a disdainful air, and, criticising them severely, 
 said that he could only offer fifteen francs each for them. 
 Buvat was hurt not by the price offered, but by the dis- 
 respectful manner in which the shopkeeper had spoken of 
 Bathilde's talent. He drew them quickly out of the 
 dealer's hands, saying that he thanked him. 
 
 The man, thinking that Buvat thought the price too 
 small, said that, for friendship's sake, he would go as 
 high as forty francs for the two; but Buvat, offended at 
 the slight offered to the genius of his ward, answered 
 dryly that the drawings which he had shown him were not 
 for sale, and that he had only asked their value through 
 curiosity. Every one knows that from the moment draw- 
 ings are not for sale they increase singularly in value, and 
 the dealer at length offered fifty francs; but Buvat, little 
 tempted by this proposition, by which he did not even 
 dream of profiting, took the drawings and left the shop 
 with all the dignity of wounded pride. When he returned, 
 the dealer was standing as if by chance, at his door. 
 Buvat, seeing him, kept at a distance; but the shopkeeper 
 came to him, and, putting his two hands on his shoulders, 
 asked him if he would not let him have the two draw- 
 ings for the price he had named. Buvat replied a second 
 time, sharply, that they were not for sale. "That is a 
 pity," replied the dealer, "for I would have given eighty 
 francs." And he returned to his door with an indiffer- 
 ent air, but watching Buvat as he did so. Buvat, how- 
 ever, went on 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 of 
 doing. She ran out to meet him, for she was very anx- 
 ious to hear the result of the negotiation, and, with the 
 
 12
 
 178 THE CIIKVALIEU D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 remains of her childish habits, throwing lier arms round 
 his neck, — 
 
 "Well, my friend," asked she, "what did IMonsieur 
 Papillon say?" 
 
 "Monsieur Papillon," replied Buvat, wijjing his fore- 
 head, "is an impertinent rascal." 
 
 Poor Bath il de turned pale. 
 
 " How so ? " asked she. 
 
 "Yes; an impertinent rascal, who, instead of admiring 
 your drawings, has dared to criticise them." 
 
 "Oh! if that is all," said Bathilde, laughing, "he is 
 right. Remember that I am 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, laying a 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 true that Monsieur Papillon is an impertinent 
 rascal ! " 
 
 This was not Bathilde's opinion; but she changed the 
 conversation, saying that dinner was ready, — an announce- 
 ment which generally gave a new course to Buvat's ideas. 
 
 Buvat gave back the drawings to Bathilde without 
 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 Monsieur Papillon in the world. The same evening, 
 while Buvat was making copies, Bathilde gave the draw- 
 ings to Nanette, telling her to take them to Monsieur 
 Papillon, and ask for the eighty francs he had offered to
 
 BATHILDK. 179 
 
 Buvat. Nanette obeyed, and Batliilde awaited her return 
 with great anxiety, for she still believed there must be 
 some mistake as to the price. Ten minutes afterwards she 
 was quite assured, for the good woman entered with the 
 money. Bathilde looked at it for an instant with tears in 
 her eyes, then, kneeling before the crucifix at the foot of 
 her. bed, she offered up a thanksgiving that she was 
 enabled to return to Buvat a part of what he had done for 
 her. 
 
 The next day Buvat, in returning from the office, passed 
 before Fapillon's door, but his astonishment was great 
 when, through the windows of the shop, he saw the draw- 
 ings. The door opened, and Papillon appeared. 
 
 "So," said he> "you thought better of it, and made up 
 your mind to part with the two drawings which were not 
 for sale? Ah! I did not know you were so cunning, 
 neighbour. But, however, tell Mademoiselle Bathilde, 
 that, as she is a good girl, out of consideration for her, if 
 she will do two such drawings every month, and promise 
 not to drav/ for any one else for a year, I will take them 
 at the same price." 
 
 Buvat was astonished; he grumbled out an answer which 
 the man could not hear and went lionip. Pie went up stain 
 and opened the door without Bathilde having heard him, 
 She was drawing; she had already begun another head, 
 and perceiving her good friend standing at the door with 
 a troubled air, she put down her paper and pencils, and 
 ran to him, asking Avhat was the matter. Buvat wiped 
 away two great tears. 
 
 "So," said he, "the child of my benefactors, of Clarice 
 Gray and Albert du Kocher, is working for her bread! " 
 
 "Father," replied Bathilde, half crying, half laughing; 
 "I am not working, I am amusing myself." 
 
 The word "father" was substituted on great occasions 
 for "kind friend," and ordinarily had the eiïect of calming 
 his greatest troubles, but t.iis time it failed. 
 
 "I am neither your father, nor your good friend/' mur-
 
 180 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 mured he, "but simply poor Buvat, whom the king pays 
 no longer, and who does not gain enough by his writing to 
 continue to give you the education you ought to have." 
 
 "Oh! you want to make me die with grief," cried 
 Batliilde, bursting into tears, so plainly was Buvat's dis- 
 tress painted on his countenance. 
 
 "I kill you with grief, my child?" said Buvat, wfth 
 an accent of profound tenderness. "What have 1 done? 
 What have I said? You must not cry. It wanted nothing 
 but that to make me miserable." 
 
 "But," said Bathilde, "I shall always cry if you do not 
 let me do what I like." 
 
 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 fallen from her eyes. 
 
 "Well," said Buvat, "do as you like, but promise me 
 that when the king pays my arrears — " 
 
 " Well, well," cried Bathilde, interrupting him, " we shall 
 see all that later; meanwhile, the dinner is getting cold." 
 And, taking him by the arm, she led him into the little 
 room, where, by her jokes and gaiety, she soon succeeded 
 in removing the last traces of sadness from Buvat's face. 
 
 What would he have said if he had known all? 
 
 Bathilde thought she could do the two drawings for 
 Monsieur Papillon in eight or ten days; there therefore 
 remained the half, at least, of every month, which she 
 was determined not to lose. She, therefore, charged 
 Nanette to search amongst the neighbours for some difli- 
 cult, and consequently well-paid needlework, which she 
 could do in Buvat's absence. Nanette easily found what 
 she sought. It was the time for laces. The great ladies 
 paid fifty louis a yard for guipure, and then ran carelessly 
 through the woods with these transparent dresses. The 
 result of this was, that many a rent had to be concealed 
 from mothers and husbands, so that at this time there was 
 more to be made by mending than by selling laces. From 
 her first attempt, Bathilde did wonders ; her needle seemed
 
 BATIIILDE. 181 
 
 to be that of a fairy. Nanette received many compliments 
 on the work of the unknown Penelope, who did by day 
 what was undone by night. Thanks to Bathilde's indus- 
 try, they began to have much greater ease 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 determined him in the choice of 
 his house. For a week he spent an hour morning and 
 evening taking measures, without any one knowing what 
 he intended to do. At length he decided on having a 
 fountain, a grotto, and an arbour. Collecting the materials 
 for these, and afterwards building them, had occupied all 
 Buvat's spare time for twelve months. During this time 
 Bathilde had passed from her fifteenth to her sixteenth 
 year, and the charming child into a beautiful woman. It 
 was during this time that her neighbour, Boniface Denis, 
 had remarked her, and his mother, who could refuse him 
 nothing, after having been for information to the Rue 
 Pagevin, had presented herself, under pretext of neigh- 
 bourhood, to Buvat and his ward, and, after a little while, 
 invited them both to pass Sunday evenings with her. 
 
 The invitation was given with so good a grace that there 
 was no means of refusing it, and indeed Buvat was 
 delighted that some opportunity of amusement should be 
 presented to Bathilde, besides, as he knew that Madame 
 Denis had two daughters, perhaps he was not sorry to 
 enjoy that triumph which his paternal pride assured him 
 Bathilde could not fail to obtain over Mademoiselle Emilie 
 and Mademoiselle Athenais. However, things did not pass 
 exactly as he had arranged them, Bathilde soon saw the 
 mediocrity of her rivals, so that when they spoke of draw- 
 ing, and called on her to admire some heads by these young 
 ladies, she pretended to have nothing in the house that 
 she could show, while Buvat knew that there were in her 
 portfolio two heads, one of the infant Jesus, and one of 
 St. John, both charming; but this was not all, — the Demoi- 
 selles Denis sang ; and when they asked Bathilde to sing,
 
 182 THE CIIKVALIKR d'hARMKNTAL. 
 
 she chose a simple little romance in two verses, which lasted 
 five minutes, instead of the grand scene which Buvat liad 
 expected. 
 
 However, this conduct appeared singularly to increase 
 the regard of iMachuue Denis for the young girl, for 
 Madame Denis was not without some uneasiness witii 
 respect to the event of an artistic struggle between the 
 young people. BathilJe was overwhelmed with caresses 
 by the good wouian, wlio, when she was gone, declared she 
 was full of talents and modesty, and that she well deserved 
 all the praises lavished upou her. A retired silk-mercer 
 raised her voice to recall tiie strange position of the tutor 
 and the pupil, but Madame Denis imposed silence on this 
 malicious tongue by declaring that she knew the whole 
 history from beginning to end, and that it did the greatest 
 honour to both her neighbours. It was a small lie, how- 
 ever, of good Madame Denis, but it v/as doubtless pardoned 
 in consideration of the intention. 
 
 As to Boniface, in coxupany he was dumb and a nonen- 
 tity; he had been this evening so remarkably stupid that 
 Bathilde had hardly noticed him at all. 
 
 But it was not thus with Boniface, who, having admired 
 Bathilde from a distance, became quite crazy about her 
 when he saw her near. He began to sit constantly at his 
 window, which obliged Bathilde to keep hers closed; for 
 it will be remembered that Boniface then inhabited the 
 room now occupied by the Chevalier d'Harmental. This 
 conduct of Bathilde, in which it was impossible to see 
 anything but supreme modesty, only augmented the passion 
 of her neighbour. At his request, his mother went again 
 to the Rue Pagevin, and to the Rue des Orties, where she 
 had learned from an old woman something of the death 
 scene we have related, and in which Buvat played so noble 
 a part. She had forgotten the names, and she only remem- 
 bered that the father was a handsome young officer, who 
 had been killed in Spain, and that the mother was a charm- 
 ing young womau, who had died of grief and poverty.
 
 BATHILDR. 183 
 
 Boniface also had been in search of news, and had 
 learned from his employer, who was a friend of lîuvat's 
 notary, that every year for six years past five hundred 
 francs had been deposited with him in lîathilde's name, 
 which, with the interest, formed a little capital of seven or 
 eight thousand francs. This was not much for Boniface, 
 who, as his mother said, would have three thousand francs 
 a year, but a,t least it showed that Bathilde was not desti- 
 tute. At the end of a month, during which time Madame 
 Denis's friendship for Bathilde did not diminish, seeing 
 that her son's love greatly increased, she determined to 
 ask her hand for him. One afternoon, as Buvat returned 
 from business, Madame Denis waited fur him at her door, 
 and made a sign to him that she had something to say to 
 him. Buvat followed her politely into her room, of which 
 she closed the door, that she might not be interrupted; 
 and when Buvat was seated, she asked for the hand of 
 Bathilde for her son. 
 
 Buvat was quite bewildered. It had never entered his 
 mind that Bathilde might marry. Life without Bathilde 
 appeared so impossible a thing that he changed colour at 
 the bare idea. jMadame Denis did not fail to remark the 
 strange effect that her request had produced on Buvat. 
 She would not even allow him to think it had passed un- 
 noticed. She offered him the bottle of salts which she 
 always kept on the chimney-piece, that she might repeat 
 three or four times a week that her nerves were very 
 sensitive. 
 
 Buvat, instead of simply smelling the salts from a rea- 
 sonable distance, put the bottle close up under his nose. 
 The effect was rapid. He bounded to his feet, as if 
 the angel of Habakkuk had taken him by the hair. He 
 sneezed for about ten minutes; then, having regained his 
 senses, he said that he understood the honourable proposal 
 made for Bathilde, but that he was only her guardian; 
 that he would tell her of the proposal, but must leave her 
 free to accept or refuse.
 
 184 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 Madame Denis thouglit this perfectly right, and con- 
 ducted him to the door, saying that, waiting a reply, she 
 was their very humble servant. 
 
 Buvat went home, and found Bathilde very uneasy; he 
 was half an hour late, which had not happened before for 
 ten years. The uneasiness of the young girl was doubled 
 when she saw Buvat's sad and preoccupied air, and she 
 wanted to know directly what it was that caused the 
 abstracted mien of her dear friend. Buvat, who had not 
 had time to prepare a speech, tried to put off the expla- 
 nation till after dinner; but Bathilde declared that she 
 should not go to dinner till she knew what had happened. 
 Buvat was thus obliged to deliver on the spot, and without 
 preparation, Madame Denis's proposal to Bathilde. 
 
 Bathilde blushed directly, as a young girl always does 
 when they talk to her of marriage; then, taking the nands 
 of Buvat, who was sitting down, trembling with fear, and 
 looking at him with that sweet smile which was the 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, "1 who wish to get rid of you! No, 
 my child; it is I who 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 a good partner, although, God knows, my 
 little Bathilde deserves some one better than Monsieur 
 Boniface." 
 
 "No, my father," answered Bathilde, "I do not deserve 
 any one better than Monsieur 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
 
 BATHILDE. 185 
 
 himself on great occasions, and which ilhtstrated admira- 
 bly the pacific inclinations of the worthy fellow. 
 
 "Well, then," continued Bathilde, with her angel's 
 smile, " if we are happy, let us rest as we are. You know 
 one should not tempt Providence." 
 
 "Come and kiss me, my child," said Buvat; "you have 
 just lifted Montmartre 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 know why, 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 no authority 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 to Madame Denis ? " 
 
 " How ? Tell, her that 1 am too young, that I do not 
 wish to marry, that I want to stop with you always." 
 
 "Come to dinner," said Buvat, "perhaps a bright idea 
 will strike me when I am eating. It is odd ! my appetite 
 has come back all of a sudden. Just now I thought I 
 could not swallow a drop of water. Now I could drink 
 the Seine dry." 
 
 Buvat drank like a Suisse, and ate like an ogre; but, 
 in spite of this infraction of his ordinary habits, no bright 
 idea came to his aid; so that he was obliged to tell 
 Madame Denis openly that Bathilde was very much 
 honoured by her selection, but that she did not wish to 
 marry. 
 
 This unexpected response perfectly dumfounded Mad- 
 ame Denis, who had never imagined that a poor little 
 orphan like Bathilde could refuse so brilliant a match as
 
 186 THK CllKVALIER I)'ll ARMKNTAL. 
 
 her son; coii.sc'(|ueutly she answered very sharply, tliat 
 every one was free to act for themselves, and that, if 
 Mademoiselle Bathilde chose to he an old maid, she was 
 perfectly welcome. 
 
 But when she reflected on this refusal, which her mater- 
 nal pride could not understand, all the old calmunies 
 which she had heard about the young girl and her guardian 
 returned to her mind; and as she was in a disposition to 
 believe them, she made no further doubt that they were 
 true, and when she transmitted their beautiful neighbour's 
 answer to Boniface, 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 learnt she could not have allowed such 
 a marriage to be concluded. 
 
 Madame Denis thought it uusuited to her dignity that 
 after so humiliating a refusal her son should continue to 
 inhabit the room opposite Bathilde's, so she gave him one 
 on the ground floor, and announced that his old one was 
 to let. 
 
 A week after, as Monsieur Boniface, to revenge himself 
 on Bathilde, was teasing Mirza, who was standing in the 
 doorway, not thinking it fine enough to trust her little 
 white feet out of doors, Mirza, whom the habit of being 
 fed had made very petulant, darted out on Monsieur Boni- 
 face, and bit him cruelly in the calf. 
 
 It was in consequence of this that the poor fellow, 
 whose heart or leg was not very well healed, cautioned 
 D'Harmental to beware of the coquetry of Bathilde, and 
 to throw a sop to Mirza.
 
 FIKST L,OVE. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 Monsieur Boniface's room remained vacant for three op 
 four months, when one day Bathilde, who was accustomed 
 to see the window closed, on raising her eyes found that 
 it was open, and at the window she saw a strange face : 
 it was that of D'Harmental. Few such faces as that of 
 the chevalier were seen in the Rue du Temps Perdu, 
 liathilde, admirably situated, behind her curtain, for 
 seeing without being seen, was attracted involuntarily. 
 There was in our hero's features a distinction and an 
 elegance wliich could not escape Bathilde's eyes. The 
 chevalier's dress, simple as it was, betrayed the elegance 
 of the wearer; then Bathilde had heard him give some 
 orders, and they had been given with that inflection of 
 voice which indicates in him who possesses it the habit of 
 command. 
 
 The young girl had discovered at the first glance that 
 this man was very superior in all respects to him whom 
 he succeeded in the possession of this little room, and 
 with that instinct so natural to persons of good birth, she 
 at once recognised him as being of high family. The same 
 day the chevalier had tried his harpsichord. At the first 
 sound of the instrument Bathilde had raised her head. 
 Tlie chevalier, though he did not know that he had a 
 listener, or perhaps because he did not know it, went ou 
 with preludes and fantasias, which shoAved an amateur of 
 JiO mean talents. At these sounds, which seemed to wake 
 all the musical chords of her own organisation, Bathilde 
 had risen and approached the window that she might not 
 lose a note, for such an amusement was unheard of in the
 
 188 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 Rue du Temps Perdu. Then it was that D'Harment;il 
 had seen against the window the charming little fingers of 
 his neighbour, and had driven them away by turning round 
 so quickly that Bathilde could not doubt she had been 
 seen. 
 
 The next day Bathilde thought it was a long time since 
 she had played, and sat down to her instrument. She 
 began nervously, she knew not why; but as she was an 
 excellent musician, her fear soon passed away, and it was 
 tlien that she executed so brilliantly that piece from 
 Armida which had been heard with so much astonish- 
 ment by the chevalier and the Abbé Brigand. 
 
 We have said how the following morning the chevalier 
 had seen Buvat, and become acquainted with Bathilde 's 
 name. The appearance of the young girl had made the 
 deeper impression on the chevalier from its being so un- 
 expected in such a place ; and he was still under the influ- 
 ence of the charm when Roquefinette entered, and gave 
 a new direction to his thoughts, which, however, soon 
 returned to Bathilde. The next day, Bathilde, who, prof- 
 iting by the first ray of the spring sun, was early at her 
 window, noticed in her turn that the eyes of the chevalier 
 were ardently fixed upon her. She had noticed his face, 
 young and handsome, but to which the thought of the 
 responsibility he had taken gave a certain air of sadness; 
 but sadness and youth go so badly together, that this 
 anomaly had struck her, — this handsome young man had 
 then something to annoy him, — perhaps he was unhappy. 
 What could it be? Thus, from the second time she had 
 seen him, Bathilde had very naturally meditated about the 
 chevalier. This had not prevented Bathilde from shutting 
 her window, but, from behind her window, she still saw 
 the outline of the chevalier's sad face. She felt that 
 D'Harmental was sad, and when she sat down to her harp- 
 sichord, was it not from a secret feeling that music is the 
 consoler of troubled hearts? 
 
 That evening it was D'Harmental who played, and
 
 FIRST LOVE. 1S9 
 
 BatliilJe listened with all her soul to the melodious voice 
 whioh spoke of love in the dead of night. Unluckily for 
 the chevalier, who, seeing the shadow of the young girl 
 behinù the drapery, began to think that he was making a 
 favourable impression on the other side of the street, he 
 had been interrupted in his concert by the lodger on the 
 third floor; but the most important thing was accomplished, 
 — there was already a point of sympathy between the two 
 young people, and they already spoke that language of the 
 heart, the most dangerous of all. 
 
 Moreover, Bathilde, who had dreamed all night about 
 music, and a little about the musician, felt that something 
 strange and unknown to her was going on, and, attracted 
 as she was towards the window, she kept it scrupulously 
 closed; from this resulted the movement of impatience, 
 under the influence of which the chevalier had gone to 
 breakfast with Madame Denis. 
 
 There he had learnt one important piece of news, which 
 was, that Bathilde was neither the daughter, the wife, nor 
 the niece of Buvat; thus he went up stairs joyfully, and, 
 finding the window open, he had put himself — in spite of 
 the friendly advice of Boniface — in communication with 
 Mirza, by means of bribing her with sugar. The unex- 
 pected return of Bathilde had interrupted this amusement; 
 the chevalier, in his egotistical delicacy, had shut his 
 window; but before the window had been shut a salute 
 had been exchanged between the two young people. This 
 was more than Bathilde had ever accorded to any man, not 
 that she had not from time to time exchanged salutes with 
 some acquaintance of Buvat's, but this was the first time 
 she had blushed as she did so. 
 
 The next day Bathilde had seen the chevalier at his 
 window, and, without being able to understand the action, 
 had seen him nail a crimson ribbon to the outer wall; but 
 what she had particularly remarked was the extraordinary 
 animation visible on the face of the young man. Half an 
 hour afterwards she had seen with the chevalier a man
 
 3 90 TIIK CIIEVALIEII D'iIARMENTAL. 
 
 perfectly unknown to her, but whose appearance was not 
 reassuring-; this was Captain lloquefinette. Bathilde had 
 also remarked, with a vague uneasiness, that, as soon as 
 the man with the long sword had entered, tlio chevalier 
 had fastened the door. 
 
 Tlie chevalier, as is easy to understand, had a long con- 
 ference with the captain; for they had to arrange all the 
 preparations for the evening's expedition. The elievalier's 
 window remained thus so long closed that Batliilde, think- 
 ing that he had gone out, had thought she might as well 
 open hers. 
 
 Hardly was it open, however, when her neighbour's, 
 which had seemed only to wait the moment to put itself 
 in commuiiicaton with her, opened in its turn. Luckily 
 for Bathilde, who would have been much embarrassed b}- 
 this circumstance, she was in that part of the room where 
 the chevalier could not see her. She determined, there- 
 fore, to remain where she was, and sat down near the 
 second half of the window, which was still shut. 
 
 Mirza, however, who had not the same scruples as her 
 mistress, hardly saw the chevalier before she ran to the 
 window, placed her front paws on the sill, and began 
 dancing on her hind ones. These attentions were re- 
 warded, as she expected, by a first, then a second, then 
 a third lump of sugar; but this third bit, to the no small 
 astonishment of Bathilde, was wrapped up in a piece of 
 paper. 
 
 This piece of paper troubled Bathilde a great deal more 
 than it did Mirza, who, accustomed to crackers and sua-e 
 lie pomme, soon got the sugar out of its envelope by means 
 of her paws ; and, as she thought very much of the inside, 
 and very little of the wrapper, she ate the sugar, and, 
 leaving the paper, ran to the window; but the chevalier 
 was gone; satisfied, no doubt, of Mirza's skill, he had 
 retired into his room. 
 
 Bathilde was very much embarrassed; she had seen, at 
 the first glance, that the paper contained three or four
 
 FIRST LOVE. 191 
 
 lines of writing; but, in spite of the sudden friendship 
 which her neighbour seemed to have acquired for Mirza, 
 it was evidently not to Mirza that he was writing letters, 
 — it must, therefore, be to her. What should she do? 
 Go and tear it up? That would be noble and proper; but, 
 even if it were possible to do such a thing, the paper in 
 which the sugar had been wrapped might have been 
 written on some time, and then the action would be ridicu- 
 lous in the highest degree, and it would show, at any rate, 
 that she thought about the letter. Bathilde resolved, then, 
 to leave things as they were. The chevalier could not 
 know that she was at home, since he had not seen her; he 
 could not, therefore, draw any deduction from the fact 
 that the paper remained on the floor. She therefore con- 
 tinued to work, or rather to reflect, hidden behind her 
 curtain, as the chevalier probably was behind his. 
 
 In about an hour, of which it must be confessed Bathilde 
 passed three quarters with her eyes fixed on the paper, 
 Nanette entered. Bathilde, without moving, told her to 
 shut the window. Nanette obeyed; but in returning she 
 saw the paper. 
 
 " What is that? " asked she, stooping down to pick it up. 
 
 "Nothing," answered Bathilde quickly, forgetting that 
 Nanette could not read, "only a paper which has fallen 
 out of my pocket." Then, after an instant's pause, and 
 with a visible effort, "and which you may throw on the 
 fire," continued she. 
 
 "But perhaps it may be something important; see what 
 it is, at all events, mademoiselle." And Nanette presented 
 the letter to Bathilde. 
 
 The temptation was too strong to resist, Bathilde cast 
 her eyes on the paper, affecting an air of indifference as 
 well as she could, and read as follows : — 
 
 "They say you are an orphan: I have no parents; we 
 are, then, brother and sister before God. This evening I 
 run a great danger; but I hope to come out of it safe and 
 sound if my sister — Bathilde — will pray for her brother 
 Raoul."
 
 192 ÏIIK CHEVALIER d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "You are right," said Bathilde, in a moved voice, and, 
 taking the paper from the hands of Nanette, "that paper 
 is more important than I thought;" and she put D'Har- 
 mental's letter in the pocket of her apron. Five minutes 
 after, Nanette, who came in twenty times a day without 
 any particular reason, went out as she had entered, and 
 left Bathikle alone. 
 
 Bathilde had only just glanced at the letter, and it liad 
 seemed to dazzle her. As soon as Nanette was gone she 
 read it a second time. 
 
 It would have been impossible to have said more in 
 fewer words. If D'Harmental had taken a whole day to 
 combine every word of the billet, instead of writing on the 
 spur of the moment, he could not have done it better. 
 Indeed, he established a similarity of position between 
 himself and the orphan; he interested Bathilde in her 
 neighbour's fate on account of a menacing danger, — a 
 danger which would appear all the greater to the young 
 girl from her not knowing its nature; and, finally, the 
 expression brother and sister, so skilfully glided in at the 
 end, and to ask a simple prayer, excluded from these first 
 advances all idea of love. 
 
 It followed, therefore, that, if at this moment Bathilde 
 had found herself vis-à-vis with D'Harmental, instead of 
 being embarrassed and blushing, as a young girl would 
 who had just received her first love-letter, she would have 
 taken him by the hand and said to him, smiling, "Be 
 satisfied, I will pray for you." There remained, however, 
 on the mind of Bathilde, something more dangerous than 
 all the declarations in the world, and that was the idea of 
 the peril which her neighbour ran. By a sort of presenti- 
 ment with which she had been seized on seeing him, with 
 a face so different from his ordinary expression, nail the 
 crimson ribbon to his window, and withdraw it directly 
 the captain entered, she was almost sure that the danger 
 was somehow connected with this new personage, whom 
 she had never seen before. But how did this danger
 
 FIRST LOVE. 193 
 
 concern Ivim? '^liat was the nature of the danger itself ? 
 This w^s wha-t she asked herself in vain. She thought of 
 a duel, but to a man such as the chevalier appeared to be, 
 a dnel was not one of those dangers for which one asks the 
 pvayers of women ; besides, the hour named was not suita- 
 ble to duels. Bathilde lost herself in her conjectures; 
 ^ut, in losing herself, she thought of the chevalier, always 
 Nf the chevalier, and of nothing but the chevalier; and, if 
 he had calculated upon such an effect, it must be owned 
 that his calculations were wofully true for poor Bathilde. 
 
 The day passed; and, whether it was intentional, or 
 whether it was that he was otherwise employed, Bathilde 
 saw him no more, and his window remained closed. When 
 Buvat came home as usual, at ten minutes after four, he 
 found the young girl so much preoccupied that, although 
 his perspicacity was not great in such matters, he asked 
 her three or four times if anything was wrong; each time 
 she answered by one of those smiles which supplied Bu- 
 vat with enough to do in looking at her; and it followed 
 that, in spite of these repeated questions, Bathilde kept her 
 secret. 
 
 After dinner Monsieur Chaulieu's servant entered; he 
 came to ask Buvat to spend the evening with his master. 
 The Abbé Chaulieu was one of Buvat's best patrons, and 
 often came to his house, for he had taken a great liking 
 for Bathilde. The poor abbé became blind, but not so 
 entirely as not to be able to recognise a pretty face; 
 though it is true that he saw it across a cloud. The abbé 
 had told Bathilde, in his sexagenarian gallantry, that his 
 only consolation was that it is thus that one sees the 
 angels. 
 
 Bathilde thanked the good abbé from the bottom of her 
 heart for thus getting her an evening's solitude. She 
 knew that when Buvat went to the Abbé Chaulieu he 
 ordinarily stayed some time; she hoped, then, that he 
 would stop late as usual. Poor Buvat went out without 
 imagining that for the first time she desired his absence. 
 
 13
 
 194 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 Buvat was a lounger, as every bourgeois of Paris ought 
 to be. From one end to the other of the Palais Royal he 
 stared at the shops, stopping for tlie thousandth time 
 before the things which generally drew his attention. On 
 leaving the colonnade, he heard singing, and saw a group 
 of men and women, who were listening to the songs; he 
 joined them, and listened too. At the moment of the 
 collection he went away, not from a bad heart, nor that 
 he woiild have wished to refuse the admirable musician 
 the reward which was his due, but that by an old habit, 
 of which time had proved the advantage, he always came 
 out without money, so that by whatever he was tempted 
 he was sure to overcome the temptation. This evening he 
 was much tempted to drop a sou into the singer's bowl, 
 but as he had not a sou in his pocket, he was obliged to 
 go away. He made his way, then, as we have seen, 
 towards the Barrière des Sergents, passed up the Rue du 
 Coq, crossed the Pont-Neuf, returned along the quay so 
 far as the Rue Mazarine ; it was in the Rue Mazarine that 
 the Abbé Chaulieu lived. 
 
 The Abbé Chaulieu recognised Buvat, whose excellent 
 qualities he had appreciated during their two years' 
 acquaintance, and with much pressing on his part, and 
 many difficulties on Buvat's, made him sit down near 
 himself before a table covered with papers. It is true that 
 at first Buvat sat on the very edge of his chair; gradually, 
 however, he got further and further on, — put his hat on 
 the ground, — took his cane between his legs, and found 
 himself sitting almost like any one else. 
 
 The work that there was to be done did not promise a 
 short sitting; there were thirty or forty poems on the 
 table to be classified, numbered, and, as the abbe's ser- 
 vant was his amanuensis, corrected; so that it was eleven 
 o'clock before they thought that it had struck nine. They 
 had just finished and Buvat rose, horrified at having to 
 come home at such an hour. It was the first time such a 
 thing had ever happened to him; he rolled up the manu-
 
 FIRST LOVE. 195 
 
 script, tied it with a red ribbon, which had probably- 
 served as a sash to Mademoiselle Delaunay, put it in his 
 pocket, took his cane, picked up his hat, and left the 
 house, abridging his leave-taking as much as possible. To 
 add to his misfortunes there was no moonlight, the night 
 was cloudy. Buvat regretted not having two sous in his 
 pocket to cross the ferry which was then where now stands 
 the Pont des Arts; but we have already explained Buvat's 
 theory to our readers, and he was obliged to return as he 
 had come, — by the Quai Conti, the Kue Pont-Neuf, the 
 Rue du Coq, and the Rue Saint Honoré. 
 
 Everything had gone right so far, and except the statue 
 of Henry IV., of which Buvat had forgotten either the 
 existence or the place, and which had frightened him 
 terribly, and the Samaritaine, which, fifty steps off, had 
 struck the half -hour without any preparation, the noise of 
 which had made poor belated Buvat tremble from head to 
 foot, he had run no real peril, but on arriving at the Rue 
 des Bons Enfants things took a different look. In the first 
 place the aspect of the street itself, long, narrow, and only 
 lighted by two flickering lanterns in the whole length, 
 was not reassuring, and this evening it had to Buvat a 
 very singular appearance; he did not know whether he 
 was asleep or awake; he fancied that he saw before him 
 some fantastic vision, such as he had heard told of the old 
 Flemish sorceries; the streets seemed alive, — the posts 
 seemed to oppose themselves to his passage, — the recesses 
 of the doors whispered to each other, — men crossed like 
 shadows from one side of the street to the other; at last, 
 when he had arrived at No. 24, he was stopped, as we 
 have seen, by the chevalier and the captain. It was then 
 that D'Harmental had recognised him, and had protected 
 him against the first impulse of Roquefinette, inviting him 
 to continue his route as quickly as possible. There was 
 no need to repeat the request. Buvat set off at a trot, 
 gained the Place des Victoires, the Rue du Mail, the Rue 
 Montmartre, and at last arrived at his own house. No. 4
 
 19G THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 Rue du Temps Perdu, where, nevertheless, he did not 
 think himself safe till he had shut the door and bolted it 
 behind him. 
 
 There he stopped an instant to breathe, and to light his 
 candle; tlien ascended the stairs; but lie felt in his legs 
 the effect of the occurrence, for he trembled so that he 
 could hardly get to the top. 
 
 As to Bathilde, she had remained alone, getting more 
 and more uneasy as the evening advanced. Up to seven 
 o'clock she had seen a liglit in her neighbour's room, but 
 at that time the lamp had been extinguished, and had not 
 been relighted. Then Bathilde's time became divided 
 between two occupations ; — one of which consisted in 
 standing at her window to see if her neighbour did not 
 return; the other^ in kneeling before the crucifix, where 
 she said her evening prayers. She heard nine, ten, eleven, 
 and half -past eleven strike successively. She had heard 
 all the noises in the streets die away one by one, and sink 
 gradually into that vague and heavy sound which seems 
 the breathing of a sleeping town; and all this without 
 bringing her the slightest inkling as to whether he who 
 had called himself her brother had sunk under the danger 
 which hung over his head, or come triumphant through 
 the crisis. 
 
 She was then in her own room, without light, so that 
 no one might see that she was watching, and kneeling 
 before her crucifix for the tenth time, when the door 
 opened, and, by the light of his candle, she saw Buvat so 
 pale and haggard that she knew in an instant that some- 
 thing must have happened to him, and she rose, in spite 
 of the uneasiness she felt for another, and darted towards 
 him, asking what was the matter. But it was no easy 
 thing to make Buvat speak, in the state he then was; the 
 shock had reached his mind, and his tongue stammered as 
 much as his legs trembled. 
 
 Still, when Buvat was seated in his easy-chair, and had 
 wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, whe^n he had
 
 FIRST LOVE. 197 
 
 made two or three journeys to the door to see that his 
 terrible hosts of the Rue des Bons Enfants had not fol- 
 lowed him home, he began to stutter out his adventure. 
 He told how he had been stopped in the Rue des Bons 
 Enfants by a band of robbers, whose lieutenant, a ferocious- 
 looking man nearly six feet high, had wanted to kill him, 
 when the captain had come and saved his life. Bathilde 
 listened with rapt attention, first, because she loved her 
 guardian sincerely, and that his condition showed that — 
 right or wrong — he had been greatly terrified; next, 
 because nothing that happened that night seemed indiffer- 
 ent to her; and, strange as the idea was, it seemed to her 
 that the handsome young man was not wholly unconnected 
 with the scene in which Buvat had just played a part. 
 She asked him if he had time to observe the face of 
 the young man who had come to his aid, and saved his 
 life. 
 
 Buvat answered that he had seen him face to face, as he 
 saw her at that moment, and that the proof was that he 
 was a handsome young man of from five to six and 
 twenty, in a large felt hat, and wrapped in a cloak ; more- 
 over, in the movement which he had made in stretching 
 out his hand to protect him, the cloak had opened, and 
 shown that, besides his sword, he carried a pair of pistols 
 in his belt. These details were too precise to allow Buvat 
 to be accused of dreaming. Preoccupied as Bathilde was 
 with the danger which the chevalier ran, she was none the 
 less touched by that smaller no doubt, but still real one, 
 which Buvat had just escaped; and as repose is the best 
 remedy for all shocks, physical or moral, after offering 
 him the glass of wine and sugar which he allowed himself 
 on great occasions, and which nevertheless he refused on 
 this one, she reminded him of his bed, where he ought to 
 have been two hours before. 
 
 The shock had been violent enough to deprive Buvat of 
 all wish for sleep, and even to convince him that he should 
 sleep badly that night; but he reflected that in sitting up
 
 198 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 he should force Bathilde to sit up, and should see her in 
 the morning witli red eyes and pale cheeks, and, with bis 
 usual sacrifice of self, he told lîathilde that she was right, 
 — that he felt that sleep would do him good, — lit his 
 candle, kissed her forehead, and went up to his own room, 
 not without stopping two or three times on the staircase 
 to hear if there was any noise. 
 
 Left alone, lîathilde listened to the steps of Buvat, who 
 went up into his own room; then she heard the creaking 
 of his door, which he double locked; then, almost as 
 trembling as Buvat himself, she ran to the window, for- 
 getting even to pray. She remained thus for nearly an 
 hour, but without having kept any measure of time. Then 
 she gave a cry of joy, for through the window, which no 
 curtain now obscured, she saw her neighbour's door open, 
 and D'Harmeutal enter with a candle in his hand. 
 
 By a miracle of foresight Bathilde had been right. The 
 man in the felt hat and the cloak, who had protected 
 Buvat, was really the young stranger, for the stranger had 
 on a felt hat and a cloak; and moreover, hardly had he 
 returned and shut the door, with almost as much care as 
 Buvat had his, and thrown his cloak on a chair, than she 
 saw that he had a tight coat of a dark colour, and in his 
 belt a sword and pistols. There was no longer any doubt; 
 it was from head to foot the description given by Buvat. 
 Bathilde was the more able to assure herself of this, that 
 D'Harmental, without taking off any of his attire, took 
 two or three turns in his room, his arms crossed, and 
 thinking deeply; then he took his pistols from his belt, 
 assured himself that they were primed, and placed them 
 on the table near his bed, unclasped his sword, took it 
 half out of the scabbard, replaced it, and put it under 
 his pillow; then, shaking his head, as if to shake out 
 the sombre ideas that annoyed him, he approached the 
 window, opened it, and gazed earnestly at that of the 
 young girl, who, forgetting that she could not be seen, 
 stepped back, and let the curtain fall before her, as if
 
 FIRST LOVE. 199 
 
 the darkness which surrounded her were not a sufficient 
 screen. 
 
 She remained thus motionless and silent, her hand on 
 her heart, as if to still its beatings; then she quietly 
 raised the curtain, but that of her neighbour was down, 
 and she saw nothing but his shadow passing and repassing 
 before it.
 
 200 THE CHEVAUER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE CONSUL DUILIUS. 
 
 The morning following the day, or rather the night, on 
 which the events we have just related had occurred, the 
 Due d'Orléans, who had returned to the Palais Royal 
 without accident, after having slept all night as usual, 
 passed into his study at his accustomed hour, — that is to 
 say, about eleven o'clock. Thanks to the sang-froid with 
 which nature had blessed him, and which he owed chiefly 
 to his great courage, to his disdain for danger and his 
 carelessness of death, not only was it impossible to observe 
 in him any change from his ordinary calm, which ennui 
 only turned to gloom, but he had most probably already 
 forgotten the strange event of which he had so nearly been 
 the victim. 
 
 The study into which he had just entered was remark- 
 able as belonging to a man at once a savant, a politician, 
 and an artist. Thus a large table covered with a green 
 cloth, and loaded with papers, inkstand, and pens, occupied 
 the middle of the room ; but all round, on desks, on easels, 
 on stands, were an opera commenced, a half-finished draw- 
 ing, a chemical retort, etc. The regent, with a strange 
 versatility of mind, passed in an instant from the deepest 
 problems of politics to the most capricious fancies of 
 painting, and from the most delicate calculations of 
 chemistry to the sombre or joyous inspirations of music. 
 The regent feared nothing but ennui, that enemy against 
 whom he struggled unceasingly, without ever quite suc- 
 ceeding in conquering it, and which, repulsed by work, 
 study, or pleasure, yet remained in sight — if one may say 
 so — like one of those clouds on the horizon towards
 
 The; Regent Okleans.
 
 THE CONSUL DUILIUS. 201 
 
 which, even in the finest days, the pilot involuntarily 
 turns his eyes. The regent was never unoccupied, and 
 had the most opposite amusements always at hand. 
 
 On entering his study, where the council were to meet 
 in two hours, he went towards an unfinished drawing, 
 representing a scene from "Daphnis and Chloe," and 
 returned to the work interrupted two days before by that 
 famous game of tennis, which had commenced by a racket 
 blow, and finished by the supper at Madame de Sabran's. 
 
 A messenger came to tell him that Madame Elizabeth 
 Charlotte, his mother, had asked twice if he were up. 
 The regent, who had the most profound respect for the 
 princess palatine, sent word, that not only was he visible, 
 but that, if madame were ready to receive him, he would 
 pay her a visit directly. He then returned to his work 
 with all the eagerness of an artist. Shortly after, the door 
 opened, and his mother herself appeared. 
 
 Madame, the wife of Philippe, the first brother of the 
 king, came to France after the strange and unexpected 
 death of Madame Henriette of England, to take the place 
 of that beautiful and gracious princess, who had passed 
 from the scene like a dream. This comparison, difficult to 
 sustain for any new-comer, was doubly so to the poor 
 German princess, who, if we may believe her own portrait, 
 with her little eyes, her short and thick nose, her long, 
 thin lips, her hanging cheeks and her large face, was far 
 from being pretty. Unfortunately, the faults of her face 
 were not compensated for by beauty of figure. She was 
 little and fat, with a short body and legs, and such fright- 
 ful hands that she avows herself that there were none 
 uglier to be found in the world, and that it was the only 
 thing about her to which Louis XIV. could never become 
 accustomed. But Louis XIV. had chosen her, not to 
 increase the beauties of his court, but to extend his influ- 
 ence beyond the Rhine. 
 
 By the marriage of his brother with the princess pala- 
 tine, Louis XIV., who had already acquired some chance
 
 202 THE CHEVALIKK D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 of inheritance in Spain, by marrying Maria Theresa, and 
 by Philip the First's marriage with the Princess Henri- 
 ette, only sister of Charles II., would acquire new rights 
 over Bavaria, and probably in the Palatinate. He cal- 
 culated, and calculated rightly, that her brother, who was 
 delicate, would probably die young, and without children. 
 
 Madame, instead of being treated at her husband's death 
 according to her marriage contract, and forced to retire 
 into a convent, or into the old castle of Montargis, was, 
 in spite of Madame de Maintenon's hatred, maintained by 
 Louis XIV. in all the titles and honours which she enjoyed 
 during her husband's lifetime, although the king had not 
 forgotten the blow which she gave to the young Due de 
 Chartres at Versailles, when he announced his marriage 
 with Mademoiselle de Blois. The proud princess, with 
 her thirty-two quarterings, thought it a humiliation that 
 her son should marry a woman whom the royal legitima- 
 tion could not prevent from being the fruit of a double 
 adultery, and at the first moment, unable to command her 
 feelings, she revenged herself by this maternal correction, 
 rather exaggerated when a young man of eighteen was 
 the object, for the affront offered to the honour of her 
 ancestors. 
 
 As the young Due de Chartres had himself only con- 
 sented unwillingly to this marriage, he easily understood 
 his mother's dislike to it, though he would have preferred, 
 doubtless, that she should have shown it in a rather less 
 Teutonic manner. The result was, that when Monsieur 
 died, and the Due de Chartres became Duc d'Orléans, his 
 mother, who might have feared that the blow at Versailles 
 had left some disagreeable reminiscence in the mind of 
 the new master of the Palais Royal, found, on the con- 
 trary, a more respectful son than ever. This respect 
 increased, and as regent he gave his mother a position 
 equal to that of his wife. When Madame de Berry, his 
 much-loved daughter, asked her father for a company of 
 guards, he granted it, but ordered at the same time that 
 a similar company should be given to his mother.
 
 THE CONSUL DUILIUS. 203 
 
 Madame held thus a high position, and if, in spite of 
 that position, she had no political influence, the reason 
 was that the regent made it a principle of action never to 
 allow women to meddle with state affairs. It may be 
 also that Philip the Second, Regent of France, was more 
 reserved towards his mother than towards his mistresses, 
 for he knew her epistolary inclinations, and he had no 
 fancy for seeing his projects made the subjects of the daily 
 correspondence which she kept up with the Princess 
 Wilhelmina Charlotte, and the Duke Anthony Ulric of 
 Brunswick. In exchange for this loss, he left her the 
 management of the house and of his daughters, which, 
 from her overpowering idleness, the Duchesse d'Orléans 
 abandoned willingly to her mother-in-law. In this last 
 particular, however, the poor palatine (if one may believe 
 the memoirs written at the time) was not happy. Madame 
 de Berry lived publicly with Riom, and Mademoiselle de 
 Valois was secretly the mistress of Richelieu, who, with- 
 out anybody knowing how, and as if he had the enchanted 
 ring of Gyges, appeared to get into her rooms in spite of 
 the guards who watched the doors, in spite of the spies 
 with whom the regent surrounded him, and though more 
 than once he had hidden himself in his daughter's room to 
 watch. 
 
 As to Mademoiselle de Chartres, whose character had as 
 yet seemed much more masculine than feminine, she, in 
 making a man of herself, as one may say, seemed to forget 
 that other men existed, when, some days before the time 
 at which we have arrived, being at the opera, and hearing 
 her music master, Cauchereau, the finished and expressive 
 singer of the Académie Royal, who in a love scene was 
 prolonging a note full of the most exquisite grace and feel- 
 ing, the young princess, carried away by artistic enthu- 
 siasm, stretched out her arms and cried aloud, "Ah! my 
 dear Cauchereau!" This unexpected exclamation had 
 troubled her mother, who had sent away the beautiful 
 tenor, and, putting aside her habitual apathy, determined
 
 204 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 to watch over her daughter herself. There remained the 
 Princess Louise, who was afterwards Queen of Spain, 
 and Mademoiselle Elisabeth, who became the Duchesse de 
 Lorraine, but as to them there was nothing said; either 
 they were really wise, or else they understood better than 
 their elders how to restrain the sentiments of their hearts, 
 or the accents of passion. As soon as the prince saw his 
 mother appear, he thought something new was wrong in 
 the rebellious troop of which she had taken the command, 
 and which gave her such trouble; but, as nothing could 
 make him forget the respect which in public and in 
 private he paid to his mother, he rose on seeing her, and 
 after having bowed, and taking her hand to lead her to 
 a seat, he remained standing himself. 
 
 "Well, my son," said madame, with a strong German 
 accent, " what is this that I hear, and what happened to 
 you last evening ? " 
 
 " Last evening ? " said the regent, recalling his thoughts 
 and questioning himself. 
 
 "Yes," answered the palatine, "last evening, incoming 
 home from Madame de Sabran's." 
 
 "Oh! it is only that," said the prince. 
 
 "How, only that! your friend Simiane goes about every- 
 where saying that they wanted to carry you off, and that 
 you only escaped by coming across the roofs: a singular 
 road, you will confess, for the regent of the kingdom, and 
 by which, however devoted they may be to you, I doubt 
 your ministers being willing to come to your council." 
 
 "Simiane is a fool, mother," answered the regent, not 
 able to help laughing at his mother'* still scolding him as 
 if he were a child; "it was not anybody who wanted to 
 carry me away, but some roisterers who had been drinking 
 at some cabaret by the Barrière des Sergents, and who 
 were come to make a row in the Kue des Bons Enfants. 
 As to the road we followed, it was for no sort of flight 
 upon earth that I took it, but simply to gain a wager 
 wliich that drunken Simiane is furioMS at having lost."
 
 THE CONSUL DUILIUS. 205 
 
 "My son, my son," said the palatine, shaking her head, 
 "you will never believe in danger, and yet you know what 
 your enemies are capable of. Believe me, my child, those 
 who calumniate the soul would have few scruples about 
 killing the body; and you know that the Duchesse du 
 Maine has said, that the very day when she is quite sure 
 that there is really nothing to be made out of her bastard 
 of a husband, she will demand an audience of you, and 
 drive her dagger into your heart." 
 
 "Bah! my mother," answered the regent, laughing, 
 "have you become a sufficiently good Catholic no longer 
 to believe in predestination? I believe in it, as you know. 
 Would you wish me to plague my mind about a danger 
 which has no existence? or which, if it does exist, has its 
 result already inscribed in the eternal book? No, my 
 mother, no; the only use of all these exaggerated pre- 
 cautions is to sadden life. Let tyrants tremble; but I, 
 who am what St. Simon pretends to be, the most debo- 
 nair man since Louis le Débonnaire, what have I to 
 fear?" 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu! nothing, my dear son," said the pala 
 tine, taking the hand of the prince, and looking at him 
 with as much maternal tenderness as her little eyes were 
 capable of expressing, — "nothing, if every one knew you 
 as well as I do, and saw you so truly good that you cannot 
 hate even your enemies; but Henry IV., whom unluckily 
 you resemble a little too much on certain points, was as 
 good, and that did not prevent the existence of a Ravaillac. 
 Alas! mein Gott,^^ continued the princess, mixing up 
 French and German in her agitation, "it is always the 
 best kings that they do assassinate; tyrants take precau- 
 tions, and the poniard never reaches them. You must 
 never go out without a guard; it is you, and not T, my 
 son, who require a regiment of soldiers." 
 
 "My mother," answered the regent, "will you listen to 
 a story? " 
 
 "Yes, certainly, for you relate them exquisitely."
 
 206 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "Well, you know that there was in Rome, I forget in 
 what precise year of the republic, a very brave consul, 
 who had the misfortune, shared by Henry IV. and myself, 
 of going out of a night. It happened that this consul was 
 sent against the Carthaginians, and, having invented an 
 implement of war called a crow, he gained the first naval 
 battle in which the Romans had been victors, so that when 
 he returned to Rome, congratulating himself beforehand, 
 no doubt, on the increase of fortune which would follow 
 his increase of reputation, he was not deceived; all the 
 population awaited him at the city gates, and conducted 
 him in triumph to the Capitol, where the Senate expected 
 him. 
 
 " The Senate announced to him that, in reward for his 
 victory, they were going to bestow on him something 
 which must be highly pleasing to him, which was, that 
 whenever he went out he should be preceded by a musician, 
 who should announce to every one, by playing on the flute, 
 that he was followed by the famous Duilius, the conqueror 
 of the Carthaginians. Duilius, you will understand, my 
 mother, was at the height of joy at such an honour. He 
 returned home with a proud bearing, and preceded by his 
 flute-player, who played his best, amidst the acclamations 
 of the multitude, who cried at the top of their voices, 
 'Long live Duilius! long live the conqueror of the Cartha- 
 ginians! long live the saviour of Rome!' This was so 
 intoxicating that the poor consul nearly went crazy witli 
 joy. Twice during the day he went out, although he had 
 nothing to do in the town, only to enjoy the senatorial 
 privilege, and to hear the triumphal music and the cries 
 which accompanied it. This occupation had raised him by 
 the evening into a state of glorification such as it is not 
 easy to explain. The evening came. The conqueror had 
 a mistress whom he loved, and whom he was eager to see 
 again, — a sort of Madame de Sabran, with the exception 
 that the husband thought proper to be jealous, while ours, 
 as you know, is not so absurd.
 
 THE CONSUL DUILIUS. 207 
 
 "The consul therefore had his bath, dressed and per- 
 fumed himself with the greatest care, and when eleven 
 o'clock arrived he set out on tiptoe for the Suburranian 
 Koad. But he had reckoned without his host, or rather 
 without his musician. Hardly had he gone four steps 
 when the flute-player, who was attached to his service by 
 night as well as day, darted from a post on which he was 
 seated and went before, playing with all his might and 
 main. The consequence of this was, that those who were 
 in the streets turned round, those who were at home came 
 to the door, and those who were in bed got up and opened 
 their windows, all repeating in chorus, ' Here is the Con- 
 sul Duilius; long live Duilius! long live the conqueror 
 of the Carthaginians ! long live the saviour of Rome ! ' 
 This was highly flattering, but inopportune. The consul 
 wished to silence his instrumentalist, but he declared that 
 the orders he had received from the Senate were precise, — 
 not to be quiet a minute; that he had ten thousand 
 sesterces a year to blow his flute, and that blow he would 
 as long as he had any breath left. 
 
 "The consul saw that it was useless to discuss with a 
 man who had the dictate of the Senate on his side, so he 
 began to run, hoping to escape from his melodious com- 
 panion, but he copied his actions from those of Duilius 
 with such exactitude that all the consul could gain was 
 to get before the flute-player instead of behind him. He 
 doubled like a hare, sprang like a roebuck, rushed madly 
 forward like a wild boar: the cursed flute-player did not 
 lose his track for an instant, so that all Rome, understand- 
 ing nothing about the object of this nocturnal race, but 
 knowing that it was the victor who performed it, came to 
 their windows, shouting, 'Long live Duilius! long live the 
 conqueror of the Carthaginians! long live the saviour of 
 Rome! ' The poor man had one last hope; that of finding 
 the people at his mistress' house asleep, and the door half- 
 open, as she had promised to leave it. But no; as soon as 
 he arrived at that hospitable and gracious house, at whose
 
 208 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 door he had so often poured perfumes and hung garlands, 
 he found that they were awake like all the rest, and at the 
 window he saw the husband, who as soon as he saw him 
 began to cry, 'Long live Duilius! long live the conqueror 
 of the Carthaginians! long live the saviour of Rome!' 
 The hero returned home despairing. 
 
 "The next day he hoped to escape his musician; but 
 this hope was fallacious; and it was the same the day 
 after, and all following days, so that the consul, seeing 
 that it was impossible to keep his incognito, left for 
 Sicily, where, out of anger, he beat the Carthaginians 
 again; but this time so unmercifully, that every one 
 thought that must be the end of all Punic wars, past, pres- 
 ent, or to come. Home was so convulsed with joy that 
 it gave public rejoicings like those on the anniversary of 
 the foundation of tlie city, and proposed to give the con- 
 queror a triumph more splendid even than the last. As 
 to the Senate, it assembled before the arrival of Duilius, 
 to determine what reward should be conferred upon him. 
 They were all in favour of a public statue, when suddenly 
 they heard shouts of triumph and the sound of a flute. It 
 was the consul, who had freed himself from the triumph, 
 thanks to his haste, but who could not free himself from 
 public gratitude, thanks to his flute-player. Suspecting 
 that they were preparing something new, he came to take 
 part in the deliberations. He found the Senate ready to 
 vote, with their balls in their hands. 
 
 "He advanced to the tribune. 'Conscript fathers,' said 
 he, 'is it not your intention to give me a reward which 
 will be agreeable to me?' 'Our intention,' replied the 
 president, 'is to make you the happiest man on earth.' 
 'Good,' said Duilius; 'will yoii allow me to ask from you 
 that which I desire most ? ' 'Speak,' cried all the senators 
 at once. 'And you will confer it on me? ' asked he, with 
 all the timidity of doubt. 'By Jupiter we will! ' answered 
 the president in the name of the assembly. 'Then, coti- 
 acript fathers,' said Duilius, 'if you think that I have
 
 THE CONSUL DUILTUS. 209 
 
 deserved well of the country, tcake away from me, in 
 recompense for this second victory, this cursed flute- 
 player, whom you gave me for the first.' The Senate 
 thought the request strange, but they had pledged their 
 word, and at that period people kept their promises. The 
 flute-player was allowed to retire on half-pay, and the 
 Consul Duilius, having got rid of liis musician, recovered 
 his incognito, and, without noise, found the door of thav 
 little house in the Suburrauian lioad, which one victory had 
 closed against him, and which another had reopened." 
 
 "Well," asked the palatine, "what has this story to do 
 with the fear I have of your being assassinated?" 
 
 "What has it to do with it, my mother?" said the 
 prince, laughing. "It is, that if, instead of the one 
 musician which the Consul Duilius had, and which caused 
 him such disappointment, I had a regiment of guards, you 
 may fancy what would happen to me." 
 
 "Ah! Philippe, Philippe!" answered the princess, 
 laughing and sighing at the same time, " will you always 
 treat serious matters so lightly? " 
 
 "No, mother," said the regent; "and the proof is that, 
 as I presume you did not come here solely to read me a 
 lecture on my nocturnal courses, but to speak on business, 
 I am ready to listen to you, and to reply seriously." 
 
 "Yes, you are right," said the princess; "I did come to 
 speak to you of other things. I came to speak of Made- 
 moiselle de Chartres." 
 
 "Yes, of your favourite, mother; for it is useless to 
 deny it, Louise is your favourite. Can it be because she 
 does not love her uncles much, whom you do not love 
 at all?" 
 
 " No, it is not that, but I confess it is pleasing to me to 
 see that she has no better opinion of bastards than I have; 
 but it is because, except as to beauty, which she has and I 
 never had, she is exactly what I was at her age, having 
 true boy's tastes, loving dogs, horses, and cavalcades, 
 managing powder like an artilleryman, and making squibs 
 
 14
 
 210 THE CHEVALIER d'harmental. 
 
 like a workman. Well, guess what has happened to 
 her ? " 
 
 " She wants a commission in the guards ? " 
 
 " No, no ; she wants to be a nun. " 
 
 " A nun, Louise ! Impossible ; it must be some joke of 
 her sisters." 
 
 *•' Not at all," replied the palatine ; " there is no joke about 
 it, I swear to you." 
 
 " How has she got this passion for the cloister ? " asked 
 the regent, beginning to believe in the truth of what his 
 mother told him, accustomed as he was to live at a time 
 when the most extravagant things were always the most 
 probable. 
 
 "Where did she get it ?" replied madame; " why, from 
 the devil, I suppose ; I do not know where else she could 
 have got it. The day before yesterday she passed with her 
 sister, riding, shooting, laughing ; in fact, I had never seen 
 her so gay ; but this evening Madame d'Orléans sent for me. 
 I found Mademoiselle de Chartres at her mother's knees, in 
 tears, and begging permission to retire to the Abbey des 
 Chelles. Her mother turned to me, and said, 'What do you 
 think of this, madame ? ' 'I think,' I replied, 'that we can 
 perform our devotions equally well in any place, and that 
 all depends on our own preparations ; ' but hearing my 
 words. Mademoiselle de Chartres redoubled her prayers, 
 and with so much earnestness, that I said to her mother, 
 ' It is for you to decide,' ' Oh,' replied the duchess, ' we 
 cannot prevent this poor child from performing her devo- 
 tions.' * Let her go then,' I replied, ' and may God grant 
 that she goes in that intention.' 'I swear to you, madame,' 
 said Mademoiselle de Chartres, 'that I go for God alone, 
 and that I am influenced by no worldly idea.' Then she 
 embraced us, and yesterday morning at seven o'clock she 
 set out." 
 
 " I know all that, since I was to have taken her there," 
 replied the regent. " Has nothing happened since then ? " 
 
 "Yes, yesterday evening she sent back the carriage, giv-
 
 THE CONSUL DUILIUS. 211 
 
 ing the coachman a letter addressed to you, to her mother, 
 and to me, in which she says that, finding in the cloister 
 that tranquillity and peace which she cannot hope for in 
 the world, she does not wish to leave it." 
 
 "And what does her mother say to this resolution?" 
 
 " Her mother ? " replied madame. " To tell you the truth, 
 I believe her mother is very glad, for she likes convents, 
 and thinks it a great piece of good luck to have a daughter 
 a nun ; but I say there is no happiness where there is no 
 vocation." 
 
 The regent read and re-read the letter of Mademoiselle 
 de Chartres, trying to discover, by the expression of her 
 desire to remain at Chelles, the secret causes which had 
 given rise to it. Then, after an instant of meditation, as 
 deep as if the fate of empires depended on it, — 
 
 " There is some love pique here," said he ; " do you know 
 if Louise loves any one ? " 
 
 Madame told the regent the adventure of the opera, and 
 the exclamation of the princess, in her admiration for the 
 handsome tenor. 
 
 "Diable!" cried the regent; "and what did you and the 
 Duchesse d'Orléans do in your maternal council ? " 
 
 " We showed Cauchereau the door, and forbade the opera 
 to Mademoiselle de Chartres ; we could not do less." 
 
 " Well ! " replied the regent, " there is no need to seek 
 further. We must cure her at once of this fancy." 
 
 " And how will you do that, my son ? " 
 
 " I will go to-day to the Abbey des Chelles, and interro- 
 gate Louise. If the thing is but a caprice, I will give it 
 time to pass off. I will appear to adopt her views, and in 
 a year hence, when she is to take the veil, she herself will 
 come and beg us to free her from the difficulty she has got 
 herself into. If, on the contrary, the thing is serious, then 
 it will be different." 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " said madame, rising ; " remember that poor 
 Cauchereau has perhaps nothing to do with it, and that he 
 is even ignorant of the passion he has inspired."
 
 212 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 " Do not be afraid," replied the prince, laughing at the 
 tragic interpretation which the princess, with her German 
 ideas, had given to his words. " I shall not renew the 
 lamentable history of the lovers of the Paraclete ; Cauche- 
 reau's voice shall neither lose nor gain a single note in this 
 adventure, and we do not treat a princess of the blood in 
 the same manner as a little bourgeoise." 
 
 "But, on the other hand," said madame, almost as much 
 afraid of the regent's real indulgence as of his apparent 
 severity, " no weakness either." 
 
 "My mother," said the regent, "if she must deceive 
 some one, I would rather that it was her husband than 
 God." And kissing his mother's hand respectfully, he led 
 her to the door, quite scandalized at those easy manners 
 among which she died, without ever having accustomed 
 herself to them. Then the Due d'Orléans returned to Iiis 
 drawing, humming an air from his opera of Porthee, 
 
 In crossing the antechamber, madame saw a little man 
 in great riding boots coming towards her, his head sunk in 
 the immense collar of a coat lined with fur. When he 
 reached her he poked out of his surtout a little face with a 
 pointed nose, and bearing a resemblance at once to a pole- 
 cat and a fox. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the palatine, " is it you, abbé ? " 
 
 " Myself, your highness. I have just saved France, — 
 nothing but that." And bowing to madame, without wait- 
 ing for her to dismiss him, as etiquette required, he turned 
 on his heel, and entered the regent's study without being 
 announced.
 
 THE ABBÉ DUBOIS. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE ABBÉ DUBOIS. 
 
 All the world knows the commencemeut of the Abbé Du- 
 bois. We will not enlarge on the history of his youth, which 
 may be found in the memoirs of the time, and particularly 
 in those of the implacable Saint-Simon. Dubois has not 
 been calumniated, — it was impossible ; but all the evil has 
 been told of him, and not quite all the good. 
 
 There was in his antecedents, and in those of Alberoni, 
 his rival, a great resemblance, but the genius was on the 
 side of Dubois ; and in the long struggle with Spain, which 
 the nature of our subject does not allow us to do more than 
 indicate, all the advantage was with the son of the apothe- 
 cary over the son of the gardener. Dubois preceded Figaro, 
 to whom he probably served as type ; but, more fortunate 
 than he, he passed from the office to the drawing-room, and 
 from the drawing-room to the court. All these successive 
 advantages were the rewards of various services, private or 
 public. 
 
 His last negotiation was his chef-cVœuvre ; it was more 
 than the ratification of the treaty of Utrecht ; it was a treaty 
 more advantageous still for France. The Emperor not only 
 renounced all right to the crown of Spain, as Philip V. had 
 renoimced all his to the crown of France, but he entered 
 with England and Holland into a league formed at once 
 against Spain on the south, and against Sweden and Russia 
 on the north. The division of the five or six great states 
 of Europe was established by this treaty on so solid and 
 just a basis that, after a hundred years of wars and revolu- 
 tions, all these states, except the Empire, remain in the 
 same situation that they then were.
 
 214 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 On his part, the regent, not very particular by nature, 
 loved this man, who had educated him, and whose fortune 
 he had made. The regent appreciated in Dubois the talents 
 he had, and was not too severe on the vices from which he 
 was not exempt. There was, however, between the regent 
 and Dubois an abyss. The regent's vices and virtues Avere 
 those of a gentleman, Dubois's those of a lackey. In vain 
 the regent said to him, at each new favour that he granted, 
 *' Dubois, take care, it is only a livery coat that I am putting 
 on your back." Dubois, who cared about the gift, and not 
 about the manner in v/hich it was given, replied, with that 
 apish grimace which belonged to him, "I am your valet, 
 monseigneur, dress me always the same." 
 
 Dubois, however, loved the regent, and was devoted to 
 him. He felt that this powerful hand alone had raised 
 him from the sink in which he had been found, and to 
 which, hated and despised as he was by all, a sign from the 
 master might restore him. He watched with a personal 
 interest the hatreds and plots which might reach the prince; 
 and more than once, by the aid of a police often better 
 managed than that of the lieutenant-general, and which 
 extended, by means of Madame de Tencin, into the highest 
 aristocracy, and, by means of La Fillon, to the lowest grades 
 of society, he had defeated conspiracies of which Messire 
 Voyer d'Argenson had not even heard a whisper. 
 
 Therefore the regent, who appreciated the services which 
 Dubois had rendered him, and could still render him, received 
 the ambassador with open arms. As soon as he saw him 
 appear, he rose, and, contrary to the custom of most 
 princes, who depreciate the service in order to diminish the 
 reward, — 
 
 "Dubois," said he, joyously, "you are my best friend, 
 and the treaty of the quadruple alliance will be more 
 profitable to King Louis XV. than all the victories of his 
 ancestor, Louis XIV." 
 
 " Bravo ! " said Dubois ; "you do me justice, monseigneur, 
 but, unluckily, every one is not equally grateful."
 
 THE ABBÉ DUBOIS. 215 
 
 "Ah ! ah ! " said the regent, "have you met my mother ? 
 She has just left the room." 
 
 " And how is his Majesty ? " asked Dubois, with a smile 
 full of a detestable hope. " He was very poorly when 
 I left." 
 
 "Well, abbé, very well," answered the prince, gravely. 
 " God will preserve him to us, I hojje, for the happiness of 
 France, and the shame of our calumniators." 
 
 "And monseigneur sees him every day as usual ? " 
 
 " I saw him yesterday, and I even spoke to him of you." 
 
 " Bah ! and what did you tell him ? " 
 
 " I told him that in all probability you had just secured 
 the tranquillity of his reign," 
 
 " And what did the king answer ? " 
 
 " What did he answer ! He answered, my friend, that he 
 did not think abbés were so useful." 
 
 " His Majesty is very witty ; and old Villeroy was there, 
 without doubt ? " 
 
 " As he always is." 
 
 " With your permission, I must send that old fellow to 
 look for me at the other end of France some fine morning. 
 His insolence to you begins to tire my patience.'' 
 
 '' Leave him alone, Dubois, leave him alone j everything 
 will come in time." 
 
 " Even my archbishopric." 
 
 " Ha ! what is this new folly ? " 
 
 " New folly, monseigneur ! on my honour nothing can be 
 more serious." 
 
 " Oh ! this letter from the King of England, which asks 
 me for an archbishopric for you — " 
 
 " Did your highness not recognise the style ? " 
 
 " You dictated it, you rascal ! " 
 
 " To Néricault Destouches, who got the king to sign it." 
 
 " And the king signed it as it is, without saying any- 
 thing ? " 
 
 " Exactly. 'You wish,' said he to our poet, Hhat a Prot- 
 estant prince should interfere to make an archbishop in
 
 216 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 France. The regent will read my recommendation, will 
 laugh at it, and pay no attention to it.' * Yes, yes, sire,' 
 replied Destouches, who has more wit than he puts into his 
 verses, 'the regent will laugh at it, but after all will do 
 what your Majesty asks.'" 
 
 "Destouches lied." 
 
 " Destouches never spoke more truly, monseigneur." 
 
 " You an archbisliop ! King George would deserve that, 
 in return, I should point out to him some rascal like you 
 for the archbishopric of York when it becomes vacant." 
 
 "I defy you to find my equal, — I know but one man." 
 
 "And who is he ? I should like to know him." 
 
 " Oh, it is useless ; he is already placed ; and, as his place 
 is good, he would not change it for all the archbishoprics 
 in the world." 
 
 " Insolent ! " 
 
 " With whom are you angry, monseigneur ? " 
 
 " With a fellow who wants to be an archbishop, and who 
 has never yet officiated at the communion table." 
 
 " I shall be all the better prepared." 
 
 "But the archdeaconship, the deaconship, the priest- 
 hood." 
 
 " Bah ! We will find somebody ; some second Jean des 
 Entom cures, who will despatch all that in an hour." 
 
 " I defy you to find him." 
 
 " It is already done." 
 
 " And who is that ? " 
 
 "Your first almoner, the Bishop of Nantes, Tressan." 
 
 "The fellow has an answer for everything. But your 
 marriage ? " 
 
 " My marriage ! " 
 
 "Yes, Madame Dubois." 
 
 " Madame Dubois ! Who is that ? " 
 
 " What, fellow, have you assassinated her ? " 
 
 " Monseigneur forgets that it is only three days since he 
 gave her her quarter's pension." 
 
 " And if she should oppose your archbishopric ? "
 
 THE ABBÉ DUBOIS. 217 
 
 " I defy her ; she has no proofs." 
 
 " She may get a copy of the marriage certificate." 
 
 " There is no copy without an original." 
 
 " And the original ? " 
 
 " Here it is," said Dubois, drawing from his pocket a 
 little paper, containing a pinch of ashes. 
 
 *' What ! and are you not afraid that I shall send you to 
 the galleys ? " 
 
 " If you wish to do so, now is the time, for I hear the 
 lieutenant of police speaking in the antechamber." 
 
 " Who sent for him ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " What for ? " 
 
 " To find fault with him." 
 
 " For what reason ? " 
 
 " You will hear. It is understood then, — I am an arch- 
 bishop." 
 
 " And have you already chosen your archbishopric ? " 
 
 " Yes, I take Cambray." 
 
 ^^ Peste! you are not modest." 
 
 " Oh, moil Dieu ! it is not for the profit, it is for the 
 honour of succeeding Fénélon." 
 
 " Shall we have a new Telemachus ? " 
 
 " Yes, if your highness will find me a Penelope in the 
 kingdom." 
 
 " Apropos of Penelope, you know that Madame de 
 Sabran — " 
 
 " I know all." 
 
 " Ah, abbé ; your police, then, is as good as ever ! " 
 
 "You shall judge." 
 
 Dubois stretched out his hand, rang the bell, and a mes- 
 senger appeared. 
 
 " Send the lieutenant-general," said Dubois. 
 
 " But, abbé, it seems to me that it is you who give orders 
 here now." 
 
 " It is for your good, monseigneur. Let me do it." 
 
 "Well, well!" said the regent, "one must be indulgent 
 to new-comers."
 
 218 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 Messire Voyer d'Argenson entered; he was as ugly aa 
 Dubois, but his ugliness was of a very different kind. lie 
 was tall, thick, and heavy, wore an immense wig, had great 
 bushy eyebrows, and was invariably taken for the devil by 
 children who saw him for the lirst time. But with all this, 
 he was supple, active, skilful, intriguing, and fulfilled his 
 office conscientiously, when he was not turned from his 
 nocturnal duties by other occupations. 
 
 " Messire d'Argenson." said Dubois, without even leaving 
 the lieutenant-general time to finish his bow, " monseigneur, 
 who has no secrets from me, has sent for you, that you may 
 tell me in what costume he went out last night, in whose 
 house he passed the evening, and what happened to him on 
 leaving it. I should not need to ask these questions if I 
 had not just arrived from London ; you understand that, as 
 I travelled post from Calais, I can know nothing of them." 
 
 " But," said D'Argenson, who thought these questions 
 concealed some snare, " did anything extraordinary happen 
 last evening ? I confess I received no report ; I hope no 
 accident happened to monseigneur ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, none ; only monseigneur, who went out at 
 eight o'clock in the evening as a French guard to sup with 
 Madame de Sabran, was nearly carried off on leaving her 
 house." 
 
 " Carried off ! " cried D'Argenson, turning pale, while the 
 regent could not restrain a cry of astonishment, " carried 
 off ! and by whom ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Dubois, " that is what we do not know, and 
 what you ought to know, Messire d'Argenson, if you had 
 not passed your time at the convent of the Madeleine de 
 ïraisnel." 
 
 " What, D'Argenson ! you, a great magistrate, give such 
 an example ! " said the regent, laughing. " Never mind, I 
 will receive you well, if you come, as you have already done 
 in the time of the late king, to bring me, at the end of the 
 year, a journal of my acts." 
 
 " Monseigneur," said the lieutenant, stammering, " I hope
 
 THE ABBÉ DUBOIS. 219 
 
 your highness does not believe a word of what the Abbé 
 Dubois says." 
 
 " What ! instead of being humiliated by your ignorance, 
 you give me the lie. Monseigneur, I will take you to 
 D'Argenson's seraglio ; an abbess of twenty-six, and novices 
 of fifteen ; a boudoir in India chintz, and cells hung with 
 tapestry. Oh, Monsieur le Lieutenant de Police knows 
 how to do things well." 
 
 The regent held his sides with laughing, seeing D'Argen- 
 son's disturbed face. 
 
 "But," replied the lieutenant of police, trying to bring 
 back the conversation to the less disagreeable, though more 
 humiliating subject, *' there is not much merit, abbé, in your 
 knowing the details of an event which doubtless mon- 
 seigneur himself told you." 
 
 " On my honour," said the regent, " I did not tell him a 
 single word." 
 
 " Listen, lieutenant ; is it monseigneur also who told me 
 the story of the novice of the Faubourg Saint-Marceau, 
 whom you so nearly carried off over the convent walls ? Is 
 it monseigneur who told me of that house which you have 
 had built under a false name, against the wall of the con- 
 vent of the Madeleine, so that you can enter at all hours 
 by a door hidden in a closet, and which opens on to the sac- 
 risty of the chapel of Saint Mark, j^our patron ? No, no, 
 all that, my dear lieutenant, is the infancy of the art, and 
 he who only knew this would not, I hope, be worthy to hold 
 a candle to you." 
 
 "Listen, abbé," replied the lieutenant of police, with a 
 grave air, " if all you have told me about monseigneur is 
 true, the thing is serious, and I am in the wrong not to 
 know it, if any one does ; but there is no time lost. We 
 will find the culprits and punish them as they deserve." 
 
 " But," said the regent, "you must not attach too much 
 importance to this ; they were, probably, some drunken 
 ofificers who wished to amuse their companions." 
 
 " It is a conspiracy, monseigneur," replied Dubois, " which.
 
 220 THE CHEVALIER D'H ARMENT AL. 
 
 emanates from the Spanish embassy, passing through the 
 Arsenal before it arrives at the Palais Royal." 
 
 " Again, Dubois ? " 
 
 " Always, monseigneur." 
 
 "And you, D'Argenson, what is your opinion?" 
 
 " That your enemies are capable of anything, monseigneur; 
 out that we will mar their plots, whatever they may be, I 
 give you my word." 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and the Due du Maine 
 was announced, who came to attend the council, and whose 
 privilege it was, as prince of the blood, not to be kept wait- 
 ing. He advanced with that timid and uneasy air which 
 was natural to him, casting a side glance over the three 
 persons in whose presence he found himself, as though to 
 discover what subject occupied them at his entrance. The 
 regent understood his thought. 
 
 " Welcome, my cousin," said he ; " these two bad fel- 
 lows — whom you know — have just been assuring me that 
 you are conspiring against me." 
 
 The Due du Maine turned as pale as death, and was 
 obliged to lean for support on the crutch-shaped stick which 
 he carried. 
 
 " And I hope, monseigneur," replied he, in a voice which 
 he vainly endeavoured to render firm, "that you did not 
 give ear to such a calumny." 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu ! no ! " replied the regent negligently ; 
 " but they are obstinate, and declare that they will take you 
 one day in the fact. I do not believe it, but at any rate I 
 give you warning ; be on your guard against them, for they 
 are clever fellows, I warrant you." 
 
 The Due du Maine opened his mouth to give some con- 
 temptible excuse, when the door opened again, and the 
 groom announced successively the Due de Bourbon, the 
 Prince de Conti, the Due de St. Simon, the Due de Guiche, 
 captain of the guards, the Due de Noailles, president of the 
 council of finance, the Due d'Antin, superintendent of 
 ships, the Maréchal d'Uxelles, president of the council of
 
 THE ABBÉ DUBOIS. 221 
 
 foreign affairs ; the Archbishop of Troyes ; the Marquis de 
 Lavrillière ; the Marquis d'Effiat ; the Due de Laforce ; the 
 Marquis de Torcy ; and the Maréchaux de Villeroy, d'Estrées, 
 de Villars, and de Bezons. 
 
 As these grave personages were gathered together to 
 deliberate upon the treaty of the quadruple alliance, brought 
 from London by Dubois, and as the treaty of the quadruple 
 alliance only figures secondarily in this history, our readers 
 will excuse our leaving the sumptuous reception-room in the 
 Palais Royal, to lead them back to the attic in the Rue du 
 Temps Perdu.
 
 222 THE CHEVALIER D'UARiMENTàL. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 D'Harmental, after having placed his hat and cloak on 
 a chair, after having placed his pistols on his table and 
 his sword under his pillow, threw himself dressed on to 
 his bed, and, more happy than Damocles, he slept, though, 
 like Damocles, a sword hung over his head by a thread. 
 
 When he awoke it was broad daylight, and, as the even- 
 ing before he had forgotten to close his shutters, the first 
 thing he saw was a ray of sunshine playing joyously across 
 his room. D'Harmental thought that he had been dream- 
 ing when he found himself again calm and tranquil in his 
 little room, so neat and clean, whilst he might have been 
 at that hour in some gloomy and sombre prison. For a 
 moment he doubted of its reality, remembering all that 
 had passed the evening before ; but all was there, — the red 
 ribbon, the hat and cloak on the chair, the pistols on the 
 table, and the sword under the pillow ; and, as a last proof, 
 he himself in the costume of the day before, which he had 
 not taken off for fear of being surprised by some nocturnal 
 visit. 
 
 D'Harmental jumped from his bed. His first look was 
 for his neighbour's window: it was already open, and he 
 saw Bathilde passing and repassing in her room; the 
 second was for his glass, which told him that conspiracies 
 suited him. Indeed, his face was paler than usual, and 
 therefore more interesting j his eyes were rather feverish, 
 and therefore more expressive: so that it was evident that, 
 when he had smoothed his hair and arranged his collar and 
 cravat, he would be a most interesting person to Bathilde. 
 D'Harmental did not say this, even to himself; but the
 
 THE CONSPIRACY. 223 
 
 b;iil instinct which always impels our poor souls to evil 
 whispered these thoughts to him, so that when he went to 
 his toilet he suited his dress to the expression of his face; 
 that is to say, that he dressed entirely in black, that his 
 hair was arranged with a charming negligence, and that 
 he left his waistcoat more than usually open, to give place 
 to his shirt-frill, which fell with an ease full of coquetry. 
 All this was done in the most preoccupied and careless 
 manner in the world; for D'Harmental, brave as he was, 
 could not help remembering that at any minute he might 
 be arrested ; but it was by instinct that, when the chevalier 
 gave the last look in the glass, before leaving his little 
 dressing-room, he smiled at himself with a melancholy 
 which doubled the charm of his countenance. There was 
 no mistake as to the meaning of this smile, for he went 
 directly to the window. 
 
 Perhaps Bathilde had also her projects for the moment 
 when her neighbour should reappear, perhaps she had 
 arranged a defence which should consist in not looking 
 towards him, or in closing her window after a simple 
 recognition; but at the noise her neighbour's window 
 made in opening, all was forgotten, and she ran to the 
 window, crying out, — 
 
 " Ah ! there you are. Mon Dieu ! monsieur, how anx- 
 ious you have made me! " 
 
 This exclamation was ten times more than D'Harmental 
 had hoped for. If he, on his part, had prepared some 
 well-turned and eloquent phrases, they were all forgotten, 
 and, clasping his hands, — 
 
 " Bathilde ! Bathilde ! " he cried, " you are, then, as good 
 as you are beautiful." 
 
 "Why good?" asked Bathilde. "Did you not tell me 
 that, if I was an orphan, you also were without parents? 
 Did you not say that I was your sister, and you were my 
 brother?" 
 
 "Then, Bathilde, you prayed for me?" 
 
 "All night," replied the young girl, blushing.
 
 224 THE CHEVALIER D'uAKMENTAL. 
 
 "And T thanked chance for having saved me, when I 
 owed all to an angel's prayers i " 
 
 "The danger is then past?" cried Bathilde. 
 
 "The night was dark and gloomy," replied D'Harmental. 
 "This morning, however, 1 was awakened by a ray of 
 sunshine which a cloud may again conceal; so it is with 
 the danger I have run; it has passed to give place to a 
 great happiness, — that of knowing you have thought of 
 me, — yet it may return. But stay," continued he, hear- 
 ing steps on the staircase, " there it is, perhaps, approaching 
 my door." 
 
 As he spoke, some one knocked three times at the chev- 
 alier's door. 
 
 "Who is there ?" asked D'Harmental from the window, 
 in a voice which, in spite of all his firmness, betrayed 
 some emotion. 
 
 "A. friend," answered a voice. 
 
 "Well?" asked Bathilde, with anxiety. 
 
 "Thanks to you, God still continues to protect me: it 
 is a friend who knocks. Once again, thanks, Bathilde." 
 And the chevalier closed his window, sending the young 
 girl a last salute which was very like a kiss; then he 
 opened to the Abbé Brigand, who, beginning to be impa- 
 tient, had knocked a second time. 
 
 "Well," said the abbé, on whose face it was impossible 
 to see the smallest change, "what has happened, then, my 
 dear pupil, that you are shut in thus by bolts and bars? 
 Is it as a foretaste of the Bastille ? " 
 
 "Hola, abbé !" said D'Harmental, in a cheerful voice, 
 "no such jokes, I beg; they might bring misfortune." 
 
 "But look! look ! " said Brigaud, throwing his eyes round 
 him, "would not any one suppose they were visiting a 
 conspirator? Pistols on the table, a sword on the pillow, 
 and a hat and cloak on the chair. Ah! my dear pupil, 
 you are discomposed, it appears to me. Come, put all this 
 in order, that I may not be able to perceive, when I pay 
 my paternal visit, what passes during my absence."
 
 THE CONSPIRACY. 225 
 
 D'Harmental obeyed, admiring in this man of the 
 Church the sang-froid which he himself found it difiicult 
 to attain. 
 
 "Very good," said Brigand, watching him, "and this 
 shoulder-knot which you have forgotten, and which was 
 never made for you (for it dates from the time when you 
 were in jackets), put it away too. Who knows? — you may 
 want it." 
 
 "And what for, abbé?" asked D'Harmental, laughing; 
 "to attend the regent's levée in?" 
 
 "Oh, no, but for a signal to some good fellow who is 
 passing; come, put it away." 
 
 "My dear abbé," said D'Harmental, "if you are not the 
 devil in person, you are at least one of his most intimate 
 acquaintances." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I am a poor fellow who goes his own quiet 
 way, and who, as he goes, looks liigh and low, right and 
 left, that is all. Look, there is a ray of spring, the first, 
 which knocks humbly at your window, and you do not 
 open it; one would suppose you were afraid of being seen. 
 Ah, pardon! I did not know that, when your window 
 opened, another must close." 
 
 "My dear abbé, you are full of wit," replied D'Har- 
 mental, "but terribly indiscreet; so much so, that, if you 
 were a musketeer instead of an abbé, I should quarrel with 
 you." 
 
 "And why? Because I wish to open you a path to 
 glory, fortune, and perhaps love? It would be monstrous 
 ingratitude." 
 
 "Well, let us be friends, abbé," said D'Harmental, 
 offering his hand, "and I shall not be sorry to have some 
 news." 
 
 "Of what? *' 
 
 " How do I know ? Of the Rue des Bons Enfants, where 
 there has been a great deal going on, I believe; of the 
 Arsenal, where, I believe, Madame du Maine has given 
 ft soirée ; and even of the regent, who, if I may believe a 
 
 15
 
 226 THE CHEVALIER D'hARMENTAL. 
 
 dream I had, came back to the Palais Royal very late and 
 rather agitated." 
 
 " All lias gone well. The noise of the Rue des Bons 
 Enfants, if there were any, is quite calm this morning; 
 Madame du Maine has as much gratitude for those whom 
 important affairs kept away from the Arsenal as she has 
 contempt for those who were there; finally, the regent, 
 dreaming last night, as usual, that he was King of France, 
 has already forgotten that he was nearly the prisoner of 
 the King of Spain. Now we must begin again." 
 
 "Ah, pardon, abbé," said D'Harmental; "but, with your 
 permission, it is the turn of the others. I shall not be 
 sorry to rest a little, myself." 
 
 "Ah, that goes badly with the news I bring you." 
 
 " What news ? " 
 
 "It was decided last night that you should leave for 
 Brittany this morning." 
 
 "For Brittany! — and what to do there?" 
 
 "You will know when you are there." 
 
 "And if I do not wish to go ? " 
 
 "You will reflect, and go just the same." 
 
 " And on what shall I reflect ? " 
 
 " That it would be the act of a madman to interrupt an 
 enterprise near its end for a love only at its beginning. 
 To abandon the interests of a princess of the blood to gain 
 the good graces of a grisette." 
 
 "Abbé!" said D'Harmental. 
 
 "Oh, we must not get angry, my dear chevalier; we 
 must reason! You engaged voluntarily in the affair we 
 have in hand, and you promised to aid us in it. Would 
 it be loyal to abandon us now for a repulse ? No, no, my 
 dear pupil ; you must have a little more connection in your 
 ideas if you mix in a conspiracy." 
 
 "It is just because I have connection in my ideas," 
 replied D'Harmental, "that this time, as at first, before 
 undertaking anything new, I wish to know what it is. I 
 offered myself to be the arm, it is true ; but, before strik-
 
 THE CONSPIRACY. 227 
 
 Ing, the arm must know what the head has decided. I 
 risk my liberty, I risk my life. I risk something per- 
 haps dearer to me still. I will risk all this in my own 
 manner, with my eyes open, and not closed. Tell me 
 first what I am to do in Brittany, and then perhaps I 
 will go there." 
 
 " Your orders are that you should go to Rennes. There 
 you will unseal this letter, and find your instructions." 
 
 " My orders ! my instructions ! " 
 
 "Are not these the terms which a general uses to his 
 officers ? And are they in the habit of disputing the 
 commands they receive ? " 
 
 "Not when they are in the service; but you know I am 
 in it no longer." 
 
 "It is true. I forgot to tell you that you had re- 
 entered it." 
 
 " I ! " 
 
 "Yes, you. I have your brevet in my pocket." And 
 Brigand drew from his pocket a parchment, which he pre- 
 sented to D'Harmental, who unfolded it slowly, question- 
 ing Brigand with his looks. 
 
 "A brevet!" cried the chevalier; "a brevet as colonel 
 in one of the four regiments of carabineers! Whence 
 comes this brevet ? " 
 
 "Look at the signature." 
 
 "Louis- Auguste, Duc du Maine! " 
 
 "Well, what is there astonishing in that? As grand 
 master of artillery, he has the nomination of twelve regi' 
 ments. He gives you one to replace that which was taken 
 from you, and, as your general, he sends you on a mission. 
 Is it customary for soldiers in such a case to refuse the 
 honour their chief does them in thinking of them ? I am a 
 churchman, and do not know." 
 
 " No, no, my dear abbé. It is, on the contrary, the duty 
 of every officer of the king to obey his chief." 
 
 "Besides which," replied Brigand, negligently, "in case 
 the conspiracy failed, you would only have obeyed orders,
 
 228 THE CIIEVALIEU d'iIAUxMENTAL. 
 
 and might throw the whole responsibility of your actions 
 on another." 
 
 "Abbé! " cried D'llarmental a second time. 
 
 "Well, if you do not go, I shall make you feel the 
 spur." 
 
 "Yes, I am going. Excuse me, but there are some 
 moments when I am half mad. I am now at the orders of 
 Monsieur du Maine, or, rather, at those of Madame. May 
 I not see her before I go, to fall at her feet, and tell her 
 that I am ready to sacrifice my life at a word from her." 
 
 "There, now, you are going in to the opposite extreme; 
 but no, you must not die; you must live, — live to triumph 
 over our enemies, and wear a beautiful uniform, with 
 which you will turn all the women's heads." 
 
 "Oh, my dear Brigaud, there is but one I wish to 
 please " 
 
 "Well, you shall please her first, and the others after- 
 wards." 
 
 "When must I go?" 
 
 "This instant." 
 
 " You will give me half an hour ?" 
 
 "Not a second." 
 
 "But I have not breakfasted." 
 
 "You shall come and breakfast with me." 
 
 "I have only two or three thousand francs here, and 
 that is not enough." 
 
 "You will find a year's pay in your carriage." 
 
 " And clothes ? " 
 
 " Your trunks are full. Had I not your measure ? You 
 will not be discontented with my tailor." 
 
 "But at least, abbé, tell me when I may return." 
 
 "In six weeks to a day, the Duchesse du Maine will 
 expect you at Sceaux." 
 
 "But at least you will permit me to write a couple of 
 lines." 
 
 "Well, I will not be too exacting." 
 
 The chevalier sat down and wrote : —
 
 THE CONSPIRACY. 229 
 
 Dear Bathilde, — To-day it is more than a danger which 
 threatens me ; it is a misfortune which overtakes me. I am force(\ 
 to leave this instant, without seeing you, without bidding you adieu, 
 I shall be six weeks absent. In the name of Heaven, Bathilde, do 
 not forget him who will not pass an hour without thinking of you. 
 
 Raoul. 
 
 This letter written, folded, and sealed, the chevalier rose 
 and went to the window ; but, as we have said, that of his 
 neighbour was closed when Brigaud appeared. There was 
 then no means of sending to Bathilde the despatch destined 
 for her. D'Harmental made an impatient gesture. At 
 this moment they heard a scratching at the door. The 
 abbé opened it, and Mirza appeared, guided by her instinct 
 and her greediness, to the giver of the bon-bons, and 
 making live demonstrations of joy. 
 
 "Well," said Brigaud, "who shall say God is not good 
 to lovers ? You wanted a messenger, and here is one." 
 
 "Abbé, abbé," said D'Harmental, shaking his head, "do 
 not enter into my secrets before I wish it." 
 
 "Oh," replied Brigaud, "a confessor, you know, is an 
 abyss." 
 
 " Then not a word will pass your lips ? " 
 
 "On my honour, chevalier." 
 
 D'Harmental tied the letter to Mirza's neck, gave her a 
 piece of sugar as a reward for the commission she was 
 about to accomplish; and, half sad at having lost his 
 beautiful neighbour for six weeks, half glad at having 
 regained for ever his beautiful uniform, he took his money, 
 put his pistols into his pockets, fastened on his sword, 
 took his hat and cloak, and followed the Abbé Brigaud.
 
 230 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE ORDER OF THE HONEY-BEE. 
 
 At the appointed day and hour, that is to say, six weeks 
 after his departure from the capital, and at four o'clock in 
 the afternoon, D'Harmental, returning from Brittany, 
 entered the court-yard of the Palace of Sceaux, with his 
 post horses going at full gallop. Servants in full livery 
 waited on the door-step, and everything announced prep- 
 arations for a fête. D'Harmental entered, crossed the 
 hall, and found himself in a large room, where about 
 twenty people were assembled, standing in groups talking, 
 whilst waiting for the mistress of the house. 
 
 There were, amongst others, the Comte de Laval, the 
 Marquis de Pompadour, the poet St. Genest, the old Abbé 
 Chaulieu, St. Aulaire, Madame de Rohan, Madame de 
 Croissy, Madame de Charost, and Madame de Brissac. 
 
 D'Harmental went straight to the Marquis de Pompa- 
 dour, the one out of all this noble and intelligent society 
 with whom he was best acquainted. They shook hands. 
 Then D'Harmental, drawing him aside, said, — 
 
 " My dear marquis, can you tell me how it is that where 
 I expected to find only a dull political assembly I find 
 preparations for a fete ? " 
 
 ^^ Ma foi! I do not know, my dear chevalier," replied 
 Pompadour, " and I am as astonished as you are. I have 
 just returned from Normandy myself." 
 
 " Ah ! you also have just arrived ? " 
 
 " This instant I asked the same question of Laval, but 
 he has just arrived from Switzerland, and knows no more 
 than we do." 
 
 At this moment the Baron de Valef was announced.
 
 THE ORDER OF THE HONEY-BEE. 231 
 
 "Ah, pardieu! now we shall know," continued Pompa- 
 dour. " Valef is so intimate with the duchess he will be 
 able to tell us." 
 
 Valef, recognising them, came towards them. 
 
 D'Harmental and Valef had not seen each other since 
 the day of the duel with which this history opened, so 
 that they met with pleasure; then, after exchanging 
 compliments, — 
 
 "My dear Valef," said D'Harmental, "can you tell me 
 what is the meaning of this great assembly, when I 
 expected to find only a select committee ? " 
 
 ''^ Ma foi! I do not know anything of it," said Valef, "I 
 have just come from Madrid." 
 
 "Every one has just arrived from somewhere," said 
 Pompadour, laughing. " Ah ! here is Malezieux, I hope 
 he lias been no farther than Dombes or Chatenay; and as 
 at any rate he has certainly passed through Madame du 
 Maine's room we shall have some news at last." 
 
 At these words Pompadour made a sign to Malezieux, 
 but the worthy chancellor was so gallant that he must first 
 acquit himself of his duty towards the ladies. After he 
 had bowed to them, he came towards the group, amongst 
 which were Pompadour, D'Harmental, and Valef. 
 
 "Come, my dear Malezieux," said Pompadour, "we are 
 waiting for you most impatiently. We have just arrived 
 from the four quarters of the globe, it appears. Valef 
 from the south, D'Harmental from the west, Laval from 
 the east, I from the north, you from I do not know where; 
 so that we confess that we are very curious to know what 
 we are going to do here at Sceaux." 
 
 "You have come to assist at a great solemnity, at the 
 reception of a new knight of the order of the honey-bee." 
 
 " Pes^e .'^ " said D'Harmental, a little piqued that they 
 should not have left him time to go to the Rue du Temps 
 Perdu before coming to Sceaux; "I understand now why 
 Madame du Maine told us to be so exact to the rendezvous ; 
 as to myself, I am very grateful to her Highness."
 
 232 THE CHEVALIER lyilAltMENTAL. 
 
 "First of all you must know, young man," interrupted 
 Malczieux, "that there is no Madame du Maine nor high- 
 ness in the question. There is only the beautiful fairy 
 Ludovic, the queen of the bees, whom every one must obey 
 blin(^3^ Our queen is all-wise and all-powerful, and when 
 you know who is the knight we are to receive you will not 
 regret your diligence." 
 
 " And who is it ? " asked Valef , who, arriving from the 
 greatest distance, was naturally the most anxious to know 
 why he had been brought home. 
 
 "His Excellency the Prince de Cellamare." 
 
 "Ah ! " said Pompadour, "I begin to understand." 
 
 "And I," said Valef. 
 
 "And I," said D'Harmental. 
 
 "Very well," said Malezieux, smiling; "and before the 
 end of the evening you will understand still better; mean- 
 while do not try to see farther. It is not the first time 
 you have entered with your eyes bandaged, Monsieur 
 d'Harraental?" 
 
 At these words, Malezieux advanced towards a little 
 man, with a flat face, flowing hair, and a discontented 
 expression. D'Harmental inquired who it was, and Pom- 
 padour replied that it was the poet Lagrange-Chancel. 
 The young men looked at the new-comer with a curiosity 
 mixed with disgust; then, turning away, and leaving 
 Pompadour to advance towards the Cardinal de Polignac, 
 who entered at this moment, they went into the embrasure 
 of a window to talk over the occurrences of the evening. 
 
 The order of the honey-bee had been founded by Madame 
 du Maine, apropos of the Italian motto which she had 
 adopted at her marriage: "Little insects inflict large 
 stings." 
 
 This order had, like others, its decorations, its officers, 
 and its grand-master. The decoration was a medal, repre- 
 senting on one side a hive, and on the other the queen -bee: 
 it was hung by a lemon-coloured ribbon, and was worn by 
 every knight whenever he came to Sceaux. The officers
 
 
 The Duchess of Maine.
 
 THE ORDER OF THE HONEY-BEE. 233 
 
 were Malezieux, St. Aulaire, the Abbé Chaulieu, and St. 
 Genest. Madame du Maine was grand-master. 
 
 It was composed of thirty-nine members, and could not 
 exceed this number. The death of Monsieur de Nevers 
 had left a vacancy which was to be filled by the nomina- 
 tion of the Prince de Cellamare. The fact was, that 
 Madame du Maine had thought it safer to cover this po- 
 litical meeting with a frivolous pretext, feeling sure that a 
 fête in the gardens at Sceaux would appear less suspicious 
 in the eyes of Dubois and Messire Voyer d'Argenson than 
 an assembly at the Arsenal. Thus, as will be seen, nothing 
 had been forgotten to give its old splendour to the order 
 of the honey-bee. 
 
 At four o'clock precisely, the time fixed for the cere- 
 mony, the doors of the room opened, and they perceived, 
 in a saloon hung with crimson satin spangled with silver 
 bees, the beautiful fairy Ludovic seated on a throne raised 
 on three steps. She made a gesture with her golden wand, 
 and all her court, passing into the saloon, arranged them- 
 selves in a half-circle round her throne, on the steps of 
 which the dignitaries of the order placed themselves. 
 
 After the initiation of the Prince de Cellamare as a 
 knight of the honey-bee, a second door was opened, dis- 
 playing a room brilliantly lighted, where a splendid supper 
 was laid. The new knight of the order offered his hand 
 to the fairy, and conducted her to the supper-room, followed 
 by the assistants. 
 
 The entertainment was worthy of the occasion, and the 
 flow of wit which so peculiarly characterised the epoch 
 was well sustained. At the hour began to draw late, the 
 Duchesse du Maine rose and announced that, having 
 received an excellent telescope from the author of "The 
 Worlds," she invited her company to study astronomy in 
 the garden.
 
 234 THE CHEVALIEU D'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXTI. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GREENLANDER8. 
 
 As might have been expected, new surprises awaited the 
 guests in the garden. These gardens, designed by Le 
 Notre for Colbert, and sold by him to the Due du Maine, 
 had now really the appearance of a fairy abode. They 
 were bounded only by a large sheet of water, in the midst 
 of which was the pavilion of Aurora, — so called because 
 from this pavilion was generally given the signal that the 
 night was finished, and that it was time to retire, — and 
 had, with their games of tennis, football, and tilting at 
 the ring, an aspect truly royal. Every one was astonished 
 on arriving to find all the old trees and graceful paths 
 linked together by garlands of light which changed the 
 night into brilliant day. 
 
 At the approach of Madame du Maine a strange party, 
 consisting of seven individuals', advanced gravely towards 
 her. They were dressed entirely in fur, and wore hairy 
 caps, which hid their faces. They had with them a sledge 
 drawn by two reindeer, and their deputation was headed 
 by a chief wearing a long robe lined with fur, with a cap of 
 fox-skin, on which were three tails. This chief, kneeling 
 before Madame du Maine, addressed her, — 
 
 " Madame ! the Greenlanders have chosen me, as one of 
 the chief among them, to offer you, on their parts, the 
 sovereignty of their state." 
 
 This allusion was so evident, and yet so safe, that a 
 murmur of approbation ran through the whole assembly, 
 and the ambassador, visibly encouraged by this reception, 
 continued, — 
 
 *' Fame has told us, even in the midst of our snows, in
 
 THE QUEEN OF TITE GREENLANDEJIS. 235 
 
 our little corner of the world, of tlio charms, the virtues, 
 and the inclinations of your highness. We know that you 
 abhor the sun." 
 
 This allusion was as quickly seized on as the first, for 
 the sun was the regent's device, and, as we have said, 
 Madame du Maine was well known for her predilection in 
 favour of night. 
 
 "Consequently, madame," continued the ambassador, 
 "as in our geographical position God has blessed us with 
 six months of night and six months of twilight, we come 
 to propose to you to take refuge in our land from the sun 
 which you so much dislike; and in recompense for that 
 which you leave here, we offer you the title of Queen of 
 the Greenlanders. We are certain that your presence will 
 cause our arid plains to flower, and that the wisdom of 
 your laws will conquer our stubborn spirit, and that, 
 thanks to the gentleness of your reign, we shall renounce 
 a liberty less sweet than your rule." 
 
 "But," said Madame du Maine, "it seems to me that 
 the kingdom you offer me is rather distant, and I confess 
 I do not like long voyages." 
 
 "We foresaw your reply, madame," replied the ambas- 
 sador, "and, thanks to the enchantments of a powerful 
 magician, have so arranged that, if you would not go to 
 the mountain, the mountain should come to you. Hola, 
 genii ! " continued the chief, describing some cabalistic 
 circles in the air with his wand, "display the palace of 
 your new sovereign." 
 
 At this moment some fanciful music was heard; the veil 
 which covered the pavilion of Aurora was raised as if by 
 magic, and the water showed the reflection of a light so 
 skilfully placed that it might have been taken for the 
 moon. By this light was seen an island of ice at the foot 
 of a snowy peak, on which was the palace of the Queen of 
 the Greenlanders, to which led a bridge so light that it 
 seemed to be made of a floating cloud. Then, in the midst 
 of general acclamation, the ambassador took from the
 
 236 THE CHEVALIER D'hARMENTAL. 
 
 hands of one of his suite a crown, which he placed on the 
 duchess's head, and which she received with as haughty a 
 gesture as though it had been a real crown. Then, getting 
 into the sledge, she went towards the marine palace; and, 
 while the guards prevented the crowd from following her 
 into her new domain, she crossed the bridge and entered, 
 with the seven ambassadors. At the same instant the 
 bridge disappeared, as if, by an illusion not less visible 
 than the others, the skilful machinist had wished to sepa- 
 rate the past from the future, and fireworks expressed the 
 joy of the Greenlanders at seeing their new sovereign. 
 Meanwhile Madame du Maine was introduced by an usher 
 into the most retired part of the palace, and the seven 
 ambassadors having thrown off caps and cloaks, she found 
 herself surrounded by the Prince de Cellamare, Cardinal 
 Polignac, the Marquis de Pompadour, the Comte de Laval, 
 the Baron de Valef, the Chevalier d'Harmental, and 
 Malezieux. As to the usher, who, after having carefully 
 closed all the doors, came and mixed familiarly with all 
 this noble assembly, he was no other than our old friend, 
 the Abbé Brigand. Things now began to take their true 
 form, and the fête, as the ambassadors had done, threw off 
 mask and costume, and turned openly to conspiracy. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the duchess, with her habitual vi- 
 vacity, "we have not an instant to lose, as too long an 
 absence would be suspicious. Let every one tell quickly 
 what he has done, and we shall know what we are about." 
 
 "Pardon, madame," said the prince, "but you had 
 spoken to me, as being one of ourselves, of a man whom 
 I do not see here, and whom I am distressed not to count 
 among our numbers." 
 
 "You mean the Due de Eichelieu?" replied Madame 
 du Maine; "it is true he promised to come; he must have 
 been detained by some adventure; we must do without 
 him." 
 
 "Yes, certainly," replied the prince, "if he does not 
 come we must do without him; but I confess that I deeply
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GREENLANDERS. 237 
 
 regret his absence. The regiment which he commands is 
 at Bayonne, and for that reason might be very useful to 
 us. Give orders, I beg, madame, that if he should come 
 he should be admitted directly." 
 
 ''Abbe," said Madame du Maine, turning to Brigand, 
 "you heard; tell D'Avranches." 
 
 The abbé went out to execute this order. 
 
 "Pardon, monsieur," said D'Harmental to Malezieux, 
 " but I thought six weeks ago that the Due de Richelieu 
 positively refused to be one of us." 
 
 "Yes," answered Malezieux, "because he knew that he 
 was intended to take the cordon bleu to the Prince of the 
 Asturias, and he would not quarrel with the regent just 
 when he expected the Golden Fleece as the reward of his 
 embassy; but now the regent has changed his mind and 
 deferred sending the order, so that the Due de Richelieu, 
 seeing his Golden Fleece put off till the Greek kalends, 
 has come back to us." 
 
 "1 have given the order," said the Abbé Brigand, 
 returning. 
 
 "Well," said the duchess, "now let us go to business. 
 Laval, you begin." 
 
 "I, madame," said Laval, "as you know, have been in 
 Switzerland, where, with the King of Spain's name and 
 money, I raised a regiment in the Grisons. This regi- 
 ment is ready to enter France at any moment, armed and 
 equipped, and only waits the order to march." 
 
 "Very good, my dear count," said the duchess; "and if 
 you do not think it below a Montmorency to be colonel of 
 a regiment while waiting for something better, take the 
 command of this one. It is a surer way of getting the 
 Golden Fleece than taking the Saint Esprit into Spain." 
 
 "Madame," said Laval, "it is for you to appoint each 
 one his place, and whatever you may appoint will be 
 gratefully accepted by the most humble of your servants." 
 
 "And you. Pompadour," said Madame du Maine, thank- 
 ing Laval by a gesture of the hand, "what have you 
 done ? "
 
 238 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "According to your Highness's instructions," replied 
 the marquis, " I went to Normandy, wliere I got the protes- 
 tation signed by the nobility. I bring you thirty-eight 
 good signatures." He drew a paper from his pocket. 
 "Here is the request to the king, and here the signatures." 
 
 The duchess snatched the paper so quickly that slie 
 almost tore it, and, throwing her eyes rapidly over it, — 
 
 "Yes, yes," said she, "you have done well to put them 
 so, without distinction or difference of rank, so that there 
 may be no question of precedence. Guillaume-Alexandre 
 de Vieux-Pont, Pierre-Anne-Marie de la Pailleterie, De 
 Beaufremont, De Latour-Dupin, De Châtillon. Yes, you 
 are right; these are the best and most faithful names in 
 France. Thanks, Pompadour; you are a worthy messen- 
 ger; your skill shall not be forgotten. And you, chev- 
 alier ? " continued she, turning to D'Harmental with her 
 irresistible smile. 
 
 "I, madame," said the chevalier, "according to your 
 orders, left for Brittany, and at Nantes I opened my 
 despatches and took my instructions." 
 
 " Well ? " asked the duchess quickly. 
 
 "Well, madame," replied D'Harmental, "I have been 
 as successful as Messieurs de Laval and Pompadour. I 
 have the promises of Messieurs De Montlouis, De Bona- 
 mour, De Pont-Callet, and De Eohan Soldue. As soon as 
 Spain shows a squadron in sight of the coasts, Brittany 
 will rise." 
 
 "You see, prince," cried the duchess, addressing Cella- 
 mare, with an accent full of ambitious joy, "everything 
 favours us." 
 
 "Yes," replied the prince; "but these four gentlemen, 
 influential as they are, are not all that we must have. 
 There are Laguerche-Saint-Amant, Les Bois-Davy, De 
 Larochefoucault-Gondral, Les Décourt, and Les d'Erée 
 whom it would be important to gain." 
 
 "It is done, prince," said D'Harmental; "here are their 
 letters ; " and taking several from his pocket, he opened 
 two or three by chance and read their contents.
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GREENLANDERS. 23^ 
 
 "Well, prince," cried Madame du Maine, "what do you 
 think now ? Besides these three letters, here is one from 
 Lavauguyon, one from Bois-Davy, one from Fumée. Stay, 
 chevalier, here is our right hand; 'tis that which holds 
 the pen, — let it be a pledge to you, that, if ever its signa- 
 ture should be royal, it would have nothing to refuse to 
 you." 
 
 "Thanks, madame," said D'Harmental, kissing her 
 hand respectfully, " but you have already given me more 
 than I deserve, and success itself would recompense me so 
 highly, by placing your Highness in your proper position, 
 that I should have nothing left to desire." 
 
 "And now, Valef, it is your turn," continued the 
 duchess ; " we kept you till the last, for you were the most 
 important. If 1 understood rightly your signs during 
 dinner, you are not displeased with their Catholic 
 Majesties." 
 
 " What would your Highness say to a letter written by 
 his Highness Philippe himself ? " 
 
 "Oh! it is more than I ever dared to hope for," cried 
 Madame du Maine. 
 
 "Prince," said Valef, passing a paper to Cellamare, 
 "you know his Majesty's writing. Assure her royal 
 Highness, who does not dare to believe it, that this is 
 from his own hand." 
 
 "It is," said Cellamare. 
 
 " And to whom is it addressed ? " asked Madame du 
 Maine, taking it from the prince's hands. 
 
 "To the king, Louis XV., madame," said the latter. 
 
 "Good!" said the duchess; "we will get it presented 
 by the Maréchal de Villeroy. Let us see what it says." 
 And she read as rapidly as the writing permitted : — 
 
 "The Escurial, 16th March, 1718. 
 
 " Since Providence has placed me on the throne of 
 Spain, I have never for an instant lost sight of the obli- 
 gations of my birth. Louis XIV., of eternal memory, is 
 always present to my mind. I seem always to hear that
 
 240 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 great prince, at the moment of our separation, sajdng to 
 me, * The Pyrenees exist no longer.' Your Majesty is the 
 only descendant of my elder brother, whose loss I feel 
 daily. God has called you to the succession of this great 
 monarchy, whose glory and interests will be precious to 
 me till my death, I can never forget what I owe to your 
 Majesty, to my country, and to the memory of my 
 ancestor. 
 
 "My dear Spaniards (who love me tenderly, and who 
 are well assured of my love for them, and not jealous of 
 the sentiments which I hold for you) are well assured that 
 our union is the base of public tranquillity. I flatter 
 myself that my personal interests are still dear to a na- 
 tion which has nourished me in its bosom, and that a 
 nobility who has shed so much blood to support them 
 will always look with love on a king who feels it an 
 honour to be obliged to them, and to have been born 
 among them." 
 
 "This is addressed to you, gentlemen," said the duchess, 
 interrupting herself; and, looking round her, she con- 
 tinued, impatient to know the rest of the letter : — 
 
 "What, then, can your faithful subjects think of a 
 treaty signed against me, or rather against yourself ? 
 
 "Since your exhausted finances can no longer support 
 the current expenses of peace, it is desired that you should 
 unite with my most mortal enemy, and should make war 
 on me, if I do not consent to give up Sicily to the arch- 
 duke. I will never subscribe to these conditions: they 
 are insupportable to me. 
 
 "I do not enter into the fatal consequences of this 
 alliance. I only beg your Majesty to convoke the States- 
 General directly, to deliberate on an affair of such great 
 consequence." 
 
 " The States-General ! " murmured the Cardinal de 
 Polignac. 
 
 "Well, what does your Eminence say to the States- 
 General ? " interrupted Madame du Maine, impatiently.
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GEEENLANDERS. 241 
 
 " Has this measure the misfortune not to meet with your 
 approbation? " 
 
 "I neither blame nor approve, madame," replied the 
 cardinal; "I only remember that this convocation was 
 made during the league, and that Philip came off badly," 
 
 "Men and times are changed, cardinal," replied the 
 duchess; "we are not in 1594, but in 1718. Philip II. 
 was Flemish, and Philip V. is French. The same results 
 cannot take place, since the causes are different." And 
 she went on with the letter : — 
 
 " I ask this in the name of the blood which unites us, — 
 in the name of the great king from whom we have our 
 origin, — in the name of your people and mine. If ever 
 there was a necessity to listen to the voice of the French 
 nation, it is now. It is indispensable to learn what they 
 think : whether they wish to declare war on us. As I am 
 ready to expose my life to maintain its glory and interests, 
 I hope you will reply quickly to the proj)ositions I make 
 to you. The Assembly will prevent the unfortunate 
 results which threaten us, and the forces of Spain will 
 only be employed to sustain the greatness of France, and 
 to fight her enemies, as I shall never employ them but to 
 show your Majesty my sincere regard and affection." 
 
 "What do you think of that, gentlemen? Can his 
 Majesty say more?" 
 
 "He might have joined to this an epistle addressed 
 directly to the States-General," answered the Cardinal de 
 Polignac. "This letter, if the king had deigned to send 
 it, would have had a great influence on their delibera- 
 tions." 
 
 "Here it is," said the Prince de Cellamare, taking a 
 paper from his pocket. 
 
 " What, prince ! " cried the cardinal. 
 
 "I say that his Majesty is of the same opinion as your 
 Eminence, and has sent me this letter, which is the com- 
 plement of the letter which the Baron de Valef has." 
 
 "Then nothing is wanting," cried Madame du Maine. 
 
 16
 
 242 THE CHEVALIER d'hakmental. 
 
 *'We want Bayonne," said the Prince de Cellamare; — 
 "Bayonne, the door of France." 
 
 At this moment D'Avranches entered, announcing the 
 Due de Eichelieu. 
 
 "And now, prince, there is nothing wanting," said the 
 Marquis de Pompadour, laughing; "for here is he who 
 holds the key."
 
 THE DUC DE RICHELIEU. 243 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE DUC DE RICHELIEU. 
 
 "At last! " cried the duchess, seeing Eichelieu enter. 
 " Are you, then, always the same ? Your friends cannot 
 count on you any more than your mistresses." 
 
 "On the contrary, madame," said Richelieu, approach- 
 ing the duchess, "for to-day, more than ever, I prove to 
 your Highness that I can reconcile everything." 
 
 "Then you have made a sacrifice for us, duke," said 
 Madame du Maine, laughing. 
 
 "Ten thousand times greater than you can imagine. 
 Who do you think I have left ? " 
 
 " Madame de Villars ? " asked the duchess. 
 
 "Oh no! better than that." 
 
 " Madame de Duras ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Madame de Ne'sle?" 
 
 "Bah!" 
 
 "Madame de Polignac ? Ah ! pardon, cardinal." 
 
 "Go on. It does not concern his Eminence." 
 
 "Madame de Soubise, Madame de Gabriant, Madame 
 de Gacé ? " 
 
 "No, no, no." 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Charolais ? " 
 
 "I have not seen her since my last trip to the Bastille." 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Valois ? " 
 
 "Oh! I intend her for my wife, when we have suc- 
 ceeded, and I am a Spanish prince. No, madame; I have 
 left, for your Highness, the two most charming grisettes." 
 
 " Grisettes ! Ah ! fie ! " cried the duchess, with a move- 
 ment of contempt, " I did not think that you descended to 
 such creatures."
 
 244 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "Creatures! two charming women! Madame Michelin 
 and Madame Kenaud. Do you not know them? Madame 
 Michelin, a beautiful blonde; her husband is a carpet 
 manufacturer; I reconiniend him to you, duchess. Madame 
 lienaud, an adorable brunette, with blue eyes and black 
 lashes, and whose husband is — . Ma foi ! I do not 
 remember exactly — " 
 
 "What Monsieur Michelin is, probably," said Pompa- 
 dour, laughing. 
 
 "Pardon, duke," replied Madame du Maine, who liad 
 lost all curiosity for lUchelieu's love adventures as soon 
 as they travelled from a certain set, "may I venture to 
 remind you that we met here on important business! " 
 
 " Oh yes ! we are conspiring, are we not ? " 
 
 " Had you forgotten it ? " 
 
 '^ Ma foi! a conspiracy is not one of the gayest things in 
 the world, therefore I forget it whenever I can ; but that 
 is nothing, — whenever it is necessary I can come back to 
 it. Now let us see : how does the conspiracy go on ? " 
 
 " Here, duke, look at these letters, and you will know 
 as much as we do." 
 
 "Oh! your Highness must excuse me," said Richelieu ; 
 "but really I do not read those which are addressed to 
 me, and I have seven or eight hundred, in the most 
 charming writings, which I am keeping to amuse my old 
 days. Here, Malezieux, you are clearness itself, give me 
 a report." 
 
 " Well, these letters are the engagements of the Breton 
 nobles to sustain the rights of her Highness." 
 
 "Very good." 
 
 "This paper is the protestation of the nobility." 
 
 "Oh! give it me. I protest." 
 
 "But you do not know against what." 
 
 "Never mind, I protest all the same." 
 
 And, taking the paper, he wrote his name after that of 
 Guillaume Antoine de Chastellux, which was the last 
 signature.
 
 THE DUC DE RICHELIEU. 245 
 
 "Let him alone," said Cellamare to the duchess, "Riche- 
 lieu's name is useful everywhere." 
 
 " And this letter ? " asked the duke, pointing to the 
 missive of Philip V. 
 
 "That letter," continued Malezieux, "is written by 
 King Philip himself." 
 
 "Then his Catholic Majesty writes worse than I do," 
 answered Richelieu. "That pleases me. Ratîé always 
 says it is impossible." 
 
 "If the letter is badly written, the news it contains is 
 none the less good," said Madame du Maine, "for it is a 
 letter begging the King of France to assemble the States- 
 General to oppose the treaty of the quadruple alliance." 
 
 "And is your Highness sure of the States-General ?" 
 
 "Here is the protestation which engages the nobility. 
 The cardinal answers for the clergy, and there only 
 remains the army." 
 
 "The army," said Laval, "is my affair. I have the 
 signs manual of twenty -two colonels." 
 
 "First," said Richelieu, "I answer for my regiment, 
 which is at Bayonne, and which, consequently, is able to 
 be of great service to us." 
 
 "Yes," said Cellamare, "and we reckon on it, but I 
 heard that there was a question of changing the garrison " 
 
 "Seriously?" 
 
 "Very seriously. You understand, duke ? We must 
 be beforehand." 
 
 " Instantly. Paper, — ink ; I will write to the Due de 
 Berwick. At the moment of commencing a campaign, no 
 one will be astonished at my begging not to be removed 
 from the theatre of war." 
 
 The duchess hastened to give Richelieu what he asked, 
 and, taking a pen, presented it to him herself. The duke 
 bowed, took the pen, and wrote a letter to the Due de 
 Berwick, begging that his regiment should not be removed 
 till May. 
 
 "Now read, madame," continued the duke, passing the
 
 246 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 paper to Madame du Maine. The duchess took the letter, 
 read it, and passed it to her neighbour, wlio passed it on, 
 so that it made the round of tlie table. Maiuzieux, who 
 had it the last, could not repress a slight smile. 
 
 "Ah! poet," said liichelieu, "you are laughiug j I sup- 
 pose I have had the misfortune to oft'end that ridiculous 
 prude called orthography. You know I am a gentleman, 
 and they forgot to teach me i'renchj thinking, 1 suppose, 
 that for lifteeu hundred francs a year I can always have a 
 vuLet de chambre, who could write my letters and make my 
 verses. This will not prevent me, my dear Malezieux, 
 from being in the Academy, not only before you, but 
 before Voltaire." 
 
 "In which case, will your valet de chambre write your 
 discourse ? " 
 
 "He is working at it, and you will see that it will not 
 be worse than those that some academicians of my ac- 
 quaintance have done themselves." 
 
 "Duke," said Madame du Maine, "it will doubtless be 
 a curious thing to see your reception into the illustrious 
 body of which you speak, and I promise you to employ 
 myself to-morrow in procuring a seat for that day; but 
 this evening we are occupied with other things." 
 
 "Well," said Richelieu, "speak, I listen. What have 
 you resolved ? " 
 
 " To obtain from the king, by means of these two letters, 
 the convocation of the States-General; then, sure as we 
 are of the three orders, we depose the regent, and name 
 Philip V. in his place." 
 
 "And as Philip V. cannot leave Madrid, he gives us 
 full powers, and we govern France in his stead. Well, it 
 is not badly arranged, all that, but to convoke the States- 
 General you must have an order from the king." 
 
 "The king will sign it." 
 
 " Without the regent's knowledge ? '* 
 
 "Without the regent's knowledge." 
 
 " Then you have promised the Bishop of Fréjus to make 
 him a cardinal."
 
 THE DUC DE KICllELIEU. 247 
 
 "No; but I will promise Villeroy a title and the Golden 
 Fleece." 
 
 "I am afraid, madame," said the Prince of Cellamare, 
 "that all this will not determine the marshal to undertake 
 80 grave a responsibility." 
 
 "It is not the marshal we want; it is his wife." 
 
 "Ah! you remind me," said Richelieu, "I undertake it." 
 
 "You! " said the duchess, with astonishment. 
 
 "Yes, madame," replied Richelieu, "you have your 
 correspondence, I have mine. 1 have seen seven or eight 
 letters that you have received to-day. Will your Highness 
 have the goodness to look at one I received yesterday ? " 
 
 " Is this letter for me only, or may it be read aloud ? " 
 
 " We are among discreet people, are we not ? " said 
 Richelieu, looking round him. 
 
 "I think so," replied the duchess, "besides, the gravity 
 of the situation." 
 
 The duchess took the letter, and read : — 
 
 Monsieur le Duc, — I am a woman of my word. My husband 
 is on the eve of setting out for the little journey you know of. To- 
 morrow, at eleven o'clock, I shall be at home for you only. Do not 
 think that I decide on this step without having put all the blame on 
 the shoulders of Monsieur de Villeroy. I begin to fear for him, 
 as you may have undertaken to punish him. Come, then, at the 
 appointed hour, to prove to me that I am not too much to blame in 
 conspiring with you against my lord and master. 
 
 "Ah! pardon, that is not the one I intended to show 
 you, that is the one of the day before yesterday. Here is 
 yesterday's." 
 
 The duchess took the second letter, and read as follows : 
 
 My dear Armand, — 
 
 " Is this it, or are you mistaken again ? " said the duchess 
 to Richelieu. 
 
 "No, no; this time it is right." 
 The duchess went on.
 
 248 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 My dear Armand, — You are a dangerous advocate when yon 
 plead against I\Ionsieur de Villeroy. I need to exaggerate your 
 talents to diminish my weakness. You had, in my heart, a judge 
 interested in your gaining your cause. Come to-morrow to plead 
 again, and I will give you an audience. 
 
 " And have you been there ? " 
 
 "Certainl}', madame." 
 
 " And the duchess ? " 
 
 "Will do, I hope, all we desire; and, as she makes her 
 husband do whatever she likes, we shall have our order 
 for the convocation of the States-General on his return." 
 
 "And when will he return ?" 
 
 "In a week." 
 
 " And can you be faithful all that time ? " 
 
 " Madame, when I have undertaken a cause, I am capa- 
 ble of the greatest sacrifices to forward it." 
 
 "Then we may count on your word ? " 
 
 "I pledge myself." 
 
 " You hear, gentlemen ? " said the Duchess du Maine. 
 " Let us continue to work. You, Laval, act on the army. 
 You, Pompadour, on the nobility. You, cardinal, on the 
 clergy, and let us leave the Due de Richelieu to act on 
 Madame de Villeroy." 
 
 " And for what day is our next meeting fixed ? " asked 
 Cellamare. 
 
 "All depends on circumstances, prince," replied the 
 duchess. "At any rate, if I have not time to give you 
 notice, I will send the same carriage and coachman to 
 fetch you who took you to the Arsenal the first time you 
 came there." Then, turning towards Richelieu, "You give 
 us the rest of the evening, duke ? " 
 
 "I ask your pardon," replied Richelieu, "but it is 
 absolutely impossible; I am expected in the Rue des Bons 
 Enfants." 
 
 " What! have you made it up with Madame de Sabran ?" 
 
 "We never quarrelled, madame." 
 
 "Take care, duke j that looks like constancy."
 
 THE DUC DE RICHELIEU. 249 
 
 "No, madame, it is calculation." 
 
 " Ah ! I see that you are on the road towards becoming 
 devoted." 
 
 "I never do things by halves, madame." 
 
 "Well, we will follow your example, Monsieur le Duc. 
 And now we have been an hour and a half away, and 
 should, I think, return to the gardens, that our absence 
 may not be too much noticed; besides, I think the God- 
 dess of Night is on the shore, waiting to thank us for the 
 preference we have given her over the sun." 
 
 "With your permission, however, madame," said Laval, 
 "I must keep you an instant longer, to tell you the trouble 
 I am in." 
 
 "Speak, count," replied the duchess; "what is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 "It is about our requests, our protestations. It was 
 agreed, if you remember, that they should be printed by 
 workmen who cannot read." 
 
 "Well." 
 
 "I bought a press, and established it in the cellar of 
 a house behind the Val-de-Grace. I enlisted the necessary 
 workmen, and, up to the present time, have had the most 
 satisfactory results; but the noise of our machine has 
 given rise to the suspicion that we were coining false 
 money, and yesterday the police made a descent on the 
 house; fortunately, there was time to stop the work and 
 roll a bed over the trap, so that they discovered nothing. 
 But as the visit might be renewed, and with a less fortu- 
 nate result, as soon as they were gone I dismissed the 
 workmen, buried the press, and had all the proofs taken 
 to my own house." 
 
 "And you did well, count," cried the Cardinal de 
 Polignac. 
 
 "But what are we to do now?" asked Madame du 
 Maine. 
 
 "Have the press taken to my house," said Pompadour. 
 
 "Or mine," said Valef.
 
 250 THE CHEVALIER D'HAUMENTAL. 
 
 "No, no," said Malezieux; "a press is too dangerous a 
 means. One of the police may easily slip in amon<; the 
 workmen, and all will be lost. Besides, there cannot be 
 much left to print." 
 
 "The greater part is done," said Laval. 
 
 "Well," continued Malezieux, "my advice is, as before, 
 to employ some intelligent copyist, whose silence we can 
 buy." 
 
 "Yes, this will be much safer," said Polignac. 
 
 "But where can we find such a man?" said the prince. 
 "It is not a thing for which we can take the first comer." 
 
 "If I dared," said the Abbé Brigaud. 
 
 " Dare, abbé ! dare ! " said the duchess. 
 
 "I should say that I know the man you want." 
 
 "Did I not tell you," said Pompadour, "that the abbé 
 was a precious man ? " 
 
 "But is he really what we want ? " said Polignac. 
 
 "Oh, if your Eminence had him made on purpose, he 
 could not do better," said Brigaud. "A true machine, 
 who will write everything and see nothing." 
 
 "But as a still greater precaution," said the prince, "we 
 might put the most important papers into Spanish." 
 
 "Then, prince," said Brigaud, "I will send him to you." 
 
 "No, no," said Cellamare; "he must not set his foot 
 within the Spanish embassy. It must be done through 
 some third party." 
 
 "Yes, yes, we will arrange all that," said the duchess. 
 " The man is found, — that is the principal thing. You 
 answer for him, Brigaud ? " 
 
 "I do, madame." 
 
 " That is all we require. And now there is nothing to 
 keep us any longer," continued the duchess. "Monsieur 
 d'Harmental, give me your arm, I beg." 
 
 The chevalier hastened to obey Madame du Maine, who 
 seized this opportunity to express her gratitude for the 
 courage he had shown in the Rue des Bons Enfants, and 
 his skill in Brittany. At the door of the pavilion, the
 
 THE DUC DE RICHELIEU. 251 
 
 Greenland envoys — now dressed simply as guests — found 
 a little galley waiting to take them to the shore. Madame 
 du Maine entered iirst, seated D'Harmental by her, leav- 
 ing Malezieux to do the honours to Cellamare and Riche- 
 lieu. As the duchess had said, the Goddess of Night, 
 dressed in black gauze spangled with golden stars, was 
 waiting on the other side of the lake, accompanied by the 
 twelve Hours ; and, as the duchess approached, they began 
 to sing a cantata appropriate to the subject. At the first 
 notes of the solo D'Harmental started, for the voice of the 
 singer had so strong a resemblance to another voice, well 
 known to him and dear to his recollection, that he rose 
 involuntarily to look for the person whose accents had so 
 singularly moved him; unfortunately, in spite of the 
 torches which the Hours, her subjects, held, he could not 
 distinguish the goddess's features, which were covered 
 with a long veil, similar to her dress. He could only hear 
 that pure, flexible, sonorous voice, and that easy and skil- 
 ful execution, which he had so much admired when he 
 heard it for the first time in the Eue du Temps Perdu; 
 and each accent of that voice, becoming more distinct as 
 he approached the shore, made him tremble from head to 
 foot. At length the solo ceased, and the chorus recom- 
 menced; but D'Harmental, insensible to all other thoughts, 
 continued to follow the vanished notes. 
 
 "Well, Monsieur d'Harmental," said the duchess, "are 
 you so accessible to the charms of music that you forget 
 that you are my cavalier ? " 
 
 "Oh, pardon, madame," said D'Harmental, leaping to 
 the shore, and holding out his hand to the duchess, "but 
 I thought I recognised that voice, and I confess it brought 
 back such memories ! " 
 
 " That proves that you are an habitué of the opera, my 
 dear chevalier, and that you appreciate as it deserves 
 Mademoiselle Berry's talent." 
 
 " What, is that voice Mademoiselle Berry's ? " asked 
 D'Harmental, with astonishment.
 
 252 THE CHEVALIER d'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 " Tt is, monsieur; and if you do not believe me," replied 
 the duchess, "permit me to take Laval's arm, that you 
 may go and assure yourself of it." 
 
 "Oh, madame," said D'Harmental, respectfully retain- 
 ing the hand she was about to withdraw, " pray excuse 
 me. We are in the gardens of Armida, and a moment of 
 error may be permitted among so many enchantments;" 
 and, presenting his arm again to the duchess, he conducted 
 her towards the château. At this instant a feeble cry was 
 heard, and, feeble as it was, it reached D'Harmental's 
 heart, and he turned involuntarily. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked the duchess, with an uneasiness 
 mixed with impatience. "Nothing, nothing," said Riche- 
 lieu; "it is little Berry, who has the vapours. Make 
 yourself easy, madame. I know the disease; it is not 
 dangerous. If you particularly wish it, I would even go 
 to-morrow to learn how she is." 
 
 Two hours after this little accident — which was not 
 sufficient to disturb the fête in any way — D'Harmental was 
 brought back to Paris by the Abbé Brigaud, and re-entered 
 his little attic in the Rue du Temps Perdu, from which he 
 had been absent six weeks.
 
 JEALOUSY. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 The first sensation D'Harmental experienced on returning 
 was one of inexpressible satisfaction at finding himself 
 again in that little room so filled with recollections. 
 Though he had been absent six weeks, one might have 
 supposed that he had only quitted it the day before, as, 
 thanks to the almost maternal care of Madame Denis, 
 everything was in its accustomed place. D'Harmental 
 remained an instant, his candle in his hand, looking 
 around him with a look almost of ecstasy. All the other 
 impressions of his life were effaced by those which he 
 had experienced in this little corner of the world. Then 
 he ran to the window, opened it, and threw an indescrib- 
 able look of love over the darkened windows of his neigh- 
 bour. 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 pvire and fresh, and began to feel that Bathilde had 
 become one of the necessities of his life; but as he could 
 not pass the whole night at his window, he then closed it, 
 and came into his room, although only to follow up the 
 recollections with which it was filled. He opened his 
 piano and passed his fingers over the keys, at the risk of 
 re-exciting the anger of the lodger on the third floor. 
 
 From the piano he passed to the unfinished portrait of 
 Bathilde. At length he slept, listening again in his 
 mind to the air sung by Mademoiselle Berry, whom he 
 finished by believing to be one and the same person as 
 Bathilde. When he awoke, D'Harmental jumped from
 
 254 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 his bed and ran to the window. The day appeared already 
 advanced; the sun was shining brilliantly; yet Kathilde'a 
 window remained hermetically closed. 
 
 The chevalier looked at his watch; it was ten o'clock, 
 and he began to dress. We have already confessed that he 
 was not free from a certain almost feminine coquetry ; but 
 this was the fault of the time, when everything was 
 mannered, — even passion. At this time it was not a 
 melancholy expression on which he reckoned. The joy 
 of return had given to his face a charming expression of 
 happiness, and it was evident that a glance from Bathilde 
 would crown him king of the creation. This glance he 
 came to the window to seek, but Bathilde's remained 
 closed. D'Harmental opened his, hoping that the noise 
 would attract her attention ; nothing stirred. He remained 
 there an hour; during this hour there was not even a 
 breath of wind to stir the curtains; the young girl's room 
 must be abandoned. He coughed, opened and closed the 
 window, detached little pieces of plaster from the wall, 
 and threw them against the window, — all in vain. 
 
 To surprise succeeded uneasiness; this window, so 
 obstinately closed, must indicate absence, if not misfor- 
 tune, Bathilde absent ! — where could she be ? What had 
 happened to disturb her calm, regular life ? Who could 
 he ask ? No one but Madame Denis could know. It was 
 quite natural that D'Harmental should pay a visit to his 
 landlady on his return, and he accordingly went down. 
 Madame Denis had not seen him since the day of the 
 breakfast. She had not forgotten his attention when she 
 fainted; she received him like the prodigal son. Fortu- 
 nately for D'Harmental, the young ladies were occupied 
 with a drawing lesson, and Boniface was at his office, so 
 that he saw no one but his hostess. The conversation fell 
 naturally on the order and neatness of his room during his 
 absence; from this the transition was easy to the question 
 if the opposite lodging had changed tenants. Madame 
 Denis replied that she had seen Bathilde at the window
 
 JEALOUSY. 255 
 
 the morning before ; and that in the evening her son had 
 met Buvat returning from his office, but had noticed in 
 him a singular air of pride and hauteur. This was all 
 D'Harmental wished to know. Bathilde was in Paris, 
 and at home; chance had not yet directed her looks 
 towards that window so long closed and that room so long 
 empty. He took leave of Madame Denis with an effusion 
 of gratitude which she was far from attributing to its true 
 cause; and on the landing he met the Abbé Brigaud, who 
 was coming to pay his daily visit to Madame Denis. 
 
 The abbé asked if he was going home, and promised to 
 pay him a visit. On entering his room D'Harmental went 
 straight to the window. Nothing was changed; it was 
 evidently a plan, and he resolved to employ the last means 
 which he had reserved. He sat down to the piano, and 
 after a brilliant prelude sang the air of the cantata of 
 Night which he had heard the evening before, and of 
 which he had retained every note in his memory. Mean- 
 while he did not lose sight for an instant of the inexorable 
 window; but there was no sign. The opposite room had 
 no echo. 
 
 But D'Harmental had produced an effect which he did 
 not expect. Hearing applause, he turned round, and saw 
 the Abbé Brigaud behind him. 
 
 "Ah! it is you, abbe? "said D'Harmental; "I did not 
 know that you were so great a lover of music." 
 
 "Nor you so good a musician. Peste\! my dear pupil, 
 an air you only heard once. It is wonderful." 
 
 " I thought it very beautiful, abbé, and as I have a very 
 good memory for sounds, I retained it." 
 
 " And then it was so admirably sung. Was it not ? " 
 
 "Yes," said D'Harmental; "Mademoiselle Berry has 
 an exquisite voice, and the 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."
 
 256 THE ClIKVALIKK D'UAKMENTAL. 
 
 "And where must I go ?" 
 
 "Nowhere. Stay here. You are in the boxes.'' 
 
 " What ! The Goddess of Night ? " 
 
 "Is your neighbour." 
 
 "Bathikle!" cried D'Harmental. "Then I was not de- 
 ceived; I recognised her. But it is impossible ! How 
 could she have been there ? " 
 
 "First of all," said the abbé, "nothing is impossible; 
 remember that, before you deny or undertake anything. 
 Believe that everything is possible; it is the way to 
 succeed in everything." 
 
 "ButBathilde?" 
 
 " 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, abbé ; you are strangely mistaken, — I am 
 deeply interested." 
 
 "Well, my dear pupil, since you are so curious, this is 
 the whole affair. The Abbé Chaulieu knows Mademoiselle 
 Bathilde; is not that your neighbour's name ?" 
 
 "Yes. How does the Abbé Chaulieu know her ?" 
 
 " Oh ! it is very simple. The guardian of this charming 
 child is, as you know, or do not know, one of the best 
 writers and copyists in the capital. The Abbé Chaulieu 
 wants some one to copy his poetry, since, being blind, he 
 is obliged to dictate in the first instance to a little lackey 
 who cannot spell, and he has confided this important task 
 to Buvat. By this means he has become acquainted with 
 Mademoiselle Bathilde." 
 
 " But all this does not explain how Mademoiselle Bathilde 
 came to Sceaux." 
 
 " Stop, every history has its commencement, its middle, 
 and its termination." 
 
 "Abbé, you will make me swear." 
 
 "Patience, patience." 
 
 "Go on; I listen to you." 
 
 " Well, having made Mademoiselle Bathilde's acquainfe»
 
 JEALOUSY. 257 
 
 ance, the Abbé Chaulieu, like the rest, has felt the influ- 
 ence of her cliarms, for there is a species of magic attached 
 to the young person in question; no one can see her with- 
 out loving her." 
 
 "I know it," murmured D'Harmental. 
 
 " Then, as Mademoiselle Bathilde is full of talent, and 
 not only sings like a nightingale, but draws like an angel, 
 Chaulieu spoke of her so enthusiastically to Mademoiselle 
 de Launay that she thought of employing her for the cos- 
 tumes of the different personages in the fête." 
 
 "This does not tell me that it was Bathilde and not 
 Mademoiselle Berry who sang last 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 away after the costumes were 
 finished, she kept her three days at Sceaux. She was still 
 there the day before yesterday, closeted with Mademoiselle 
 de Launay, when some one entered with a bewildered 
 air to announce that the director of the opera wished to 
 speak to her on a matter of importance. Mademoiselle de 
 Launay went out, leaving Bathilde alone. Bathilde, to 
 amuse herself, went to the piano, and finding both the 
 instrument and her voice in good order, began to sing a 
 great scene from some opera, and with such perfection 
 that Mademoiselle de Launay, returning and hearing this 
 unexpected song, opened the door softly, listened to the 
 air, and threw her arms round the beautiful singer's neck, 
 crying out that she could save her life. Bathilde, aston- 
 ished, asked how, and in what manner, she could render 
 her so great a service. Then iNIademoiselle de Launay 
 told her how she had engaged Mademoiselle Berry of the 
 opera to sing the cantata of Night on the succeeding even- 
 ing, and she had fallen ill and sent to say that to her great 
 regret her Royal Highness the Duchesse du Maine could 
 not rely upon her, so that there would be no 'Night,' and,
 
 258 TUE CHEVALIER d'hakmenïal. 
 
 consequently, no fete, if l^athilde would not have the 
 extreme goodness to undertake the aforesaid cantata. 
 
 "Bathilde, as you may sui)pose, defended herself with 
 all her might, and declared that it was impossible that she 
 should thus sing music which she did not know. Made- 
 moiselle de Launay put the cantata before her. Bathilde 
 said that the music seemed terribly difficult. Mademoiselle 
 de Launay answered that for a musician of her powers 
 nothing was diflicult. Bathilde got up. Mademoiselle 
 de Launay made her sit down again. Bathilde clasped 
 her hands. Mademoiselle de Launay unclasped them and 
 placed them on the piano. The piano being touched gave 
 out a sound. Bathilde, in spite of herself, played the 
 lirst bar; then the second; then the whole cantata. Then 
 she attacked the song, and sang it to the end with an 
 admirable justness of intonation and beauty of expression. 
 Mademoiselle de Launay was enchanted. Madame du 
 Maine arrived in despair at what she had heard of Made- 
 moiselle Berry. Mademoiselle de Launay begged Bathilde 
 to recommence the cantata. Bathilde did not dare to 
 refuse; she played and sang like an angel. Madame du 
 Maine joined her prayers to those of Mademoiselle de 
 Launay. You know, chevalier, that it is impossible to 
 refuse Madame du 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 herself to her friend Buvat 
 to explain her absence; the second, that she might remain 
 at home all that evening and the next morning in order to 
 study the unfortunate cantata. These clauses, after a 
 long discussion, were granted, with reciprocal promises, 
 on Bathilde's part that she would return at seven o'clock 
 the next evening, on the part of Mademosielle de Launay 
 and Madame du Maine that every one should continue to 
 believe that it was Mademosielle Berry who sung." 
 
 "But then," asked D'Harmental, "how was the secret 
 betrayed ? "
 
 JEALOUSY. 259 
 
 "Oh! by an unforeseen circumstance," replied Brigand, 
 in that strange manner which caused one to doubt if he 
 was in jest or earnest. "All went off capitally, as you 
 know, till the end of the cantata, and the proof is, that, 
 having only heard it once, you are able to remember it 
 from one end to the other. At the moment the galley 
 which brought us from the pavilion of Aurora touched the 
 shore, whether from emotion at having sung for the first 
 time in public, or that she recognised among Madame du 
 Maine's suite some one she had not expected to see there, 
 for some unknown reason, however, the poor Goddess of 
 Night uttered a cry and fainted in the arms of the Hours, 
 her companions. All promises and oaths were at once 
 forgotten; her veil was removed to throw water in her 
 face, so that when I came up, whilst you were going away 
 with her Highness, I was much astonished to find, instead 
 of Mademoiselle Berry, your pretty neighbour. I ques- 
 tioned Mademoiselle de Launay, and, as it was impossible 
 any longer to keep the incognito, she told me what had 
 passed, under the seal 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 bad consequences, since, in spite of all they could 
 say to the contrary, Bathilde would not remain another 
 hour at Sceaux, but insisted on returning, so that they put 
 a carriage at her disposal, and she ought to have been 
 home an hour before us." 
 
 "Then you are sure she is at home? Thanks, abbé, that 
 is all I wished to know." 
 
 "And now," said Brigaud, "I may go, may I not? You 
 have no more need of me, now that you know all you wish 
 to know." 
 
 "I do not say so, my dear Brigaud; on the contrary, 
 stop, you will give me great pleasure."
 
 1^60 THE CHEVALIER D'hARMENTAL. 
 
 "No I thank you; I liave got some business of my own 
 to transact in the town, and will leave you to your reflec- 
 tions, my clear pupil." 
 
 "When shall I see you again?" asked D'Harmental, 
 mechanically. 
 
 "Most likely to-morrow," answered the abbé. 
 
 "Adieu till to-inorrow, then." 
 
 "Till to-morrow." 
 
 So saying, the abbé tui-ned round, laughing his peculiar 
 laugh, and reached the door while D'Harmental was re- 
 opening his window, determined to remain there till the 
 next day, if necessary, and only desiring, as a reward for 
 this long watch, to catch a single glimpse of Bathilde. 
 
 The poor gentleman was in love over head and ears.
 
 A PRETEXT. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A PRETEXT. 
 
 At a few minutes past four D'Harmental saw Buvat turn- 
 ing the corner of the Rue du Temps Perdu. The chevalier 
 thought he could recognise in the worthy writer an air of 
 greater haste than usual, for instead of holding his stick 
 perpendicularly, as a bourgeois always does when he is 
 walking, he held it horizontally, like a runner. As to 
 that air of majesty which had so struck Monsieur Boni- 
 face, it had entirely vanished, and had given place to a 
 slight expression of uneasiness. He could not be mis- 
 taken. Buvat would not return so quickly if he was not 
 uneasy about Bathilde. Bathilde, then, was suffering. 
 
 The chevalier followed Buvat with his eyes till the 
 moment when he disappeared in his own door. D'Har- 
 mental, with reason, imagined that Buvat would go into 
 Bathilde's room, instead of mounting to his own, and he 
 hoped that Buvat would open the window to admit the last 
 rays of the sun, which had been caressing it all day. 
 
 But D'Harmental was wrong; Buvat contented himself 
 with raising the curtain, and pressing his good round face 
 against the window, and drumming on the panes with his 
 hands ; but even this apparition was of short duration, for 
 he turned round suddenly, as a man does when any one 
 calls him, and let fall the muslin curtain behind him and 
 disappeared. D'Harmental presumed that his disappear- 
 ance was caused by some appeal to his appetite, and this 
 reminded him that, in his preoccupation about the obsti- 
 nacy of that unlucky window in refusing to open, he had 
 forgotten his own breakfast, which, it must be confessed, 
 to the shame of his sensibility, was a very great infraction
 
 262 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 OU his habits. Now, however, as there was no chance 
 that the window woukl open while his neighbours were at 
 dinner, the chevalier determined to profit by the interval 
 by dining himself; consequently he rang for the porter, 
 and ordered him to get from the confectioner the fattest 
 pullet, and from the fruiterer the finest fruit that he could 
 find. As to wine, ho had still got some bottles of that 
 which the Abbé Brigand had sent him. 
 
 D'Harmental ate with a certain remorse. He could not 
 understand how he could be at the same time so tormented, 
 and have such a good appetite. Luckily he remembered 
 reading in the works of some moralist or other that sorrow 
 sharpened hunger wonderfully. This maxim set his con- 
 science at rest, and the result was, that the unfortunate 
 pullet was eaten up to the very bones. 
 
 Although the act of dining was very natural, and by no 
 means reprehensible, D'Harmental shut the window, leav- 
 ing, however, a corner of the curtain raised, and, thanks 
 to this precaution, he saw Buvat — who had doubtless 
 finished his repast — appear at the window of his terrace. 
 As we have said, the weather was splendid, and Buvat 
 seemed disposed to profit by it; but as he belonged to that 
 class of beings who enjo}^ nothing alone, he turned round 
 with a gesture, which D'Harmental took to be an invita- 
 tion to Bathilde — who had doubtless followed him into 
 his room — to come on to the terrace to him; consequently 
 he hoped for an instant that Bathilde would appear, and 
 he rose with a beating heart; but he was mistaken. How- 
 ever tempting might be the beautiful evening, and however 
 pressing the invitations of Buvat, both were useless; but 
 it was not thus with Mirza, who, jumping out of the 
 window without being invited, began to bound jo3''ously 
 about the terrace, holding in her mouth a purple ribbon, 
 which she caused to flutter like a streamer, and which 
 D'Harmental recognised as the one which had fastened 
 his neighbour's veil on the preceding night. Apparently 
 Buvat recognised it also, for he started off in pursuit of
 
 A PRETEXT. 263 
 
 Mirza as fast as his little legs would allow him; a pursuit 
 which would doubtless have been indefinitely prolonged, 
 if Mirza had not had the imprudence to take refuge in the 
 arbour. Buvat pursued, and an instant afterwards D'Har- 
 mental saw him return with the ribbon in his hand; after 
 smoothing it on his knee, he folded it up, and went in, 
 probably to deposit it in a place of safety. 
 
 This was the moment that the chevalier had waited for; 
 he opened his window and watched. In a minute he saw 
 Mirza put her head out of the arbour, look about her, and 
 jump on to the terrace; then D'Harmental called her in 
 the most caressing and seductive tone possible. Mirza 
 trembled at the sound of his voice, then directed her eyes 
 towards him. At the first look she recognised the man of 
 the bits of sugar, — gave a little growl of joy, — then, with 
 a rapid gastronomic instinct, she darted through Buvat's 
 window with a single bound, and disappeared. 
 
 D'Harmental lowered his head, and, almost at the same 
 instant, saw Mirza coming across the street like a flash of 
 lightning, and before he had time to shut his window 
 she was already scratching at the door. Luckily for 
 D'Harmental, Mirza had the memory of sugar as strongly 
 developed as he had that of sounds. 
 
 It will be easily understood that the chevalier did not 
 make the charming little creature wait; and she darted 
 into the room, bounding, and giving the most unequivocal 
 signs of her joy at his unexpected return. As to D'Har- 
 mental, he was almost as happy as if he had seen Bathilde. 
 .Mirza was something to the young girl; she was her 
 dearly loved greyhound, so caressed and kissed by her, 
 who laid his head on her knees 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 his heart 
 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
 
 264 THE ClIEVALIEK iJ'il ALIMENTA L. 
 
 see you for an iusLant — even for an instant — -you would understand 
 that there are in nie two diiïerent 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. 
 1 am certain that, wlien you know huw unfortunate I am and 
 how devotedly 1 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 these days, because it only said just what the 
 writer intended, seemed sufficient to the chevalier, and 
 was really impassioned for the epoch; thus D'Harmental 
 folded it up, and attached it, as he had the first, to Mirza's 
 collar ; then, taking up the sugar, which the greedy little 
 animal followed with her eyes to the cupboard, where 
 L)'Harmental shut it up, the chevalier opened the door of 
 his room, and showed Mirza, with a gesture, what there 
 remained for her to do. Whether it was pride or intelli- 
 gence, the little creature did not wait to be told twice; 
 darted out on the staircase as if she had wings, and only 
 stopped on the way to bite Monsieur Boniface, whom she 
 met coming home from his office, crossed the road, and 
 disappeared in Bathilde's house. D'Harmental remained 
 at the window for a minute, fearing that Mirza would take 
 his note to Buvat instead of Bathilde, but she was too 
 intelligent for that, and he soon saw her appear in 
 Bathilde's room. Consequently, in order not to frighten 
 poor Bathilde too much, he shut his window, hoping that 
 by this concession he should obtain some sign which would 
 indicate to him 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 scarcely seen through the double 
 curtains, still hermetically closed, went out altogether, 
 and D'Harmental was obliged to renounce the hope of 
 seeing Bathilde till the next day.
 
 A PKETEXT, 265 
 
 The next day brought the same rigour; it was a settled 
 plan of defence, which, with a man less in love than 
 D'Harmental, would simply have indicated fear of defeat; 
 but the chevalier, with a simplicity worthy of the age of 
 gold, saw nothing but a coldness, in the eternity of which 
 he began to believe, and it is true that it had lasted four 
 and twenty hours. 
 
 D'Harmental passed the morning in turning in his mind 
 a thousand projects, each more absurd than the preceding 
 one. The only one which had common sense was to cross 
 the street, mount boldly to Bathikle's room, 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 at it. However, it would be a great boldness to 
 present himself thus before Bathilde, without being au- 
 thorised by the least sign, and without having any pretext 
 to give. Such a course of conduct could but wound 
 Bathilde, who was only too much irritated already; it was 
 better to wait then, and D'Harmental waited. At two 
 o'clock Brigand returned, and found D'Harmental in a 
 very savage state of mind. The abbé threw a glance 
 towards the window, still hermetically closed, and divined 
 everything. He took a chair, and sat down opposite 
 D'Harmental, tAvisting his thumbs round each other, as 
 he saw the chevalier doing. 
 
 "My dear pupil," said he, after an instant's silence, 
 "either T am a bad physiognomist, or I read on your face 
 that something profoundly sad has happened to you." 
 
 "And you read right, my dear abbé," said the chevalier; 
 "I am ennuied." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! " 
 
 "So much so," said D'Harmental, "that I am ready to 
 send your conspiracy to 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 ? "
 
 266 THE CHEVALIKR D'JIARMKNTAL. 
 
 "Oh, you are charming, you and your others. The 
 others, my dear abbé, 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 sings or 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; they have not the talents of your neighbour. 
 But, by the bye, there is your neighbour." 
 
 "Well, my neighbour ?" 
 
 "Why do you not sing with her, since she sings so well ? 
 That will amuse you." 
 
 "Do I know her? Does she even open her window? 
 Look, since yesterday she has barricaded herself m her 
 own room. Ah, yes, my neighbour is amiable." 
 
 "Yes, they told me that she was charming." 
 
 "Besides, it seems to me that, both singing in our own 
 rooms, we should have 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 dear pupil, I do not recognise you there." 
 
 " Listen, abbé ! A truce to your pleasantries, — I am 
 not in the humour for them to-day : every one has his stu- 
 pid days." 
 
 "Well, on those days one addresses one's self to one's 
 friends."
 
 A PRETEXT. 267 
 
 "To one's friends — and what for ?" 
 
 "To find the pretext whicli one has sought for vainly 
 one's self." 
 
 "Well, then, abbé, 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 neighbour's door to you.** 
 
 " In a proper manner ? " 
 
 " How ! do I know any others ? " 
 
 "Abbé, 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 the police have made upon the house in the 
 Val-de-Grace, and the necessity he 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 I promised to discover, is discovered, 
 and is no other than the guardian of Bathilde." 
 
 "Buvat?" 
 
 " Himself ! Well, I give you full powers : you go to his 
 house, you offer him gold, the door is opened to you on 
 the instant, and you can sing as much as you like with 
 Bathilde." 
 
 "My dear abbé," cried D'Harmental, "you have saved 
 my life ! " 
 
 D'Harmental took his hat and darted towards the door; 
 now that he had a pretext, he doubted of nothing.
 
 268 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "Stop, stop," said Brigaud; "you do uot even ask me 
 where the good man must go for the papers in question." 
 
 " To your house, pardleu ! " 
 
 "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 du Maine." 
 
 " And you think that he will play his part well ? " 
 
 "Not for you, perhaps, who are accustomed to see 
 princes, but for Buvat." 
 
 "You are right. Au revoir, abbé ! " 
 
 " 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 at the middle of the street, and seeing the 
 abbé watching him from the window, he made a parting 
 sign to him with his hand, and disappeared through the 
 door of Bathilde's house.
 
 COUNTERPLOTS. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 COUNTERPLOTS. 
 
 On her part, as may be easily understood, Bathilde had 
 not made such an effort without suffering from it; the 
 poor child loved D'Harmental with all the strength of a 
 love at seventeen, a first love. During the first month of 
 his absence she had counted the days; during the fifth 
 week she had counted the hours ; during the last week she 
 had counted the minutes. Then it was that the Abbé 
 Chaulieu fetched her, to take her to Mademoiselle de 
 Launay; and as he had taken care, not only to speak of 
 her talents, but also to tell who she was, Bathilde was 
 received with all the consideration which was due to her, 
 and which poor De Launay paid all the more readily from 
 its having been so long forgotten towards herself. 
 
 This removal, which had rendered Buvat so proud, was 
 received by Bathilde as an amusement which might help 
 her to pass these last moments of suspense; but when she 
 found that Mademoiselle de Launay wished to retain her 
 longer, when, according to her calculation, Raoul would 
 return, she cursed the instant when the abbé had taken 
 her to Sceaux, and would certainly have refused, if 
 Madame du Maine herself had not interposed. It was 
 impossible to refuse a person who, according to the idens 
 of the time, from the supremacy of her rank, had almost 
 a right to command this service; but as she would have 
 reproached herself eternally if Raoul had returned in her 
 absence, and in returning had found her window closed, 
 she had, as we have seen, insisted on returning to study 
 the cantata, and to explain to Buvat what had passed. 
 Poor Bathilde ! she had invented two false pretexts, to 
 hide, under a double veil, the true motive of her return
 
 270 THE CHEVALIER D'UARMENTAL. 
 
 If Buvat had been proud when Bathilde was employed 
 to draw the costumes for the i'Gte, he was doubly so wlien 
 he found that she was destined to play a part in it. Buvat 
 had constantly dreamed of Bathilde's return to fortune, 
 and to that social position of which her parents' death had 
 deprived her, and all that brought her among the world in 
 which she was born appeared to him a step towards this 
 inevitable and happy result. However, the three days 
 which he had passed without seeing her appeared to him 
 like three centuries. At the office it was not so bad, 
 though every one could see that some exti-aordinary event 
 had happened; but it was 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 sitting opposite to him. The next day, 
 when Nanette reproached him, and told him that he was 
 injuring his health, he made an effort to eat; but he had 
 hardly 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 help down this unfortunate 
 dinner. The third day Buvat did not sit down to table at 
 all, and Nanette had the greatest trouble to persuade hira 
 to take some broth, into which she declared she saw two 
 grea.t tears fall. In the evening Bathilde returned, and 
 brought back his sleep and his appetite. Buvat, who for 
 three nights had hardly slept, and for three days had 
 hardly eaten, now slept like a top and ate like an ogre. 
 Bathilde also was very joyous; she calculated that this 
 must be the last day of Raoul's absence. He had said he 
 should be away six weeks. She had already counted forty- 
 one long days, and Bathilde would not admit that there 
 could be an instant's delay; thus the next day she watched 
 her neighbour's window constantly while studying the 
 cantata. Carriages were rare in the Rue du Temps Perdu, 
 but it happened that three passed between ten and four; 
 each time she ran breathless to the window, and each time
 
 COUNTERPLOTS. 271 
 
 was disappointed. At four o'clock Buvat returned, and 
 this time it was Batliilde who could not swallow a single 
 morsel. The time to set out for Sceaux at length arrived, 
 and Batliilde set out deploring the fate 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 Kaoul. Now and then the idea crossed her 
 mind that he might return during her absence, and, finding 
 her window closed, would think her indifferent; but then 
 she remembered that Mademoiselle de Launay had prom- 
 ised her that she should be home before daylight, and 
 she determined that Raoul should see her standing at her 
 window directly he opened his. Then she would explain 
 to him how she had been obliged to be absent that even- 
 ing, she would allow him to suspect what she had suffered, 
 and he would be so happy that he would forgive her. 
 
 All this passed through Bathilde's mind whilst waiting 
 for Madame du Maine on the border of the lake, and it 
 ■was in the midst of the discourse she was preparing for 
 Raoul that the approach of the little galley surprised her. 
 At first — in her fear of singing before such a great com- 
 pany — she thought her voice would fail, but she was too 
 good an artiste not to be encouraged by the admirable 
 instrumentation which supported her. She resolved not 
 to allow herself to be intimidated, and, abandoning herself 
 to the inspiration of the music and the scene, she went 
 through her part with such perfection that every one con- 
 tinued to take her for the singer whom she replaced, 
 although that singer was the first at the opera, and was 
 supposed to have no rival. But Batliilde's astonishment 
 was great, when, after the solo was finished, she looked 
 towards the group which was approaching her, and saw, 
 seated by Madame du Maine, a young cavalier so much 
 like Raoul, that, if this apparition had presented itself to 
 her in the midst of the song, her voice must have failed
 
 272 THE CHEVALIER D'HAUMENTAL. 
 
 her. For an instant she doubted; but as the galley 
 touched the shore she could do so no longer. Two such 
 liknesses could not exist, — even between brothers; and it 
 was certain that the young cavalier of Sceaux and the 
 young student of the attic were one and the same person. 
 
 This was not, however, what wounded Bathilde; the 
 rank which Raoul appeared to hold, instead of removing; 
 him from the daughter of Albert du Eoeher, only brought 
 him nearer to her, and she had recognised in him, at first 
 sight, as he had in her, the marks of high birth. What 
 wounded her — as a betrayal of her good faith and an 
 insult to her love — was this pretended absence, during 
 which Raoul, forgetting the Rue du Temps Perdu, had 
 left his little room solitary, to mix in the fêtes at Sceaux. 
 Thus Raoul had had but an instant's caprice for her, 
 sufficient to induce him to pass a week or two in an attic, 
 but he had soon got tired 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 had never 
 quitted Paris; or, if he had, his first visit had not been 
 to the Rue du Temps Perdu. 
 
 When Raoul touched the shore, and she found herself 
 only four steps from him, and saw him whom she had sup- 
 posed to be a young provincial offering his arm, in that 
 elegant and easy manner, to the proud Madame du Maine 
 herself, her strength abandoned her, and, with that cry 
 which had gone to D'Harmental's heart, she fainted. On 
 opening her eyes she found near her Mademoiselle de 
 Launay, who lavished on her every possible attention. 
 She wished that, instead of returning to Paris, Bathilde 
 should remain at Sceaux, but she was in haste to leave 
 this place where she had suffered so much, and begged, 
 with an accent that could not be refused, to be allowed to 
 return, and, as a carriage was in readiness to take her, she 
 went directly. On arriving, Bathilde found Nanette wait- 
 ing for her; Buvat also had wished to do so, but by twelve 
 o'clock he was so sleepy that it was in vain he rubbed his
 
 COUNTERPLOTS. 273 
 
 eyes, and tried to sing his favourite song; he could not 
 keep awake, and at length he went to bed, telling Nanette 
 to let him know the next morning as soon as Bathilde was 
 visible. 
 
 Bathilde was delighted to jBnd Xanette alone; Buvat's 
 presence would have been very irksome to her, but as soon 
 as she found that there was no one but Nanette Bathilde 
 burst into tears. Nanette had expected to see her young 
 mistress return proud and joyous at the triumph which she 
 could 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 
 of no use to insist, and went to her room, which was next 
 to Bathilde's, but could not resist the impulse of curiosity; 
 and, looking through the key-hole, she saw her young mis- 
 tress kneel down before her little crucifix, and then, as by 
 a sudden impulse run to the window, open it, and look 
 opposite. Nanette doubted 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 to a good end. Nanette went to sleep 
 much more easy than if she had not been able to find out 
 the cause of Bathilde's tears. 
 
 Bathilde slept badly; the first griefs and the first joys 
 of love have the same results. She woke, therefore, with 
 sunken eyes and pale cheeks. Bathilde would have dis- 
 pensed with seeing Buvat, but he had already asked for 
 her twice, so she took courage and went smiling to speak 
 to him. Buvat, however, was not deceived; he could not 
 fail to notice her pale cheeks, and Bathilde's grief was 
 revealed to him. She denied that there was anything the 
 matter. Buvat pretended to believe her, but went to the 
 office very uneasy and anxious to know what could have 
 happened to her. 
 
 When he was gone, Nanette approached Bathilde, who 
 waa sitting in her chair with her head leaning on her 
 
 18
 
 274 THE CHEVALIER D IIARMENTAL. 
 
 hand, and stood an instant before her, contemplating her 
 with an almost maternal love; then, finding that Bathilde 
 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 tlie young man opposite returned this morning — " 
 
 " Well, Nanette ? " said Bathilde, raising her head and 
 looking at her with severity, "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 distin- 
 guished." 
 
 "Too much so, Nanette; a great deal too much so for 
 poor Bathilde." 
 
 " Too distingished for you, mademoiselle ! " cried Na- 
 nette, " as if you were 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, with whose peace, honour, and love every 
 nobleman thinks he may play with impunity. You see, 
 Nanette, that this window must be closed. I must not 
 see this young man again." 
 
 ^^ Mon Dieu! Mademoiselle Bathilde, you wish, then, to 
 kill this poor young man with grief ? This whole morning 
 he has not moved from his window, and looks 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 do not know him. I do not even
 
 COUNTEKPLOTS. 275 
 
 know his name. He is a stranger, who has come here to 
 stay for a few days, and who to-morrow may go away 
 again. If I had thought anything of him I sliould have 
 been wrong, Nanette; and, instead of encouraging me in 
 a love which would be folly, you ought, on the contrary — 
 supposing that it existed — to show me the absurdity and 
 the danger of it." 
 
 " 3Ion Dieu ! mademoiselle, why so ? you must love 
 some day, and you may as well love a handsome young 
 man who looks like a king, and who must be rich, since he 
 does not do anything." 
 
 " Well, Nanette, what would you say if this young man 
 who appears to you so simple, so loyal, and so good, were 
 nothing but a wicked traitor, a liar ? " 
 
 " Ah, mon Dieu I mademoiselle, I should say it was 
 impossible." 
 
 "If I told you that this young man who lives in an 
 attic, and who shows himself at the window dressed so 
 simply, was yesterday at Sceaux, giving his arm to 
 Madame du Maine dressed as a colonel ? " 
 
 "I should say, mademoiselle, that at last God is just in 
 sending you some one worthy of you. Holy Virgin ! a 
 colonel ! a friend of the Duchesse du Maine ! Oh, Made- 
 moiselle Bathilde, yoii will be a countess, I tell you! and 
 it is not too much for you. If Providence gave every one 
 what they deserve, you would be a duchess, a princess, a 
 queen, — yes. Queen of France : Madame du 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 the first remedy for a young person who is ill 
 is air and sun. Look at the poor flowers, when they are 
 shut up, they turn pale. Let me open the window, 
 mademoiselle."
 
 270 THE CHEVALIER d'harmental. 
 
 "Nanette, I forbid you; go to your work and leave me." 
 
 " Very well, mademoiselle, I will go, since you drive me 
 away," said Nanette, lifting the corner of her apron to 
 her eye; "but if I were in that 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 were wrong you would excuse him." 
 
 "Nanette," said Bathilde, "if he comes, I forbid you to 
 admit him ; do you hear ? " 
 
 "Very well, mademoiselle; he shall not be admitted, 
 though it is not very polite to turn people away from the 
 door." 
 
 "Polite or not, you will do as I tell you," said Bathilde, 
 to whom contradiction 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 but pride. She believed herself the most 
 unfortunate woman in the world, as D'Harmental thought 
 himself the most unfortunate man. At four o'clock Buvat 
 returned. Bathilde, seeing the traces of uneasiness on 
 his good-natured face, tried all she could to tranquillise 
 him. She smiled, she joked, she kept him company at 
 table; but all was in vain. After dinner he proposed to 
 Bathilde, as an amusement which nothing could resist, to 
 take a walk on the terrace. Bathilde, thinking that if she 
 refused Buvat would remain with her, accepted, and went 
 up with him into his room; but when there, she remem- 
 bered that she must write a letter of thanks to the Abbé 
 Chaulieu, for his kindness in presenting her to Madame 
 du Maine; and, leaving her guardian with Mirza, she 
 went down. Shortly after, she heard Mirza scratching at 
 the door, and went to open it. Mirza entered with such 
 demonstrations of joy that Bathilde understood that some- 
 thing extraordinary must have happened, and, on looking 
 attentively, she saw the letter tied to her collar. As this
 
 COUNTERPLOTS. 277 
 
 was the second she had brought, Bathilde had no difficulty 
 in guessing the writer. The temptation was too strong to 
 be resisted, so she detached the paper with one hand, 
 which trembled as she remembered that it probably con- 
 tained the destiny of her lite, while with the other she 
 caressed Mirza, who, standing on her hind legs, appeared 
 delighted to become so important a personage. Bathilde 
 opened the letter, and looked at it twice without being 
 able to decipher a single line. There was a mist before 
 her eyes. 
 
 The letter, while it said a great deal, did not say quite 
 enough. It protested innocence and asked for pardon ; it 
 spoke of strange circumstances requiring secrecy; but, 
 above all, it said that the writer was madly in love. The 
 result was, that, without completely reassuring her, it yet 
 did her good. Bathilde, however, with a remnant of 
 pride, determined not to relent till the next day. Since 
 Raoul confessed himself guilty, he should be punished. 
 Bathilde did not remember that half of this punishment 
 recoiled upon herself. The effect of the letter, incomplete 
 as it was, was such that, when Buvat returned from the 
 terrace, he thought Bathilde looked infinitely better, and 
 began to believe what she herself had told him in the 
 morning, — that her agitation was only caused by the 
 emotion of the day before. Buvat went to his own room 
 at eight 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 she watched, contented and happy, 
 for she knew that her neighbour's window was open, and 
 by this she guessed his anxiety. Bathilde at length 
 dreamed that Raoul was at her feet, and that he gave her 
 such good reasons that it was she, in her turn, who asked 
 for pardon. 
 
 Thus in the morning she awoke convinced that she had 
 been dreadfully severe, and wondering how she could have 
 had the courage to do so. It followed that her first move- 
 ment was to run to the window and open it; but perceiv
 
 278 THE CHEVALIER D'iIARMENTAL. 
 
 ing, through an almost imperceptible opening, the young 
 man at his window, she stopped short. Would not this 
 be too complete an avowal ? It wouhl be better to wait 
 for Nanette ; she would open the window naturally, and 
 in this way her neighbour would not be so able to pride 
 himself on his conquest. Nanette arrived, but she had 
 been too much scolded the day before about this window 
 to risk a second representation of the same scene. She 
 took the greatest pains to avoid even touching the cur- 
 tains. Bathilde was ready to cry. Buvat came down as 
 usual to take his coffee with Bathilde, and she hoped that 
 he at least would ask why she kept herself so shut up, and 
 give her an opportunity to open the window. Buvat, 
 however, had received a new order for the classification 
 of some manuscripts, and was so preoccupied that he fin- 
 ished his coffee and left the room without once remarking 
 <;hat the curtains were closerl. 
 
 For the first time Batiiilde felt almost angry with him, 
 and thought he must have paid her very little attention not 
 to discover that she must be half stifled in such a close 
 room. What was she to do ? Tell Nanette to 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 after perhaps, and what would Raoul think ? 
 Would he not become impatient at this exaggerated sever- 
 ity ? Suppose he should again leave for a fortnight, for a 
 month, for six weeks, — for ever; Bathilde would die, she 
 could not live without Raoul. Two hours passed thus; Ba- 
 thilde tried everything, — her embroidery, her harpsichord, 
 her drawing, — but she could do nothing. Nanette came 
 in : a slight hope returned to her, but it was only 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 two hours. What was she to do during 
 these two hours ? It would have been so delightful to 
 pass them at the window. 
 
 Bathilde sat down and drew out the letter; she knew it
 
 COUNTERPLOTS. 279 
 
 by heart, but yet she read it again. It was so tender, so 
 passionate, so evidently from the 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 her 
 arms, and then, trembling as if she were about to commit 
 a crime, she went to open the outer door. A young man 
 was standing before this door, reaching out his hand 
 towards the bell. Bathilde uttered a cry of joy, and the 
 young man a cry of love, — it was Raoul.
 
 280 THE CHi:VALli;u Jj'llAliMENÏAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE SEVENTH HEAVEN. 
 
 Bathilde made some steps backward, for she had nearly 
 fallen into Ilaoul's arms. Raoul, having shut the door, 
 followed Bathilde into the room. Their two names, 
 exchanged in a double cry, escaped their lips. Their 
 hands met in an electric clasp, and all was forgotten. 
 These two, who had so much to say to each other, yet 
 remained for a long time silent. At length Bathilde 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 " Oh, Raoul, how I have suffered ! " 
 
 "And I," said D'Harmental, "who have appeared to 
 you guilty, and am yet innocent ! " 
 
 " Innocent ! " cried Bathilde, to whom, by a natural 
 reaction, all her doubts returned, 
 
 " Yes, innocent, " replied the chevalier. 
 
 And then he told Bathilde all of his life that he dared 
 to tell her: his duel with Lafare; how he had, after that, 
 hidden in the Rue du Temps Perdu; how he had seen 
 Bathilde, and loved her; his astonishment at discovering 
 successively in her the elegant woman, the skilful painter, 
 tlie accomplished musician; his joy when he began to 
 think that she was not indifferent to him; then he told 
 her how he had received, as colonel of carabineers, the or- 
 der to go to Brittany, and on his return was obliged to 
 render an account of his mission to the Duchesse du Maine 
 before returning to Paris. He had gone directly to 
 Sceaux, expecting only to leave his despatches in passing, 
 when he had found himself in the midst of the fête, i)i 
 which he had been obliged unwillingly to take a part. 
 This recital was finished by expressions of regret, and
 
 THE SEVENTH HEAVEN. 281 
 
 such protestations of fidelity and love that Bathilde 
 almost forgot the beginning of his discourse in listening 
 to the end. 
 
 It was now her turn. She also had a long history to 
 tell D'Harmental; it was the history of her life. With 
 a certain pride in proving to her lover that she was worthy 
 of him, she showed herself as a child with her father and 
 mother, then an orphan and abandoned; then appeared 
 Buvat with his plain face and his sublime heart, and she 
 told all his kindness, all his love to his pupil ; she passed 
 in review her careless childhood and her pensive youth; 
 then she arrived at the time when she first saw D'Har- 
 mental, and here she stopped and smiled, for she felt that 
 he had nothing more to learn. Yet D'Harmental insisted 
 on hearing it all from her own lips, and would not spare 
 her a single detail. Two hours passed thus like two 
 seconds, and they were still there when some one rang 
 at the door. Bathilde looked at the clock which was in 
 the corner of the room; it was six minutes past four; 
 there was no mistake, it was Buvat. Bathilde's first 
 movement was one of fear, but Raoul reassured her, smil- 
 ing, for he had the pretext with which the Abbé Brigand 
 had furnished him. The two lovers exchanged a last 
 grasp of the hand, then Bathilde went to open the door 
 to her guardian, who, as usual, kissed her on the fore- 
 head, then, on entering the room, perceived D'Harmental. 
 Buvat was astonished; he had never before found any 
 man with his pupil. Buvat fixed on him his astonished 
 eyes and waited; he fancied he had seen the young man 
 before. D'Harmental advanced towards him with that ease 
 of which people of a certain class have not even an idea. 
 
 "It is to Monsieur Buvat," he said, "that I have the 
 honour of speaking ? " 
 
 "To myself, sir," said Buvat, starting at the sound of 
 a voice which he thought he recognised; "but the honour 
 is on my side." 
 
 " You know the Abbé Brigaud? " continued D'Harmental,
 
 282 THE ciip:valikr d'harmental, 
 
 " Yes, perfectly, monsieur, — the — that — the — of 
 Madame Denis, is he nut ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied D'Harmental, smiling; "the confessor 
 to Madame Denis." 
 
 "Yes, I know him. A clever man." 
 
 " Did you not once apply to him to get some copies to 
 make ? " 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, for I am a copyist, at your service." 
 
 "Well," said D'Harmental, "this dear Abbé Brigand, 
 who is my guardian (that you may know whom you are 
 speaking to), has found an excellent customer for you." 
 
 "Ah! truly; pray take a seat, monsieur." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 " And who is the customer ? " 
 
 "The Prince de Listhnay, Rue du Bac, 110." 
 
 " A prince, monsieur, a prince ! " 
 
 "Yes; a Spaniard, who is in correspondence with the 
 Madrid Mercury, and sends all the news from Paris." 
 
 "Oh! that is a great honour." 
 
 "It will give you some trouble, however, for all the 
 despatches are in Spanish." 
 
 "DmôZe/" said Buvat. 
 
 "Do you know Spanish ?" asked D'Harmental. 
 
 "No, monsieur; I do not think so, at least." 
 
 "Never mind," continued the chevalier, smiling; "one 
 need not know a language to copy it." 
 
 "I could copy Chinese, monsieur; caligraphy, like draw- 
 ing, is an imitative art." 
 
 "And I know that in this respect. Monsieur Buvat," 
 replied D'Harmental, "you are a great artist." 
 
 "Monsieur," said Buvat, "you embarrass me. May I 
 ask, without indiscretion, at what time I shall find his 
 highness ? " 
 
 " What highness ? " 
 
 " His highness the prince, — I do not remember the 
 name you said," replied Buvat. 
 
 "Ah! the Prince de Listhnay."
 
 THE SEVENTH HEAVEN. 283 
 
 "Himself." 
 
 "He is not highness, my dear Monsieur Buvat." 
 
 "Oh ! I thought all princes — " 
 
 " This is only a prince of the third order, and he will 
 be quite satisfied if you call him monseigneur." 
 
 " You think so ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it. " 
 
 "And when shall I find him ?" 
 
 "After your dinner; from five to half-past five. You 
 remember the address ? " 
 
 "Yes; Rue du Bac, 110. I will be there, monsieur." 
 
 "Now," said D'Harmental, "aw revoir! And you, made- 
 moiselle," said he, turning toBathilde, "receive my thanks 
 for your kindness in keeping me company while I waited 
 for Monsieur Buvat, — a kindness for which I shall be 
 eternally grateful." 
 
 And D'Harmental took his leave, while Bathilde re- 
 mained astonished at his ease and assurance in such a 
 Kituation. 
 
 "This young man is really very amiable," said Buvat. 
 
 "Yes, very," said Bathilde, mechanically. 
 
 "But it is an extraordinary thing; I think I have seen 
 ^*.im before." 
 
 "It is possible," said Bathilde. 
 
 "And his voice, — I am sure I know his voice." 
 
 Bathilde started; for she remembered the evening when 
 Buvat had returned frightened from the adventure in the 
 Rue des Bons Enfants, and D'Harmental had not spoken 
 of that adventure. At this moment Nanette entered, 
 announcing dinner. Buvat instantly went into the other 
 room. 
 
 "Well, mademoiselle," said Nanette softly, "the hand- 
 some young man came then, after all ? " 
 
 "Yes, Nanette, yes," answered Bathilde, raising her eyes 
 to Heaven with an expression of infinite gratitude, " and I 
 am very happy. " 
 
 She passed into the dining-room, where Buvat, who had
 
 284 THE CilKVALIEli U'lIAKMENTAL. 
 
 put down his liat and stick on a chair, was waiting for 
 her, and slapping his thighs with his hands, as was his 
 custom in his ujoments of extreme satisfaction. 
 
 As to D'Harmental, lie was no less hapi)y than Bathilde; 
 he was loved, — he was sure of it. Bathilde had told him 
 so, with the same pleasure she had felt on hearing him 
 make the same declaration. He was loved; not by a poor 
 orphan, not by a little grisette, but by a young girl of 
 rank, whose father and mother had occupied an honourable 
 position at court. There were, then, no obstacles to their 
 union, there was no social interval between them. It is 
 true that D'Harmental forgot the conspiracy, which might 
 at any time open an abyss under his feet and engulf him. 
 Bathilde had no doubts for the future; and when Buvat, 
 after dinner, took his hat and cane to go to the Prince de 
 Listhnay's, she first fell on her knees to thank God, and 
 then, without hesitation, went to open the window so long 
 closed. D'Harmental was still at his. They had very 
 soon settled their plans, and taken Nanette into their con- 
 fidence. Every day, when Buvat was gone, D'Harmental 
 was to come and stay two hours with Bathilde. The 
 rest of the time would be passed at the windows, or, if 
 by chance these must be closed, they could write to each 
 other. Towards seven o'clock they saw Buvat turning the 
 corner of the Rue Montmartre ; he carried a roll of paper 
 in one hand, and his cane in the other, and by his impor- 
 tant air it was easy to see that he had spoken to the 
 prince himself. D'Harmental closed his window. Ba- 
 thilde had seen Buvat set out with some uneasiness, for she 
 feared that this story of the Prince de Listhnay was only an 
 invention to explain D'Harmental's presence. The joyous 
 expression of Buvat's face, however, quite reassured her. 
 
 " Well ! " said she. 
 
 "Well ! I have seen his highness." 
 
 "But, you know," answered Bathilde, "that Monsieur 
 Eaoul said the Prince de Listhnay had no right to that 
 title, and was only a prince of the third order."
 
 THE SEVENTH HEAVEN. 285 
 
 "I guarantee him of the first," said Buvat, " sahre de 
 bois! a man of five feet ten, who throws his money about, 
 and pays for copies at fifteen francs the page, and has 
 given twenty-five louis in advance ! " 
 
 Then another fear began to come into Bathilde's mind, 
 that this pretended customer whom Kaoul had found for 
 Buvat was only a pretext to induce him to accept mone}-. 
 This fear had in it something humiliating; Bathilde 
 turned her eyes towards D'Harmental's window, but she 
 saw D'Harmental looking at her with so much love through 
 the glass, that she thought of nothing but looking at him 
 in return, which she did for so long, that Buvat came 
 forward to see what was attracting her attention; but 
 D'Harmental, seeing him, let fall the curtain. 
 
 "Well, then," said Bathilde, wishing to turn off his 
 attention, " you are content ? " 
 
 "Quite; but I must tell you one thing." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " You remember that I told you that I thought I recog- 
 nised the face and voice of this young man, but could not 
 tell you where I had seen or heard them ? " 
 
 "Yes, you told me so." 
 
 " Well, it suddenly struck me to-day, as I was crossing 
 the Rue des Bons Enfants, that it was the same young 
 man whom I saw on that terrible night of which I cannot 
 think without trembling." 
 
 " What folly ! " said Bathilde, trembling, however, her- 
 self. 
 
 "I was on the point of returning, however, for I thought 
 this prince might be some brigand chief, and that they 
 were going to entice me into a cavern; but as I never 
 carry any money, I thought that my fears were exagger- 
 ated, and so I went on." 
 
 "And now you are convinced, I suppose," replied 
 Bathilde, "that this poor young man, who came from the 
 Abbé Brigand, has no connection with him of the Rue des 
 Bons Enfants."
 
 286 THE CIIEVALIEII d'harmental. 
 
 "Certainly a xjaptain of thieves could have no connec- 
 tion with his highness; and now," continued Buvat, "you 
 must excuse mc if I do not stay with you this evening. I 
 promised his highness to begin the copies directly, and I 
 must do so." 
 
 Buvat went into his room, leaving Bathilde free to 
 resume the interrupted conversation. Heaven only knows 
 at what hour the windows were closed.
 
 fénelon's successor, 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 fénelon's successor. 
 
 The events which were to rouse our lovers from their 
 happy idleness were preparing in silence. The Due de 
 Richelieu had kept his promise. The Maréchal Villeroy, 
 who had intended to remain a week away from the Tuile- 
 ries, was recalled on the fourth day by a letter from his 
 wife, who wrote to him that his presence was more than 
 ever necessary near the king, the measles having declared 
 itself at Paris, and having already attacked several per- 
 sons in the Palais Royal. Monsieur de Villeroy came 
 back directly, for it will be remembered that all those 
 successive deaths which three or four years before had 
 afflicted the kingdom had been attributed to the measles, 
 and the marshal would not lose this opportunity of parad- 
 ing his vigilance. It was his privilege, as governor of 
 the king, never to leave him except by an order from him- 
 self, and to remain with him whoever entered, even though 
 it was the regent himself. It was especially with regard 
 to the regent that the marshal affected such extraordinary 
 precaution; and as this suited the hatred of Madame du 
 Maine and her party, they praised Monsieur de Villeroy 
 highly, and spread abroad a report that he had found on 
 the chimneypiece of Louis XV. some poisoned bon-bons 
 which had been placed there. 
 
 The result of all this was an increase of calumny against 
 the Due d'Orléans, and of importance on the part of the 
 marshal, who persuaded the young king that he owed him 
 his life. By this means he acquired great influence over 
 the king, who, indeed, had confidence in no one but 
 Monsieur de Villeroy and Monsieur de Fréjus. Monsieur
 
 288 THE CHEVALIER d'hARMENTAL. 
 
 de Villeroy was then the man they wanted for the message; 
 and it was agreed that the following Monday, a day when 
 the regent rarely saw the king, the two letters of Philip 
 V. should be given to him, and Monsieur de Villeroy 
 should profit by his solitude with the king to make him 
 sign the convocation of the States-General, and that it 
 should be made public the next day before the hour of the 
 regent's visit, so that there should be no means of drawing 
 back. 
 
 Whilst all these things were plotting against him, the 
 regent was leading his ordinary life in the midst of his 
 work, his studies, and his pleasures, and, above all, of his 
 family bickerings. As we have said, three of his daugh- 
 ters gave him serious trouble. Madame de Berry, whom 
 be loved the best, because lie had saved her when the most 
 celebrated doctors had given her up, throwing off all 
 restraint, lived publicly with Riom, whom she threatened 
 to marry at every observation her father made. A strange 
 threat, but which, if carried out, would at that time have 
 caused far more scandal than the amours which at any 
 other time such a marriage would have sanctified. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Chartres persisted in her resolution of 
 becoming a niin, although she still, under her novitiate, 
 continued to enjoy all the pleasures she could manage to 
 introduce into the cloister. She had got in her cell her 
 guns and pistols, and a magnificent assortment of fire- 
 works, with which she amused her young friends every 
 evening; but she would not leave the convent, where her 
 father went every Wednesday to visit her. 
 
 The third person of the family who gave him uneasiness 
 was Mademoiselle de Valois, whom he suspected of being 
 Richelieu's mistress, but without ever being able to obtain 
 certain proof ; although he had put his police on the 
 watch, and had himself more than once paid her visits at 
 hours when he thought it most probable he should meet 
 him. These suspicions were also increased by her refusal 
 to marry the Prince de Dombe, an excellent match, en-
 
 fénelon's successor. 289 
 
 riched as he was by the spoils of La Grande Mademoiselle. 
 The regent had seized a new opportunity of assuring him- 
 self whether this refusal were caused by her antipathy to 
 the young prince, or her love for the duke, by welcoming 
 the overtures which Pleneuf, his ambassador at Turin, had 
 made for a marriage between the beautiful Charlotte Aglaë 
 and the Prince de Piedmont. Mademoiselle de Valois 
 rebelled again, but this time in vain ; the regent, contrary 
 to his usual easy goodness, insisted, and the lovers had no 
 hope, when an unexpected event broke it off. Madame, the 
 mother of the regent, with her German frankness, had 
 written to the Queen of Sicily, one of her most constant 
 correspondents, that she loved her too much not to warn 
 her that the princess, who was destined for the young 
 prince, had a lover, and that that lover was the Due de 
 Richelieu. It may be supposed that this declaration put 
 an end to the scheme. 
 
 The regent was at first excessively angry at this result 
 of his mother's mania for writing letters, but he soon 
 began to laugh at this epistolary escapade, and his atten- 
 tion was called off for the time by an important subject, — 
 namely, that of Dubois, who was determined to become an 
 archbishop. We have seen how, on Dubois's return from 
 London, the thing had first been broached under the form 
 of a joke, and how the regent had received the recom- 
 mendation of King George; but Dubois was not a man to 
 be beaten by a first refusal. Cambray was vacant by the 
 death of the Cardinal la Tremouille, and was one of the 
 richest archbishoprics in the Church. A hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs a year were attached to it, and it was 
 difficult to say whether Dubois was most tempted by the 
 title of successor to Fenelon, or by the rich benefice. 
 
 Dubois, on the first opportunity, brought it again on the 
 tapis. The regent again tried to turn it off with a joke, 
 but Dubois became more positive, and more pressing. 
 The regent, thinking to settle it, defied Dubois to find 
 a prelate who would consecrate him. 
 
 19
 
 290 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 " Is it only that ? " cried Dubois, joyously, " then I have 
 the man at hand." 
 
 " Impossible ! " said the regent. 
 
 "You will see," said Dubois; and he ran out. 
 
 In five minutes he returned. 
 
 " Well ? " asked the regent. 
 
 "Well," answered Dubois, "I have got him." 
 
 " And who is the scoundrel who is willing to consecrate 
 such another scoundrel as you ? " 
 
 "Your first almoner, monsieur." 
 
 "The Bishop of Nantes ! " 
 
 "Neither more nor less." 
 
 "Tressan !" 
 
 "Himself." 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 "Here he is." 
 
 And at this moment the door was opened, and the 
 Bishop of Nantes was announced. 
 
 "Come," cried Dubois, running to him, "his Royal High- 
 ness honours us both in naming me Archbishop of Cam- 
 bray, and in choosing you to consecrate me." 
 
 "Monsieur de Nantes," asked the regent, "is it true 
 that you consent to make the abbé an archbishop ? " 
 
 "Your Highness's wishes are commands for me." 
 
 "Do you know that he is neither deacon, archdeacon, 
 nor priest? " 
 
 "Never mind, monseigneur," cried Dubois, "here is 
 Monsieur de Tressan, who will tell you all these orders 
 may be conferred in a day." 
 
 "But there is no example of such a thing." 
 
 "Yes, Saint Ambloise." 
 
 "Then, my dear abbé," said the regent, laughing, "if 
 you have all the fathers of the Church with you, I have 
 nothing more to say, and I abandon you to Monsieur de 
 Tressan." 
 
 " I will give him back to you with the cross and mitre,, 
 monseigneur."
 
 fénelon's successor. 291 
 
 "But you must Lave the grade of licentiate," continued 
 the regent, who began to be amused at the discussion. 
 
 "I have a promise from the University of Orléans." 
 
 "But you must have attestations." 
 
 "Is there not Besons ? " 
 
 "A certificate of good life and manners." 
 
 "I will have one signed by Noailles." 
 
 "No, there I defy you, abbé." 
 
 " Then your Highness will give me one. The signature 
 of the regent of France must have as much weight at 
 Rome as that of a wicked cardinal." 
 
 "Dubois," said the regent, "a little more respect, if 
 you please, for the princes of the Church." 
 
 " You are right, monseigneur. There is no saying what 
 one may become." 
 
 " You a cardinal ! " cried the regent, laughing. 
 
 "Certainly. I do not see why I should not be pope 
 some day." 
 
 "Well! Borgia was one." 
 
 "May God give us both a long life, monseigneur, and 
 you will see that and many other things." 
 
 '^ Pardieu f '' said the regent, "you know that I laugh at 
 death." 
 
 "Alas ! too much." 
 
 "Well, you will make a poltroon of me by curiosity." 
 
 "It would be none the worse; and to commence, mon- 
 seigneur would do well to discontinue his nocturnal 
 excursions." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " In the first place because they endanger his life." 
 
 " What does that matter ? " 
 
 "Then for another reason." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Because," said Dubois, assuming a hypocritical air, 
 '• they are a subject of scandal for the Church ! " 
 
 «Go to the devil." 
 
 "You see, monsieur," said Dubois, turning to Tressan,
 
 292 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 "in the midst of what libertines and hardened sinners 1 
 am obliged to live. I hope that your Eminence will con- 
 sider my position, and will not be too severe upon me." 
 
 "We will do our best, monseigneur," said Tressan. 
 
 "And when ?" asked Dubois, who was unwilling to lose 
 an hour. 
 
 "As soon as you are ready." 
 
 "I ask for three days." 
 
 " Very well ; on the fourth I shall be at your orders " 
 
 "To-day is Saturday. On Wednesday, then." 
 
 "On Wednesday," answered Tressan. 
 
 "Only I warn you beforehand, abbé," answered the 
 regent, " that one person of some importance will be absent 
 at your consecration." 
 
 "And who will dare to do me that injury? " 
 
 "I shall." 
 
 "You, monseigneur! You will be there and in your 
 official gallery." 
 
 "I say not." 
 
 "I bet a thousand louis." 
 
 "And I give you my word of honour." 
 
 "I double my bet." 
 
 " Insolent ! " 
 
 "On Wednesday, Monsieur de Tressan. At my conse- 
 cration, monseigneur." 
 
 And Dubois left the room highly delighted, and spread 
 about everywhere the news of his nomination. Still 
 Dubois was wrong on one point, — namely, the adhesion 
 of the Cardinal de Noailles. No menace or promise could 
 draw from him the attestation to good life and morals 
 which Dubois flattered himself he should obtain at his 
 hands. It is true that he was the only one who dared to 
 make this holy and noble opposition to the scandal with 
 which the Church was menaced. The University of 
 Orleans gave the licenses, and everything was ready on 
 the appointed day. Dubois left at five o'clock in the 
 morning, in a hunting dress, for Pautoix, where he found
 
 fénelon's successor. 293 
 
 Monsieur de Tressan, who, according to his promise, 
 bestowed on him the deaconship, the archdeaconship, and 
 the priesthood. At twelve all was finished; and at four, 
 after having attended the regent's council, which was held 
 at the old Louvre in consequence of the measles having, 
 as we have said, attacked the Tuileries, Dubois returned 
 home in the dress of an archbishop. 
 
 The first person whom he saw in his room was La 
 Fillon. In her double quality of attachée to his secret 
 police and to his public loves, she had admittance to his 
 room at all hours; and in spite of the solemnity of the 
 day, as she had said that she had business of importance 
 to communicate, they had not dared to refuse her. 
 
 *' Ah ! " cried Dubois, on perceiving his old friend, " a 
 lucky meeting." 
 
 ^^ Par dieu ! my dear gossip," answered La Fillon; *'if 
 you are ungrateful enough to forget your old friends I am 
 not stupid enough to forget mine, particularly when they 
 rise in the world." 
 
 "Ah! tell me," said Dubois, beginning to pull off his 
 sacerdotal ornaments, " do you count on continuing to call 
 me your gossip now that I am an archbishop ? " 
 
 " More than ever. And I count on it so strongly that 
 the first time the regent enters my house I shall ask him 
 for an abbey, that we may still be on an equality one with 
 the other." 
 
 " He comes to your house then, the libertine ? " 
 
 "Alas ! no more, my dear gossip. Ah ! the good time is 
 past. But I hope that, thanks to you, it will return, 
 and that the house will feel your elevation." 
 
 "Oh, my poor gossip," said Dubois, stooping down in 
 order that La Fillon might unclasp his frock, "you see 
 that now things are much changed, and that I can no 
 longer visit you as I used to." 
 
 "You are proud. Philippe comes there." 
 
 "Philippe is only regent of France, and I am an arch- 
 bishop. Do you understand ? I want a mistress at a
 
 294 THE CHEVALIER d'hARMENTAL. 
 
 house where I can go without scandal; like Madame de 
 Tencin, for example." 
 
 "Yes, who will deceive you for Richelieu." 
 
 " And how, on the contrary, do you know that she will 
 not deceive Richelieu for lue ? " 
 
 " Heyday ! and will she manage your police and your 
 love at the same time ? " 
 
 "Perhaps. But apropos of police," answered Dubois, 
 continuing to undress, " do you know that yours have slept 
 infernally during three or four months, and that if this 
 continues I shall be obliged to withdraw you from the 
 superintendence ? " 
 
 "Ah! diable!^' cried La Fillon; "this is the way you 
 treat your old friends. I come to make a revelation; well, 
 you shall not know it." 
 
 " A revelation ! and what about ? " 
 
 "Pshaw! take away my superintendence; scoundrel that 
 you are." 
 
 "Is it relating to Spain?" asked the archbishop frown- 
 ing, and feeling instinctively that the danger came from 
 there. 
 
 "It relates to nothing at all. Good evening." 
 
 And La Fillon made towards the door. 
 
 "Come here," said Dubois, stepping towards his desk; 
 and the two old friends, who understood each other so 
 well, looked towards each other and laughed. 
 
 "Come, come," said La Fillon, "I see that all is not 
 lost, and that there is yet some good in you. Come, open 
 this little desk and show me what it contains, and I will 
 open my mouth and show you what I have in my heart." 
 
 Dubois took out a rouleau of a hundred louis, and 
 showed it to La Fillon, 
 
 "How much is it?" said she; "come, tell the truth; 
 however, I shall count after you, to be sure." 
 
 "Two thousand four hundred francs; that is a pretty 
 penny, it seems to me." 
 
 "Yes, for an abbé, but not for an archbishop."
 
 fénelon's successor. 295 
 
 "Do you not know to what an extent the finances are 
 involved ? " 
 
 "Well, what does that matter, you humbug, when Law 
 is going to make millions for us ? " 
 
 "Would you like in exchange ten thousand francs in 
 Mississippi bonds ? " 
 
 "Thanks, my dear, I prefer the hundred louis; give 
 them to me; I am a good woman, and another day you will 
 be more generous." 
 
 "Well, what have you to tell me ? Come." 
 
 "First promise me one thing." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " That as it is about an old friend, he shall come to no 
 harm." 
 
 " But if your old friend is a beggar who deserves to be 
 hanged, why should you cheat him of his due ? " 
 
 "I have my own reasons." 
 
 "Go along; I promise nothing." 
 
 "Well, good evening then. Here are the hundred 
 louis." 
 
 "Ah! you are getting scrupulous all at once." 
 
 "Not at all; but I am under obligations to this man; he 
 started me in the world." 
 
 " He may boast of having done a good thing for society 
 that day." 
 
 "Rather, my friend; and he shall never have cause to 
 repent it, for I will not speak a word to-day unless his 
 life is safe." 
 
 " Well, safe it shall be, I promise you; are you content ?" 
 
 " By what do you promise it me ? " 
 
 "On the faith of an honest man." 
 
 " Ah ! you are going to deceive me." 
 
 " Do you know that you are very tiresome ? " 
 
 "Oh! I am very tiresome. Well, good-bye." 
 
 "Gossip, I will have you arrested." 
 
 "What do I care?" 
 
 "You shall be sent to prison."
 
 296 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "That is a good joke." 
 
 "I will leave you to die there." 
 
 "Till you do it yourself. It will not be long." 
 
 " Well, what do you want ? " 
 
 "My captain's life." 
 
 " You shall have it." 
 
 "On what faith?" 
 
 "On the faith of an archbishop." 
 
 "I want a better." 
 
 "On the faith of an abbé." 
 
 "Better still." 
 
 "On the faith of Dubois." 
 
 "That will do." 
 
 " First, I must tell you that my captain is the most out 
 at elbows of any in the kingdom." 
 
 ^^ Diable ! he has a rival." 
 
 "Still, he will have the prize." 
 
 "Continue." 
 
 " Well, you must know that lately he has become as rich 
 as Crœsus." 
 
 "He must have robbed some millionnaire." 
 
 " Incapable. Killed may be, — but robbed ! What do 
 you take him for ? " 
 
 " Do you know where the money comes from ? " 
 
 "Do you know the different coinages ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where does this come from then ?" 
 
 "Ah ! a Spanish doubloon." 
 
 "And without alloy, with the efHgy of King Charles 
 II. Doubloons which are worth forty-eight francs if they 
 are worth a penny, and which run from his pockets like 
 a stream, poor dear fellow." 
 
 "And when did he begin to sweat gold ?" 
 
 " The day after the regent was nearly carried off in the 
 Rue des Bons Enfants. Do you understand the apologue, 
 gossip ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and why have you not told me before to-day ? "
 
 fénelon's successor. 297 
 
 "Because his pockets were full then; they are now 
 nearly empty, which is the time to find out where he will 
 fill them again." 
 
 "And you wished to give him time to empty them ?" 
 
 "Well, all the world must live." 
 
 "And so they shall; even your captain. But you under- 
 stand that I must know what he does ? " 
 
 "Day by day." 
 
 "And which of your girls does he love ?" 
 
 "All when he has money." 
 
 " And when he has none ? " 
 
 "La Normande." 
 
 "I know her; she is as sharp as a needle.** 
 
 "Yes, but you must not reckon on her." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "She loves him, the little fool." 
 
 "Ah ! he is a lucky fellow." 
 
 " And he merits it. He has got the heart of a prince, 
 not like you, old miser," 
 
 "Oh! you know that sometimes I am worse than the 
 prodigal son, and it depends on you to make me so." 
 
 "I will do my best." 
 
 "Then day by day I shall know what your captain 
 does ? " 
 
 "You shall." 
 
 "On what faith?" 
 
 " On the faith of an honest woman." 
 
 "Something better." 
 
 "On the faith of Eillon." 
 
 "That will do." 
 
 "Adieu, monseigneur the archbishop." 
 
 "Adieu, gossip." 
 
 La Fillon was going towards the door, when at that 
 moment an usher entered. 
 
 "Monseigneur," said he, "here is a man who wants to 
 speak to your Eminence." 
 
 " And who is he, idiot ? "
 
 298 THE CIIEVALlEll d'IIAKMENTAL. 
 
 "An employee of the royal library, who, in his spare 
 time, makes copies." 
 
 " And what does he want ? " 
 
 " He says that he has an important revelation to make to 
 yonr eminence." 
 
 " Oh! it is some poor fellow begging." 
 
 "No, monseigneur; he says that it is a political affair." 
 
 ''Diable! about what?" 
 
 "Relative to Spain." 
 
 " Send him in; and you, gossip, go into this closet." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " Suppose my writer and your captain should know each 
 other ? " 
 
 " Ah ! that would be droll." 
 
 "Come, get in quickly." 
 
 La Fillon entered the closet which Dubois showed her. 
 
 An instant afterwards the usher opened the door, and 
 announced Monsieur Jean Buvat. 
 
 We must now show how this important personage came 
 to be received in private audience by the Archbishop of 
 Cambray.
 
 THE PRINCE DE LIbTHNAY'S ACCOMPLICE. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE PRINCE DE LISTHNAy's ACCOMPLICE. 
 
 We left Buvat going up to his own room, with his papers 
 in his hand, to fulfil his promise to the Prince de Listhnay, 
 and this promise was so scrupulously kept, that by seven 
 o'clock the next evening the copy was finished and taken 
 to the Rue du Bac. He then received from the same 
 august hands some more work, which he returned with the 
 same punctuality, so that the Prince de Listhnay, feeling 
 confidence in a man who had given such proofs of exacti- 
 tude, gave him at once sufficient papers to necessitate an 
 interval of three or four days between this interview and 
 the next. Buvat was delighted with this mark of confi- 
 dence, and on his return set himself gaily to his work; 
 and, although he found that he did not understand a word 
 of Spanish, he could now read it fluently, and had become 
 so accustomed to it, that he felt quite disappointed when 
 he found amongst the copies one all in French. It had 
 no number, and almost appeared to have slipped in by 
 mistake; but he resolved, nevertheless, to copy it. He 
 began with these lines : — 
 " Confidential. 
 
 " For his Excellency Monsieur Alberoni in person, 
 ''Nothing is more important than to make sure of the 
 places near the Pyrenees, and of the noblemen who reside 
 in these cantons." 
 
 " In these cantons ! " repeated Buvat, after having writ- 
 ten it; then, taking a hair from his pen, he continued: — 
 "To gain or master the garrison of Bayonne." 
 " What is that ? " said Buvat. " Is not Bayonne a French 
 town? Let us see, — let us see." And he continued; —
 
 300 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "The Marquis cle P is governor of D . One 
 
 knows the intentions of that nobleman; when it is de- 
 cided, it will be necessary for him to triple his expendi- 
 ture in order to attract the aristocracy : he ought to scatter 
 rewards. 
 
 "In Normandy, Charenton is an important post. Pursue 
 the same course with the governor of that town as with 
 
 the Marquis of P ; go further, — promise his officers 
 
 suitable rewards. 
 
 "Do the same in all the provinces." 
 
 "Hallo!" cried Buvat, re-reading what he had just 
 written; "what does this mean? It seems to me that it 
 would be prudent to read it all before going further." 
 
 He read : — 
 
 "To supply this expenditure one ought to be able to 
 reckon on at least three hundred thousand francs the first 
 month, and afterwards a hundred thousand per month, 
 paid to the day." 
 
 " Paid to the day ! " murmured Buvat, breaking off. " It 
 is evidently not by France that these payments are to be 
 made, since France is so poor that she has not paid me my 
 nine hundred francs' salary for five years. Let us see, — 
 let us see." And he recommenced: — 
 
 "That expenditure, which will cease at the peace, will 
 enable his Catholic Majesty to act with certainty in case 
 of war. 
 
 "Spain will only be an auxiliary. The army of Philip 
 V. is in France." 
 
 "What! what! what!" cried Buvat; "and I did not 
 even know that it had crossed the frontier." 
 
 "The army of Philip V. is in France. A body of about 
 ten thousand Spaniards is more than sufficient, with the 
 presence of the king. 
 
 " But we must be able to count on being able to seduce 
 over at least half of the Due d'Orléans' army." (Buvat 
 trembled.) "This is the most important, and cannot be 
 done without money. A present of one hundred thousand 
 francs is necessary for each battalion or squadron.
 
 THE PRINCE DE LISTHNAY's ACCOMPLICE. 301 
 
 "Twenty battalions would be two millions; with that 
 sum, one might form a trustworthy army and destroy that 
 of the enemy. 
 
 "It is almost certain that the subjects most devoted to 
 the King of Spain will not be employed in the army which 
 will march against him. Let them disperse themselves 
 through the provinces; there they will act usefully. To 
 re-supply them with a character — if they have none — it 
 will be necessary for his Catholic Majesty to send his 
 orders in blank, for his minister in Paris to fill up. 
 
 "In consequencce of the multiplicity of orders, it would 
 be better if the ambassador had the power to sign for the 
 King of Spain. 
 
 "It would be well, moreover, if his Majesty were to 
 sign his orders as a French prince ; the title is his own. 
 
 "Prepare funds for an army of thirty thousand men, 
 whom his Majesty will find brave, skilful, and disci- 
 plined. 
 
 " This money should arrive in France at the end of May, 
 or the commencement of June, and be distributed directly 
 in the capitals of provinces, such as Nantes, Bayonne, etc. 
 
 "Do not allow the French ambassador to leave Spain. 
 His presence will answer for the safety of those who 
 declare themselves." 
 
 " Sabre de bois ! " cried Buvat, rubbing his eyes ; " but 
 this is a conspiracy, — a conspiracy against the person of 
 the regent, and against the safety of the kingdom. Oh! 
 oh!" 
 
 Buvat fell into profound meditation. 
 
 Indeed, the position was critical. Buvat mixed up in 
 a conspiracy; Buvat charged with a state secret; Buvat 
 holding in his hands, perhaps, the fate of nations; a 
 smaller thing would have thrown hiiu into a state of 
 strange perplexity. 
 
 Thus seconds, minutes, hours, flowed away, and Buvat 
 remained on his chair, his head drooping, his eyes fixed 
 on the floor, and perfectly still. From time to time, how-
 
 302 THE CHEVALIER d'HARMENÏAL. 
 
 ever, a deep breath — like an expression of astonishment 
 — escaped his breast. 
 
 Ten o'clock, eleven, — midnight sounded. Buvat thought 
 that the night would bring him aid, and he determined to 
 go to bed. It is needless to say that his copying came 
 to an end, when lie saw that the original was assuming an 
 illegal character. 
 
 Buvat could not sleep; the poor fellow tossed from side 
 to side, but scarcely had he shut his eyes before he saw 
 this horrible plan of the conspiracy written upon the wall 
 in letters of fire. Once or twice, overcome by fatigue, he 
 fell asleep; but he had no sooner lost consciousness than 
 he dreamed, the first time, that he was arrested by the 
 watch as a conspirator; the second, that he was stabbed 
 by the conspirators themselves. The first time Buvat 
 awoke trembling; the second time bathed in perspiration. 
 These two impressions had been so terrible that he lighted 
 his candle, and determined to wait for day without another 
 attempt to sleep. 
 
 The day came, but, far from dispelling the phantoms of 
 the night, it only gave a more terrific reality. At the 
 least noise Buvat trembled Some one knocked at the 
 street door. Buvat thought he should faint. Nanette 
 opened his room door, and he uttered a cry. Nanette 
 ran to him, and asked what was the matter, but he con- 
 tented himself with shaking his head and answering, with 
 a sigh, — 
 
 "Ah, my poor Nanette, we live in very sad times." 
 
 He stopped directly, fearing he had said too much. 
 He was too preoccupied to go down to breakfast with 
 Bathilde; besides, he feared lest the young girl should 
 perceive his uneasiness and ask the cause; and as he did 
 not know how to keep anything from her, he would have 
 told her all, and she would then have become his accom- 
 plice. He had his coffee sent up to him, under pretext of 
 having an overwhelming amount of work to do, and that 
 he was going to work during breakfast. As Bathilde's
 
 THE PRINCE DE LISTHNAY'S ACCOMPLICE. 303 
 
 love profited by this absence, she was rather pleased at it 
 than otherwise. 
 
 A few minutes before ten Buvat left for his office; his 
 fears had been strong in his own house, but once in the 
 street, they changed into terrors. At every crossing, at 
 the end of every court, behind every angle, he thought 
 that he saw the police officers waiting for him. At the 
 corner of the Place des Victoires a musketeer appeared, 
 coming from the Eue Pagevin, and Buvat gave such a 
 start on seeing him that he almost fell under the wheels of 
 a carriage. At last, after many alarms, he reached the 
 library, bowed almost to the ground before the sentinel, 
 darted up the stairs, gained his office, and, falling ex- 
 hausted on his seat, he shut up in his drawer all the 
 papers of the Prince de Listhnay, which he had brought 
 with him for fear the police should search his house dur- 
 ing his absence; and, finding himself in safety, heaved 
 a sigh, which would not have failed in denouncing him 
 to his colleagues as being a prey to the greatest agitation 
 if he had not, as usual, arrived the first. 
 
 Buvat had a principle, which was, that no personal pre- 
 occupation, whether grave or gay, ought to disturb a clerk 
 in the execution of his duty. Therefore he set himself to 
 his work, apparently as if nothing had happened, but really 
 in a state of moral perturbation impossible to describe. 
 
 This work consisted, as usual, in classifying and arran- 
 ging books. There having been an alarm of fire three or 
 four days before, the books had been thrown on the floor, 
 or carried out of the reach of the flames, and there were 
 consequently four or five thousand volumes to be rein- 
 stated in their proper places ; and, as it was a particularly 
 tedious business, Buvat had been selected for it, and 
 had hitherto acquitted himself with an intelligence and 
 assiduity which had merited the commendations of his 
 superiors, and the raillery of his colleagues. 
 
 In spite of the urgency of the work, Buvat rested some 
 minutes to recover himself; but as soon as he saw the
 
 804 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL 
 
 door open, he rose instinctively, took a pen, dipped it in 
 the ink, took a handful of parchment labels, and went 
 towards the remaining books, took the first which came 
 to hand, and continued his classification, murmuring be- 
 tween his teeth, as was his habit under similar circum- 
 stances. 
 
 "The 'Breviary of Lovers,' printed at Liege in 1712; no 
 printer's name. Ah, laon Dieu! what amusement can 
 Christians possibly iind in reading such books ? It would 
 be better if they were all burnt in the Place de Grève by 
 the hand of the public hangman ! Chut ! what name have 
 I been pronouncing there ? 1 wonder who this Prince de 
 Listhnay, who has made me copy such things, is; and the 
 young man who, under pretext of doing me a service, 
 introduced me to such a scoundrel. Come, come, this is 
 not the place to think about that. How pleasant it is 
 writing on parchment ! the pen glides as if over silk. 
 What is the next?" 
 
 "Well, monsieur," said the head clerk, "and what have 
 you been doing for the last five minutes, with your arms 
 crossed, and your eyes fixed ? " 
 
 "Nothing, Monsieur Ducoudray, nothing. I was plan- 
 ning a new mode of classification." 
 
 " A new mode of classification ! Are you turned re- 
 former? Do you wish to commence a revolution, Monsieur 
 Buvat ? " 
 
 "I ! a revolution!" cried Buvat, with terror. "A rev- 
 olution, monsieur! — never, oh never ! Good heavens, my 
 devotion to monseigneur the regent is known; a dis- 
 interested devotion, since he has not paid me for five 
 years, as you know." 
 
 "Well, go on with your work." 
 
 Buvat continued: — " 'Conspiracy of Monsieur de Cinq- 
 Mars.' Diable! diable! I have heard of that. He was 
 a gallant gentleman, who was in correspondence with 
 Spain, — that cursed Spain. What business has it to mix 
 itself up eternally with our affairs? It is true that this
 
 THE PRINCE DE LISTHNAY'S ACCOMPLICE. 305 
 
 time it is said that Spain will only be an auxiliary; but 
 an ally who takes possession of our towns, and who 
 debauches our soldiers, appears to me very much like an 
 enemy. ' Conspiracy of Monsieur de Cinq-Mars, followed 
 by a History of his Death, and that of Monsieur de Thou, 
 condemned for not revealing it. By an Eye-Witness.' 
 For not revealing! It is true, no doubt, for the law is 
 positive. Whoever does not reveal is an accomplice, — 
 myself, for instance. I am the accomplice of the Prince 
 de Listhnay; and if they cut off his head, they will cut 
 off mine too. No, they will only hang me, — I am not 
 noble. Hanged ! — it is impossible ; they would never go 
 to such extremities in my case : besides, I will declare all. 
 But then I shall be an informer; never ! But then I shall 
 be hanged ; oh, oh ! " 
 
 " What is the matter, Buvat ? " said a clerk ; " you are 
 strangling yourself by twisting your cravat." 
 
 "1 beg your pardon, gentlemen," said Buvat, "I did it 
 mechanically; I did not mean to offend you." 
 
 Buvat stretched out his hand for another book. '"Con- 
 spiracy of the Chevalier Louis de Rohan.' Oh, I come to 
 nothing but conspiracies! 'Copy of a Plan of Government 
 found amongst the Papers of Monsieur de Rohan, and 
 entirely written by Van der Enden.' Ah, mon Dieu! yes. 
 That is just my case. He was hanged for having copied 
 a plan. Oh, I shall die ! ' Procès-verbal of the Torture of 
 Francis-Affinius Van der Enden.' If they read one day, 
 at the end of the conspiracy of the Prince de Listhnay, 
 * Procès-verbal of the Torture of Jean Buvat ! ' " Buvat 
 began to read. 
 
 " Well, well, what is the matter, Buvat ? " said Ducou- 
 dray, seeing the good man shake and grow pale; "are you 
 ill ? " 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur Ducoudray," said Buvat, dropping the 
 book, and dragging himself to a seat, "ah, Monsieur 
 Ducoudray, I feel I am going to faint." 
 
 ao
 
 306 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "That comes of reading instead of working," said an 
 employee. 
 
 "Well, Buvat, are you better?" asked Ducoudray. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, for my resolution is taken, taken 
 irrevocably. It would not be just, by Heaven, that I 
 should bear the punishment for a crime which I never 
 committed. I owe it to society, to my ward, to myself. 
 Monsieur Ducoudray, if the curator asks for me, you will 
 tell him that I am gone out on pressing business." 
 
 And Buvat drew the roll of paper from the drawer, 
 pressed his hat on to his head, took his stick, and went 
 out with the majesty of despair. 
 
 "Do you know where he has gone?" asked the em- 
 ployee. 
 
 "No," answered Ducoudray. 
 
 "I will tell you; — to play at bowls at the Champs- 
 Elysées, or at Porcherons." 
 
 The employee was wrong; he had neither gone to the 
 Champs-Elysées nor to Porcherons. He had gone to 
 Dubois.
 
 THE FOX AND THE GOOSE. 307 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE FOX AND THE GOOSE. 
 
 " Monsieur Jean Buvat, " said the usher. Dubois stretched 
 out his viper's head, darted a look at the opening which 
 was left between the usher and the door, and, behind 
 the official introducer, perceived a little fat man, pale, 
 and whose legs shook under him, and who coughed to 
 give himself assurance. A glance sufficed to inform Du- 
 bois the sort of person he had to deal with. 
 
 "Let him come in," said Dubois. 
 
 The usher went out, and Jean Buvat appeared at the 
 door. 
 
 "Come in, come in," said Dubois. 
 
 "You do me honour, monsieur," murmured Buvat, with- 
 out moving from his place. 
 
 " Shut the door, and leave us," said Bubois to the usher. 
 The usher obeyed, and the door striking the posterior part 
 of Buvat made him bound a little way forward. Buvat, 
 shaken for an instant, steadied himself on his legs, and 
 became once more immovable, looking at Dubois with an 
 astounded expression. 
 
 In truth, Dubois was a curious sight. Of his episcopal 
 costume he had retained the inferior part; so that he was 
 in his shirt, with black breeches and violet stockings. 
 This disagreed with all Buvat's preconceived notions. 
 What he had before his eyes was neither a minister nor 
 an archbishop, but seemed much more like an ourang- 
 outang than a man. 
 
 "Well, monsieur," said Dubois, sitting down and cross- 
 ing his legs, and taking his foot in his hand, "you have 
 asked to speak to me. Here I am."
 
 308 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 " That is to say, " said Buvat, " I asked to speak to 
 Monseigneur the Archbishop of Cambray." 
 
 "Well, I am he." 
 
 " How ! you monseigneur ? " cried Buvat, taking his hat 
 in both hands, and bowing almost to the ground ; " excuse 
 me, but I did not recognise your Eminence. It is true 
 that this is the first time I have had the honour of seeing 
 you. Still — hum ! — at that air of majesty — hum, hum ! 
 — I ought to have understood — " 
 
 " Your name ? " asked Dubois, interrupting the good 
 man's compliments. 
 
 "Jean Buvat, at your service." 
 
 "You are—?" 
 
 "An employee at the library." 
 
 "And you have some revelations to make to me con- 
 cerning Spain ? " 
 
 " That is to say, monseigneur — This is how it is. As 
 my office work leaves me six hours in the evening and four 
 in the morning, and as Heaven has blessed me with a 
 very good handwriting, I make copies." 
 
 "Yes, I understand," said Dubois; "and some one has 
 given you suspicious papers to copy, so you have brought 
 these suspicious papers to me, have you not ? " 
 
 "In this roll, monseigneur, in this roll," said Buvat, 
 extending it towards Dubois. 
 
 Dubois made a single bound from his chair to Buvat, 
 took the roll and sat down at a desk, and, in a turn of the 
 hand, having torn off the string and the wrapper, found 
 the papers in question. The first on which he lighted 
 were in Spanish; but as Dubois had been sent twice to 
 Spain, and knew something of the language of Calderon 
 and Lope de Vega, he saw at the first glance how impor- 
 tant these papers were. Indeed, they were neither more 
 nor less than the protestation of the nobility, the list of 
 officers who requested commissions under the King of 
 Spain, and the manifesto prepared by the Cardinal de 
 Polignac and the Marquis de l^ompadour to rouse the
 
 THE FOX AND THE GOOSE. 309 
 
 kingdom. These different documents were addressed 
 directly to Philip V.; and a little note — which Dubois 
 recognised as Cellamare's handwriting — announced that 
 the denouement of the conspiracy was near at hand; he 
 informed his Catholic Majesty, from day to day, of all 
 the important events which could advance or retard the 
 scheme. Then came, finally, that famous plan of the 
 conspirators which we have alreaay given to our readers, 
 and which — left by an oversight amongst the papers 
 which had been translated into Spanish — had opened 
 Buvat's eyes. Near the plan, in the good man's best 
 writing, was the copy which he had begun to make, and 
 which was broken off at the words, " Act thus in all the 
 provinces." 
 
 Buvat had followed all the working of Dubois's face with 
 a certain anxiety; he had seen it pass from astonishment 
 to joy, then from joy to impassibility. Dubois, as he 
 continued to read, had passed, successively, one leg over 
 the other, had bitten his lips, pinched the end of his nose, 
 but all had been utterly untranslatable to Buvat, and at 
 the end of the reading he understood no more from the 
 face of the archbishop than he had understood at the end 
 of the copy from the Spanish original. As to Dubois, he 
 saw that this man had come to furnish him with the 
 beginning of a most important secret, and he was medi- 
 tating on the best means of making him furnish the end 
 also. This was the signification of the crossed legs, the 
 bitten lips, and the pinched nose. At last he appeared 
 to have taken his resolution. A charming benevolence 
 overspread his countenance, and turning towards the 
 good man, who had remained standing respectfully, — 
 
 "Take a seat, my dear Monsieur Buvat," said he. 
 
 "Thank you, monseigneur," answered Buvat, trembling; 
 "I am not fatigued." 
 
 "Pardon, pardon," said Dubois, "but your legs shake." 
 
 Indeed, since he had read the procès-verbal of the ques- 
 tion of Van der Enden, Buvat had retained in his legs a
 
 310 THE ciiEVALiEu d'harmental. 
 
 nervous trembling, like tliat which may bo observed in 
 dogs that have just had the distemper. 
 
 "The fact is, monseigneur," said Buvat, "that I do not 
 know what has come to me the last two hours, but I find 
 a great difficulty in standing upright." 
 
 "Sit down, then, and let us talk like two friends." 
 
 Buvat looked at Dubois with an air of stupefaction, 
 which at any other time would have had the effect of 
 making him burst out laughing, but now he did not seem 
 to notice it, and, taking a chair himself, he repeated with 
 his hand the invitation which he had given with his voice. 
 There was no means of drawing back; the good man 
 approached trembling and sat down on the edge of his 
 chair; put his hat on the ground, took his cane between 
 his legs, and waited. All this, however, was not executed 
 without a violent internal struggle, as his face testified, 
 which, from being white as a lily when he came in, had 
 now become as red as a })eony. 
 
 "My dear Monsieur Buvat, you say that you make 
 copies?" 
 
 "Yes, monseigneur." 
 
 " And that brings you in — ?" 
 
 "Very little, monseigneur, very little." 
 
 " You have, nevertheless, a superb handwriting. Monsieur 
 Buvat." 
 
 " Yes, but all the world does not appreciate the value of 
 that talent as your Eminence does." 
 
 "That is true; but you are employed at the library?" 
 
 "I have that honour." 
 
 " And your place brings you — ? " 
 
 "Oh, my place, — that is another thing, monseigneur; it 
 brings me in nothing at all, seeing that for five years the 
 cashier has told us at the end of each month that the king 
 was too poor to pay us." 
 
 "And you still remained in the service of his Majesty? 
 that was well done. Monsieur Buvat ; that was well done.'' 
 
 Buvat rose, saluted Dubois, and reseated himself.
 
 THE FOX AND THK GOOSE. 311 
 
 "And perhaps all the while you have a family to sup- 
 port, — a wife, children?" 
 
 "No, monseigneur; I am a bachelor." 
 
 "But you have parents, at all events ? " 
 
 "No, monseigneur; but I have a ward, a charming 
 young person, full of talent, who sings like Mademoiselle 
 Berry, and who draws like Greuze." 
 
 "Ah, ah! and what is the name of your ward. Monsieur 
 Buvat ? " 
 
 "Bathilde, — Bathilde du Rocher, monseigneur; she is 
 a young person of noble family; her father was squire to 
 Monsieur the Regent, when he was still Due de Chartres, 
 and had the misfortune to be killed at the battle of 
 Almanza." 
 
 " Thus I see you have your charges, my dear Buvat. " 
 
 "Is it of Bathilde that you speak, monseigneur? Oh, 
 no, Bathilde is not a charge; on the contrary, poor dear 
 girl, she brings in more than she costs. Bathilde a charge ! 
 First, every month Monsieur Papillon, the colour man at 
 the corner of the Rue Clery, you know, monseigneur, gives 
 her eighty francs for two drawings; then — " 
 
 "I should say, my dear Buvat, that you are not rich." 
 
 " Oh ! rich, no, monseigneur, I am not, but I wish I was, 
 for poor Bathilde's sake; and if you could obtain from 
 monseigneur, that out of the first money which comes into 
 the state coffers he would pay me my arrears, or at least 
 something on account — " 
 
 " And to how much do your arrears amount ? " 
 
 " To four thousand seven hundred francs, two sous, and 
 eight centimes, monseigneur." 
 
 " Is that all ? " said Dubois. 
 
 " How ! is that all, monseigneur? " 
 
 "Yes, that is nothing." 
 
 "Indeed, monseigneur, it is a great deal, and the proof 
 is that the king cannot pay it." 
 
 " But that will not make you rich." 
 
 "It will make me comfortable, and I do not conceal
 
 312 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 from you, monseigneur, that if, from the first money 
 which comes into the treasury — " 
 
 "My dear Buvat," said Dubois, "I have something 
 better than that to offer you." 
 
 "Offer it, monseigneur." 
 
 "You have your fortune at your fingers' ends." 
 
 "My mother always told me so, monseigneur." 
 
 "That proves," said Dubois, "what a sensible woman 
 your motlier was." 
 
 "Well, monseigneur! I am ready; what must I do ?" 
 
 "Ah ! mon Dieu! the thing is very simple, you will 
 make me, now and here, copies of all these." 
 
 " But, monseigneur — " 
 
 "That is not all, my dear Monsieur Buvat. You will 
 take back to the person who gave you tliese papers the 
 copies and the originals, you will take all that that person 
 gives you; you will bring them to me directly, so that I 
 may read them, then you will do the same with other 
 papers as with these, and so on indefinitely, till I say 
 enough." 
 
 " But, monseigneur, it seems to me that in acting thus 
 I should betray the confidence of the prince." 
 
 "Ah! it is with a prince that you have business, 
 Monsieur Buvat ! and what may this prince be called? " 
 
 " Oh, monseigneur, it appears to me that in telling you 
 his name I denounce — " 
 
 " Well, and what have you come here for, then ? " 
 
 "Monseigneur, I have come here to inform you of the 
 danger which his Highness runs, that is all." 
 
 "Indeed," said Dubois, in a bantering tone, "and you 
 imagine you are going to stop there ? " 
 
 "I wish to do so, monseigneur." 
 
 "There is only one misfortune, that it is impossible, my 
 dear Monsieur Buvat." 
 
 "Why impossible?" 
 
 "Entirely." 
 
 "Monseigneur, I am an honest man."
 
 THE FOX AND THE GOOSE. 313 
 
 "Monsieur Buvat, you are a fool." 
 
 " Monseigneur, I still wish to keep silence." 
 
 " My dear monsieur, you will speak." 
 
 "And if I speak, I shall be the informer against the 
 prince." 
 
 "If you do not speak you are his accomplice." 
 
 "His accomplice, monseigneur! and of what crime ?" 
 
 "Of the crime of high treason. Ah! the police have 
 had their eyes on you this long time, Monsieur Buvat ! " 
 
 "On me, monseigneur ?" 
 
 "Yes, on you; under the pretext that they do not pay 
 you your salary, you entertain seditious proposals against 
 the State." 
 
 " Oh, monseigneur ! how can they say so ? " 
 
 " Under the pretext of their not paying you your salary, 
 you have been making copies of incendiary documents for 
 the last four days." 
 
 "Monseigneur, I only found it out yesterday; I do not 
 understand Spanish." 
 
 "You do understand it, monsieur." 
 
 "I swear, monseigneur." 
 
 " I tell you you do understand it, and the proof is that 
 there is not a mistake in your copies. But that is not all." 
 
 " How not all ? " 
 
 "No, that is not all. Is this Spanish? Look, mon- 
 sieur, " and he read : — 
 
 "Nothing is more important than to make sure of the 
 places in the neighbourhood of the Pyrenees, and the 
 noblemen who reside in the cantons." 
 
 " But, monseigneur, it was just by that that I made the 
 discovery." 
 
 " Monsieur Buvat, they have sent men to the galleys for 
 less than you have done." 
 
 "Monseigneur!" 
 
 " Monsieur Buvat, men have been hanged who were less 
 guilty than you." 
 
 " Monseigneur ! monseigneur I "
 
 314 THE ciievalif:r d'harmental. 
 
 "Monsieur Buvat, they have been broken on the 
 wheel." 
 
 "Mercy, monseigneur, mercy!" 
 
 "Mercy to a criminal like you, Monsieur Buvat! I shall 
 send you to the Bastille, and Mademoiselle Bathilde to 
 Saint Lazare." 
 
 " To Saint Lazare ! Bathilde at Saint Lazare, mon- 
 seigneur! Bathilde at Saint Lazare! and who has the 
 right to do that? '' 
 
 " I, Monsieur Buvat." 
 
 "No, monseigneur, you have not the right!" cried 
 Buvat, who could fear and suffer everything for himself, 
 but who, at the thought of such infamy, from a worm 
 became a serpent. "Bathilde is not a daughter of the 
 people, monseigneur! Bathilde is a lady of noble birth, 
 the daughter of a man who saved the life of the regent, 
 and when I represent to his Highness — " 
 
 "You will go first to the Bastille, Monsieur Buvat," 
 said Dubois, pulling the bell so as nearly to break it, " and 
 then we shall see about Mademoiselle Bathilde." 
 
 "Monseigneur, what are you doing ?" 
 
 "You will see." (The usher entered.) "An officer of 
 police, and a carriage." 
 
 "Monseigneur ! " cried Buvat, "all that you wish — " 
 
 "Do as I have bid you," said Dubois. 
 
 The usher went out. 
 
 "Monseigneur!" said Buvat, joining his hands; "mon- 
 seigneur, I will obey." 
 
 "No, Monsieur Buvat. Ah! you wish a trial, you shall 
 have one. You want a rope, you shall not be disap- 
 pointed." 
 
 "Monseigneur," cried Buvat, falling on his knees, 
 "what must I do?" 
 
 "Hang, hang, hang!" continued Dubois. 
 
 "Monseigneur," said the usher, returning, "the carriage 
 is at the door, and the officer in the anteroom." 
 
 "Monseigneur," said Buvat, twisting his little legs, and
 
 THE FOX AND THE GOOSE. 315 
 
 tearing out the few yellow hairs which he had left, " mon- 
 seigneur, will you be pitiless ? " 
 
 "Ah ! you will not tell me the name of the prince ?" 
 "It is the Prince de Listhnay, monseigneur." 
 "Ah ! you will not tell me his address ? " 
 "He lives at No. 110, Rue du Bac, monseigneur." 
 " You will not make me copies of those papers ? " 
 "I will do it, I will do it this instant," said Buvat; and 
 he went and sat down before the desk, took a pen, dipped 
 it in the ink, and, taking some paper, began the lirst page 
 with a superb capital. " I will do it, I will do it, mon- 
 seigneur; only you will allow me to write to Bathilde that 
 I shall not be home to dinner. Bathilde at the Saint 
 Lazare?" murmured Buvat between his teeth, ^^ Sabre de 
 bois ! he would have done as he said." 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, I would have done that, and more too, 
 for the safety of the State, as you will find out to youi 
 cost, if you do not return these papers, and if you do not 
 take the others, and if you do not bring a copy here every 
 evening." 
 
 "But, monseigneur," cried Buvat, in despair, "I cannot 
 then go to my office." 
 
 " Well then, do not go to your office." 
 " Not go to my office ! but I have not missed a day for 
 twelve years, monseigneur." 
 
 " Well, I give you a month's leave." 
 "But I shall lose my place, monseigneur." 
 "What will that matter to you, since they do not pay 
 you ? " 
 
 "But the honour of being a public functionary, mon- 
 seigneur; and, moreover, I love my books, I love my 
 table, I love my hair seat," cried Buvat, ready to cry; 
 "and to think that I shall lose it all ! " 
 
 " Well, then, if you wish to keep your books, your, 
 table, and your chair, I should advise you to obey me." 
 "Have I not already put myself at your service ?" 
 " Then you will do what I wish ? "
 
 316 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "Everything." 
 
 "Without breathing a word to any one ?" 
 
 "I will be dumb." 
 
 " Not even to Mademoiselle Bathilde ? " 
 
 "To her less than any one, monseigneur." 
 
 " That is well. On that condition I pardon you," 
 
 "Oh, monseigneur !" 
 
 " I shall forget your fault." 
 
 "Monseigneur is too good." 
 
 "And perhaps I will even reward you." 
 
 "Oh, monseigneur, what magnanimity ! " 
 
 "Well, well, set to work." 
 
 "I am ready, monseigneur, I am ready." 
 
 And Buvat began to write in his most flowing hand, and 
 never moving his eyes, except from the original to the 
 copy, and staying from time to time to wipe his forehead, 
 which was covered with perspiration. Dubois profited by 
 his industry to open the closet for La Fillon, and, signing 
 to her to be silent, he led her towards the door. 
 
 "Well, gossip," whispered she, for in spite of his cau- 
 tion she could not restrain her curiosity; "where is your 
 writer ? " 
 
 "There he is," said Dubois, showing Buvat, who, lean- 
 ing over his paper, was working away industriously. 
 
 "What is he doing?" 
 
 "Guess." 
 
 " How should I know ? " 
 
 "Then you want me to tell you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, he is making my cardinal's hat." 
 
 La Fillon uttered such an exclamation of surprise that 
 Buvat started and turned round; but Dubois had already 
 pushed her out of the room, again recommending her to 
 send him daily news of the captain. 
 
 But the reader will ask what Bathilde and D'Harmental 
 were doing all this time. Nothing, — they were happy.
 
 A CHAPTER OF SAINT-SIMON. 317 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 A CHAPTER OP SAINT-SIMON. 
 
 Four days passed thus, during which Buvat — remaining 
 absent from the office on pretext of indisposition — suc- 
 ceeded in completing the two copies, — one for the Prince 
 de Listhnay, the other for Dubois. During these four 
 days — certainly the most agitated of his life — he was so 
 taciturn and gloomy that Bathilde several times asked 
 him what was the matter; but as he always answered 
 nothing, and began to sing his little song, Bathilde was 
 easily deceived, particularly as he still left every morning 
 as if to go to the office, — so that she saw no material 
 alteration from his ordinary habits. 
 
 As to D'Harmental, he received every morning a visit 
 from the Abbé Brigand, announcing that everything was 
 going on right; and as his own love affairs were quite as 
 prosperous, D'Harmental began to think that to be a con- 
 spirator Avas the happiest thing on the earth. 
 
 As to the Due d'Orléans, suspecting nothing, he con- 
 tinued his ordinary life, and had invited the customary 
 guests to his Sunday's supper, when in the afternoon 
 Dubois entered his room. 
 
 " Ah, it is you, abbé ! I was going to send to you to 
 know if you were going to make one of us to-night." 
 
 "You are going to have a supper, then, monseigneur?*'' 
 asked Dubois. 
 
 "Where do you come from with your fast-day face? Is 
 not to-day Sunday?" 
 
 "Yes, monseigneur." 
 
 "Well, then, come back to us; here is the list of the 
 guests. Noce, Lafare, Fargy, Ravanne, Broglie; I do not
 
 318 THK CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 invite Brancas; he has been wearisome for some days. I 
 think he must be conspiring. Then La Phalaris and 
 D'Averne, they cannot bear each other; they will tear 
 out each other's eyes, and that will amuse us. Then we 
 shall have La Souris, and perhaps Madame de Sabran, if 
 she has no appointment with Richelieu." 
 
 "This is your list, monseigneur?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, will your Highness look at mine now?" 
 
 "Have you made one too?" 
 
 "No, it was brought to me ready made." 
 
 "What is this?" asked the regent, looking at a paper 
 which Dubois presented to him. 
 
 " * Nominal list of the officers v/ho request commissions 
 in the Spanish army; Claude François de Ferrette, Knight 
 of Saint Louis, Field Marshal and Colonel of Cavalry; 
 Boschet, Knight of Saint Louis, and Colonel of Infantry; 
 De Sabran, De Larochefoucault-Gondrel, De Villeneuve, 
 De Lescure, De Laval.' Well, what next?" 
 
 "Here is another;" and he presented a second letter to 
 the duke. 
 
 "'Protestation of the nobility.'" 
 
 "Make your lists, monseigneur, you are not the only 
 one you see, — the Prince de Cellamare has his also." 
 
 " ' Signed without distinction of ranks, so that there 
 may be no dissatisfaction : — De Vieux-Pont, De la Paille- 
 terie. De Beaufremont, De Latour-du-Pin, De Montauban, 
 Louis de Caumont, Claude de Polignac, Charles de Laval, 
 Antoine de Chastellux, Armand de Richelieu.' Where 
 did you fish up all this, you old fox?" 
 
 "Wait, monseigneur, we have not done yet. Look at 
 this." 
 
 " * Plan of the conspirators : Nothing is more important 
 than to make sure of the strong places near the Pyrenees, 
 to gain the garrison of Bayonne.' Surrender our towns! 
 give the keys of France into the hands of the Spanish! 
 What does this mean, Dubois? "
 
 A CHAPTER OF SAINT-SIMON. 319 
 
 ''Patience, monseigneur; we have better than that to 
 show you; we have here the letters from his Majesty 
 Philip V. himself." 
 
 " 'To the King of France — ' But these are only 
 copies." 
 
 ''I will tell you soon where the originals are." 
 
 " Let us see, my dear abbé, let us see. * Since Provi- 
 dence has placed me on the throne of Spain,' etc., etc. 
 *In what light can your faithful subjects regard the treaty 
 which is signed against me? ' etc., etc. 'I beg your Majesty 
 to convoke the States-General of the kingdom.' Convoke 
 the States-General ! In whose name?" 
 
 "In the name of Philip V." 
 
 "Philip V. is King of Spain and not of Prance. Let 
 him keep to his own character. I crossed the Pyrenees 
 once to secure him on his throne; I might cross them a 
 second time to remove him from it." 
 
 "We will think of that later. I do not say no; but for 
 the present we have the fifth piece to read — and not the 
 least important, as you will see." 
 
 And Dubois presented another paper to the regent, 
 which he opened with such impatience that he tore it in 
 opening it. 
 
 "Never mind," said Dubois, "the pieces are good; put 
 them together and read them." 
 
 The regent did so, and read, — 
 
 "'Dearly and well beloved.' 
 
 " Ah ! " said the regent, " it is a question of my deposi- 
 tion, and these letters, I suppose, were to be given to the 
 king?" 
 
 "To-morrow, monseigneur.'* 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 " The marshal." 
 
 "Villeroy?" 
 
 "Himself." 
 
 "How did he determine on such a thing?" 
 
 "It was not he; it was his wife, monseigneur.*'
 
 320 THE CHEYALIEU D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "Another of Richelieu's tricks?" 
 
 "You are right, monseigneur." 
 
 "And from whom do you get these papers?" 
 
 "From a poor writer to whom they have been given to 
 be copied, since, thanks to a descent made on Laval's 
 house, a press which he had hidden in the cellar has 
 ceased to work." 
 
 "And this writer is in direct communication with Cella- 
 mare? The idiots!" 
 
 "Not at all, monseigneur; their measures are better 
 taken. The good man has only had to deal with the 
 Prince de Listhnay." 
 
 "Prince de Listhnay ! Who is he? " 
 
 "Rue du Bac, 110." 
 
 "I do not know him." 
 
 " Yes, you do, monseigneur." 
 
 "Where have I seen him?" 
 
 "In your antechamber." 
 
 " What ! this pretended Prince de Listhnay ? " 
 
 " Is no other than that scoundrel D' Avranches, Madame 
 du Maine's valet de chamhrey 
 
 "Ah! I was astonished that she was not in it." 
 
 " Oh ! she is at the head, and if monseigneur would like 
 to be rid of her and her clique, we have them all." 
 
 " Let us attend to the most pressing. " 
 
 "Yes, let us think of Villeroy. Have you decided on 
 a bold stroke?" 
 
 "Certainly. So long as you confine yourself to parad- 
 ing about like a man at a theatre or a tournament, very 
 well; so long as you conline yourself to calumnies and 
 impertinences against rae, very good; but when it becomes 
 a question of the peace and tranquillity of France, you 
 will find. Monsieur le Maréchal, that you have already 
 compromised them sufficiently by your military inapti- 
 tude, and we shall not give you an opportunity of doing 
 so again by your political follies." 
 
 "Then," said Dubois, "we must lay hold of him?"
 
 A CHAPTER OF SAINT-SIMON. 321 
 
 "Yes; but with certain precautions. We must take 
 him in the act." 
 
 "Nothing easier. He goes every morning at eight 
 o'clock to the king." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Be to-morrow at half -past seven at Versailles." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "You will go to his Majesty before him." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 The regent and Dubois talked for some little time 
 longer, after which Dubois took his leave. 
 
 "There is no supper this evening," said Dubois to the 
 usher, "give notice to the guests; the regent is ill." 
 
 That evening at nine o'clock the regent left the Palais 
 Eoyal, and, contrary to his ordinary habit, slept at 
 Versailles.
 
 322 THE CHEVALIER d'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 
 A SNARE. 
 
 The next day, about seven o'clock in the morning, at the 
 time when the king rose, an usher entered his Majesty's 
 room and announced that his Royal Highness, Monseigneur 
 le Duc d'Orléans, solicited the honour of assisting at his 
 toilet. Louis XV., who was not yet accustomed to decide 
 anything for himself, turned towards Monsieur de Fréjus, 
 who was seated in the least conspicuous corner of the 
 room, as if to ask what he should say; and to this mute 
 question Monsieur de Fréjus not only made a sign with 
 his head signifying that it was necessary to receive his 
 Royal Highness, but rose and went himself to open the 
 door. The regent stopped a minute on the doorstep to 
 thank Fleury, then having assured himself by a rapid 
 glance round the room that the Maréchal de Villeroy had 
 not yet arrived, he advanced towards the king. 
 
 Louis XV. was at this time a pretty child of nine or 
 ten years of age, with long chestnut hair, jet-black eyes, 
 and a mouth like a cherry, and a rosy complexion like that 
 of his mother, Mary of Savo}^, Duchesse de Burgundy, 
 but which was liable to sudden paleness. Although his 
 character was already very irresolute, thanks to the con- 
 tradictory influences of the double government of the 
 Maréchal de Villeroy and Monsieur de Fréjus, he had some- 
 thing ardent in his face which stamped him as the great- 
 grandson of Louis XIV. ; and he had a trick of putting on 
 his hat like him. At first, warned against the Due 
 d'Orléans as the man in all France from whom he had 
 most to fear, he had felt that prejudice yield little by 
 little during the interviews which they had had together.
 
 A SNARE. 323 
 
 in which, with that juvenile instinct which so rarely 
 deceives children, he had recognised a friend. 
 
 On his part, it must be said that the Due d'Orléans had 
 for the king, besides the respect which was his due, a love 
 the most attentive and the most tender. The little busi- 
 ness which could be submitted to his young mind he 
 always presented to him with so much clearness and 
 talent, that politics, which would have been wearisome 
 with any one else, became a recreation when pursued witli 
 him, so that the royal child always saw his arrival with 
 pleasure. It must be confessed that this work was almost 
 always rewarded by the most beautiful toys which could 
 be found, and which Dubois, in order to pay his court to 
 the king, imported from Germany and England. His 
 Majesty therefore received the regent with his sweetest 
 smile, and gave him his little hand to kiss with a peculiar 
 grace, while the Archbishop of Frejus, faithful to his 
 system of humility, had sat down in the same corner 
 where he had been surprised by the arrival of the regent. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, monsieur," said Louis XV. 
 in a sweet little voice, from which even the etiquette 
 which they imposed upon him could not entirely take 
 away all grace; "and all the more glad to see you from its 
 not being your usual hour. I presume that you have some 
 good news to tell me." 
 
 "Two pieces, sire," answered the regent; "the first is, 
 that I have just received from Nuremberg a chest which 
 seems to me to contain — " 
 
 " Oh, toys ! lots of toys ! does it not, Monsieur le 
 Kegent? " cried the king, dancing joyously, and clapping 
 his hands, regardless of his valet de chambre, who was 
 waiting for him, and holding the little sword with a cut- 
 steel handle which he was going to hang in the king's 
 belt. "Oh, the dear toys! the beautiful toys! how kind 
 you are ! Oh ! how I love you, Monsieur le Regent ! " 
 
 "Sire, I only do my duty," answered the Due d'Orléans, 
 bowing respectfully, "and you owe me no thanks for 
 that."
 
 324 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "And where is it, monsieur? Where is thia pretty 
 chest ? " 
 
 "In iny apartments, sire; and if your Majesty wishes 
 it brought here, I will send it during the course of the 
 day, or to-morrow morning." 
 
 "Oh, no; now, monsieur; now, I beg!" 
 
 "But it is at my apartments." 
 
 "Well, let us go to your apartments," cried the child, 
 running to the door, and forgetting that he wanted, in 
 order to complete his toilet, his little sword, his little 
 satin jacket, and his cordon-hleu. 
 
 "Sire," said Frejus, advancing, "I would remark that 
 your Majesty abandons yourself too entirely to the pleas- 
 ure caused by the possession of things that you should 
 already regard as trifles." 
 
 "Yes, monsieur; yes, you are right," said Louis XV., 
 making an effort to control himself; "but you must pardon 
 me; I am only ten years old, and I worked hard yesterday." 
 
 "That is true," said Monsieur de Frejus; "and so your 
 Majesty will employ yourself with the toys when you have 
 asked Monsieur le Regent what the other piece of news 
 which he came to bring you is." 
 
 " Ah ! yes. By the bye, what is the second affair ? " 
 
 "A work which will be profitable to France, and which 
 is of so much importance that I think it most necessary 
 to submit it to your Majesty." 
 
 " Have you it here ? " asked the king. 
 
 "No, sire; I did not expect to find your Majesty so well 
 inclined to work, and I left it in my study." 
 
 "Well," said Louis XV., turning half towards Monsieur 
 de Frejus, half towards the regent, and looking at both of 
 them with an imploring eye, "cannot we reconcile all 
 that? Instead of taking my morning walk, I will go and 
 see these beautiful Nuremberg toys, and when we have 
 seen them we will pass into your study and work." 
 
 "It is against etiquette, sire," answered the regent, 
 " but if your Majesty wishes it — "
 
 A SNARE. 325 
 
 "Oh, I do wisli it! That is," added he, turning and 
 looking at Frejus so sweetly that there was no resisting 
 it, "if my good preceptor permits it." 
 
 "Does Monsieur de Frejus see anything wrong in it?" 
 said the regent, turning towards Fleury, and pronouncing 
 these words with an accent which showed that the pre- 
 ceptor would wound him deeply by refusing the request 
 which his royal pupil made him. 
 
 "No, monseigneur," said Frejus; "quite the contrary. 
 It is well that his Majesty should accustom himself to 
 work ; and if the laws of etiquette are a little violated, 
 that violation will bring about a happy result for the peo- 
 ple. I only ask of monseigneur the permission to accom- 
 pany his Majesty." 
 
 "Certainly, monseigneur," said the regent, "with the 
 greatest pleasure." 
 
 "Oh, how good! how kind!" cried Louis XV. "Quick! 
 my sword, my jacket, my cordon-bleu. Here I am. Mon- 
 sieur le Regent;" and he advanced to take the regent's 
 hand. But, instead of allowing that familiarity, the regent 
 bowed, and, opening the door, signed to the king to pre- 
 cede him, following three or four paces behind, hat in 
 hand, together with Frejus. 
 
 The king's apartments, situated on the ground floor, 
 were level with those of the Due d'Orléans, and were 
 only separated by an antechamber opening into the king's 
 rooms, and a gallery leading from these to the ante- 
 chamber of the regent. The distance wa? short, there- 
 fore, and — as the king was in haste to arrive — they 
 found themselves in an instant in a large study, lighted 
 by four windows, all forming doors which opened into 
 the garden. This large study led to a smaller one, where 
 the regent generally worked, and where he brought his 
 most intimate friends and his favourites. All his High- 
 ness's court was in attendance, — a very natural circum- 
 stance, since it was the hour for rising. The king, how- 
 ever, did not notice either Monsieur d'Artagnan, captain
 
 326 THE CHEVALIER d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 of the Gray Musketeers, or the Marquis de Lafare, captain 
 of the Guards, or a very considerable number of the Light 
 Horse, who were drawn up outside tlie windows. It is 
 true that on a table in the middle of the room he had seen 
 the welcome chest, whose monstrous size had, in spite of 
 the chilling exhortation of Monsieur de Fréjus, caused 
 him to give a cry of joy. 
 
 However, he was obliged to contain himself, and receive 
 the homage of Monsieur d'Artagnan and Monsieur de 
 Lafare; meanwhile the regent had called two valets de 
 ^^lamhre, who quickly opened the lid, and displayed the 
 most splendid collection of toys which had ever dazzled 
 the eyes of a king of nine years old. At this tempting 
 sight the king forgot alike preceptor, guards, and Gray 
 Musketeers. He hastened towards this paradise which 
 was opened to him, and, as from an inexhaustible mine, 
 he drew out succesively locks, three-deckers, squadrons of 
 cavalry, battalions of infantry, pedlars with their packs, 
 jugglers with their cups; in fact, all those wonders 
 which on Christmas eve turn the heads of all children 
 beyond the Rhine; and that, with such undisguised trans- 
 ports of joy, that Monsieur de Fréjus himself respected 
 his royal pupil's happiness. The assistants watched him 
 with that religious silence which surrounds great griefs or 
 great joys. While this silence was the most profound, a 
 violent noise was heard in the ante-chamber, the door was 
 opened, an usher announced the Due de Villeroy, and the 
 marshal appeared, loudly demanding to see the king. As 
 they were, however, accustomed to such proceedings, the 
 regent merely pointed to his Majesty, who was still con- 
 tinuing to empty the chest, covering the furniture and 
 floor with the splendid toys. 
 
 The marshal had nothing to say; he was nearly an hour 
 late; the king was with Monsieur Fréjus, but he ap- 
 proached him, grumbling, and throwing round him glances 
 which appeared to say that he was there ready to protect 
 his Majesty from all danger.
 
 A SNARE. 327 
 
 The regent exchanged glances with D'Artagnan and 
 Lafare; everything went well. 
 
 The chest was emptied — and, after having allowed the 
 king to enjoy for an instant the sight of all his treasures 
 — the regent approached him, and, still hat in hand, 
 recalled to his mind the promise he had made to devote 
 an hour to the consideration of State affairs. 
 
 Louis XV., Avith that scrupulousness which afterwards 
 led him to declare that punctuality was the politeness of 
 kings, threw a last glance over his toys; and then, merely 
 asking permission to have them removed to his apart- 
 ments, advanced towards the little study, and the regent 
 opened the door. Then, according to their different char- 
 acters, Monsieur de Fleury, under pretext of his dislike of 
 politics, drew back, and sat down in a corner, while the 
 marshal darted forwards, and, seeing the king enter the 
 study, tried to follow him. This was the moment that 
 the regent had impatiently expected. 
 
 " Pardon, marshal, " said he, barring the passage ; " but 
 I wish to speak to his Majesty on affairs which demand 
 the most absolute secrecy, and therefore I beg for a short 
 téte-a-tétey 
 
 " Tête-à-téte ! " cried Villeroy; "you know, monseigneur, 
 that it is impossible." 
 
 "And why impossbile?" asked the regent, calmly. 
 
 " Because, as governor to his Majesty, I have the right 
 of accompanying him everywhere." 
 
 "In the first place, monsieur," replied the regent, "this 
 right does not appear to me to rest on any very positive 
 proof, and if I have till now tolerated, not this right, 
 but this pretension, it is because the age of the king 
 has hitherto rendered it unimportant; but now that his 
 Majesty has nearly completed his tenth year, and that I 
 am permitted to commence instructing him on the science 
 of government, in which I am his appointed preceptor, 
 you will see that it is quite right that I, as well as Mon- 
 sieur de Fréjus and yourself, should be allowed some hours
 
 328 THE CHEVALIKR D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 of tête-à-tête with his Majesty. This will be less painful 
 to you to grant, marshal," added the regent, with a smile, 
 the expression of which it was impossible to mistake, 
 "because, having studied these matters so much yourself, 
 it is impossible that you can have anything left to learn." 
 
 "But, monsieur," said the marshal, as usual forgetting 
 his politeness as he became warm, " 1 beg to remind you 
 that the king is my pupil." 
 
 "I know it, monsieur," said the regent, in the same 
 tone; "make of his Majesty a great captain, I do not wish 
 to prevent you. Your campaigns in Italy and Flanders 
 prove that he could not have a better master; but, at this 
 moment, it is not a question of military science, but of 
 a state secret, which can only be confided to his Majesty; 
 therefore, again I beg to speak to the king in private." 
 
 " Impossible, monseigneur ! " cried the marshal. 
 
 "Impossible ! " replied the regent; "and why? " 
 
 "Why?" continued the marshal; "because my duty is 
 not to lose sight of the king for a moment, and because I 
 will not permit it." 
 
 "Take care, marshal," interrupted the Due d'Orléans, 
 haughtily; "you are forgetting your proper respect to- 
 wards me." 
 
 "Monseigneur," continued the marshal, becoming more 
 and more angry, "I know the respect which I owe to your 
 Eoyal Highness, and I also know what I owe to my charge 
 and to the king, and for that reason I will not lose sight 
 of his Majesty for an instant, inasmuch as — ' ' 
 
 The duke hesitated. 
 
 "Well, finish," said the regent. 
 
 "Inasmuch as I answer for his person," said the marshal. 
 
 At this want of all restraint, there was a moment's 
 silence, during which nothing was heard but the grum- 
 blings of the marshal and the stifled sighs of Monsieur de 
 Fleury. 
 
 As to the Due d'Orléans, he raised his head with a 
 sovereign air of contempt, and, taking that air of dignity
 
 A SNARE. 329 
 
 which made him, when he chose, one of the most imposing 
 princes in the worki, — 
 
 "Monsieur de Villeroy," said he, "you mistake me 
 strangely, it appears, and imagine that you are speaking 
 to some one else; but since you forget who I am, I must 
 endeavour to remind you. Marquis de Lafare," continued 
 he, addressing his captain of the guards, "do your duty." 
 Then the Marshal de Villeroy, seeing on what a precipice 
 he stood, opened his mouth to attempt an excuse, but the 
 regent left him no time to finish his sentence, and shut 
 the door in his face. 
 
 The Marquis de Lafare instantly approached the marshal 
 and demanded his sword. The marshal remained for an 
 instant as if thunderstruck. He had for so long a time 
 been left undisturbed in his impertinence, that he had 
 begun to think himself invincible. He tried to speak, but 
 his voice failed him, and, on the second and still more 
 imperative demand he gave up his sword. At the same 
 moment a door opens and a chair appears ; two musketeers 
 push the marshal into it, — it is closed. D' Artagnan and 
 Lafare place themselves at each side, and the prisoner is 
 carried off through the gardens. The Light Horse follow, 
 and, at a considerable and increasing speed, they descend 
 the staircase, turn to the left, and enter the orangery. 
 There the suite remain, and the chair, its porters, and 
 tenant, enter a second room, accompanied only by Lafare 
 and D'Artagnan. The marshal, who had never been 
 remarkable for sang-froid, thought himself lost. 
 
 "Gentlemen," cried he, turning pale, while perspiration 
 and powder ran down his face, " I hope I am not going to 
 be assassinated ! " 
 
 "iSTo, no, make yourself easy," said Lafare, while 
 D'Artagnan could not help laughing at his ridiculous 
 figure, — " something much more simple, and infinitely less 
 tragic." 
 
 " What is it, then ? " asked the marshal, whom this 
 assurance rendered a little more easy.
 
 330 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "There are two letters, monsieur, which you were to 
 have given to the king this morning, and which you must 
 have in one of your pockets." 
 
 The marshal, who, till that moment, in his anxiety 
 about himself, had forgotten Madame du Maine's affairs, 
 started, and raised his hands to the pocket where the 
 letters were. 
 
 "Your pardon," said D'Artagnan, stopping his hand, 
 " but we are authorised to inform you — in case you should 
 not feel inclined to remove these letters — that the regent 
 has copies of them." 
 
 "I may add," said Lafare, "that we are authorised to 
 take them by force, and are absolved in advance from all 
 accidents that may happen in such a struggle." 
 
 "And you assure me," said the marshal, "that the 
 regent has copies of these letters?" 
 
 "On my word of honour," said D'Artagnan. 
 
 "In this case," replied Villeroy, "I do not see why I 
 should prevent you from taking these letters, which do 
 not regard me in the least, and which I undertook to 
 deliver to oblige others." 
 
 "We know it," said Lafare. 
 
 "But," added the marshal, "I hope you will inform his 
 Royal Highness of the ease with which I submitted to his 
 orders, and of my regret for having offended him? " 
 
 "Do not doubt it; all will be reported as it has passed. 
 But these letters?" 
 
 "Here they are, monsieur," said the marshal, giving 
 two letters to Lafare. 
 
 Lafare assured himself by the seals that they were really 
 the letters he was in search of. "My dear D'Artagnan," 
 said he, "now conduct the marshal to his destination, and 
 give orders, in the name of the regent, that he is to be 
 treated with every respect." 
 
 The chair was closed, and the porters carried it off. At 
 the gate of the gardens a carriage with six horses was 
 waiting, in which they placed the marshal, who now
 
 A SNARE. 331 
 
 began to suspect the trap which had been laid for him. 
 D'Artagnan seated himself by him, an officer of musketeers 
 and Du Libois, one of the king's gentlemen, opposite; 
 and with twenty musketeers at each side, and twelve fol- 
 lowing, the carriage set off at a gallop. Meanwhile, the 
 Marquis of Lafare returned to the château with the two 
 letters iu his hand.
 
 332 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 
 
 The same day, towards two o'clock in the afternoon, 
 while D'Harmental, profiting by Buvat's absence, was 
 repeating to Bathilde for the thousandth time that he 
 loved her, Nanette entered, and announced that some one 
 was waiting in his own room on important business. 
 D'Harmental, anxious to know who this inopportune 
 visitor could be, went to the window, and saw the Abbé 
 Brigand walking up and down his room. D'Harmental 
 instantly took leave of Bathilde, and went up to his own 
 apartments. 
 
 "Well," said the abbé, "while you are quietly making 
 love to your neighbour, fine things are happening." 
 
 "What things?" asked D'Harmental. 
 
 "Do you not know? " 
 
 " I know absolutely nothing, except that — unless what 
 you have to tell me is of the greatest importance — I 
 should like to strangle you for having disturbed me; so 
 take care, and if you have not any news worthy of the 
 occasion, invent some." 
 
 "Unfortunately," replied the abbé, "the reality leaves 
 little to the imagination." 
 
 "Indeed, my dear abbé," said D'Harmental, "you look 
 in a terrible fright. What has happened? Tell me." 
 
 " Oh, only that we have been betrayed by some one. 
 That the Maréchal de Villeroy was arrested this morning 
 at Versailles, and that the two letters from Philip V. are 
 in the hands of the regent." 
 
 D'Harmental perfectly understood the gravity of the 
 situation, but his face exhibited the calmness which was 
 habitual to him in moments of danger.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 333 
 
 "Is that all?" lie asked, quietly. 
 
 "All for the present; and if you do not think it enough, 
 you are difficult to satisfy." 
 
 "My dear abbé," said D'Harmental, "when we entered 
 on this conspiracy it was with almost equal chances of 
 success and failure. Yesterday our chances were ninety 
 to a hundred ; to-day they are only thirty ; that is all. " 
 
 " I am glad to see that you do not easily allow yourself 
 to be discouraged," said Brigaud. 
 
 "My dear abbé," said D'Harmental, "at this moment I 
 am a happy man, and I see everything on the bright side. 
 If you had taken me in a moment of sadness, it would 
 have been quite the reverse, and I should have replied 
 'Amen' to your ' De Profuudis.' " 
 
 "And your opinion?" 
 
 " Is that the game is becoming perplexed, but it is not 
 yet lost. The Maréchal de Villeroy is not of the con- 
 spiracy, does not even know the names of the conspirators. 
 Philip V. 's letters — as far as I remember them — do not 
 name anybody; and the only person really compromised 
 is the Prince de Cellamare. The inviolability of his char- 
 acter protects him from any real danger. Besides, if our 
 plan has reached the Cardinal Alberoni, Monsieur de 
 Saint-Aignan must serve as hostage." 
 
 "There is truth in what you say." 
 
 "And from whom have you this news?" asked the 
 chevalier. 
 
 " From Valef, who had it from Madame du Maine ; who, 
 on receipt of the news, went to the Prince of Cellamare 
 himself." 
 
 "We must see Valef." 
 
 " I have appointed him to meet me here, and on my way 
 I stopped at the Marquis de Pompadour's. I am aston- 
 ished that he is not here before me." 
 
 "Raoul," said a voice on the staircase. 
 
 "Stay, it is he," cried D'Harmental, running to the 
 door and opening it.
 
 334 THE CHEVALIER d'hARMENTAL. 
 
 "Thank you," said Valef, "for your assistance, whicli 
 is very seasonable, for I was just going away, convinced 
 that Brigaud must have made a mistake, and that no 
 Christian could live at such a height, and in such a pigeon- 
 hole, I must certainly bring Madame du JMaine here, that 
 she may know what she owes you." 
 
 "God grant," said the Abbé Brigaud, "that we may not 
 all be worse lodged a few days hence ! " 
 
 "Ah ! you mean the Bastille ! It is possible, abbé; but 
 at least one does not go to the Bastille of one's own 
 accord; moreover, it is a ToyaA lodging, which raises it 
 a little, and makes it a place where a gentleman may live 
 without degradation; but a place like this — fie, abbé! " 
 
 "If you knew what I have found here," said D'Har- 
 mental, a little piqued, "you would be as unwilling to 
 leave it as I am." 
 
 "Ah, some little bourgeoise; some Madame Michelin, 
 perhaps. Take care, D'Harmental; these things are only 
 allowed to Richelieu. With you and me, who are perhaps 
 worth as much as he is, but are unfortunately not quite 
 so much in fashion, it will not do." 
 
 "Well," said the Abbé Brigaud, "although your con- 
 versation is somewhat frivolous, I hear it with pleasure, 
 since it assures me that our affairs are not so bad as I 
 thought." 
 
 "On the contrary, the conspiracy is gone to the devil." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " I scarcely thought they would leave me time to bring 
 you the news." 
 
 " Were you nearly arrested then, Valef? " asked D'Har- 
 mental. 
 
 "I only escaped by a hair's breadth." 
 
 "How did it happen, baron?" 
 
 "You remember, abbé, that I left you to go to the 
 Prince de Cellamare ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I was there when they came to seize his papers."
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 335 
 
 "Have they seized the prince's papers ? " 
 
 "All except what we burnt, which unfortunately were 
 the smaller number." 
 
 "Then we are all lost," said the abbé. 
 
 "Why, my dear abbé, how you throw the helve after 
 the hatchet ! " 
 
 "But, Valef, you have not told us how it happened," 
 said D'Harmental. 
 
 " My dear chevalier, imagine the most ridiculous thing 
 in the world. I wish you had been there; we should have 
 laughed fit to kill ourselves. It would have enraged that 
 fellow Dubois." 
 
 " What ! was Dubois himself at the ambassador's ? " 
 
 "In person, abbé. Imagine the Prince de Cellamare 
 and I quietly sitting by the corner of the fire, taking out 
 letters from a little casket, and burning those which 
 seemed to deserve the honours of an auto-da-fe, when all 
 at once his valet de chambre enters, and announces that the 
 hotel of the embassy is invested by a body of musketeers, 
 and that Dubois and Leblanc wish to speak to him. The 
 object of this visit is not difficult to guess. The prince — 
 without taking the trouble to choose — empties the caskets 
 into the fire, pushes me into a dressing-closet, and orders 
 that they shall be admitted. The order was useless. 
 Dubois and Leblanc were at the door. Fortunately, 
 neither one nor the other had seen me." 
 
 "Well, I see nothing droll as yet," said Brigand. 
 
 " This is just where it begins," replied Valef. " Remem- 
 ber that I was in the closet, seeing and hearing every- 
 thing. Dubois entered, and stretching out his weasel's 
 head to watch the Prince de Cellamare, who, wrapped in 
 his dressing-gown, stood before the fire to give, the papers 
 time to burn. 
 
 " 'Monsieur,' said the prince, in that phlegmatic manner 
 you know he has, 'may I know to what event I owe the 
 honour of this visit ? ' 
 
 "'Oh, mo7i Dieu, monseigneur ! ' said Dubois, 'to a very
 
 336 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 simple thing, — a desire which Monsieur Leblanc and I 
 had to learn a little of your papers, of which,' added he, 
 showing the letters of Philip V., 'these two patterns have 
 given us a foretaste.' " 
 
 " How ! " said Brigaud, " these letters seized at ten 
 o'clock at Versailles are in Dubois's hands at one 
 o'clock ! " 
 
 " As you say, abbé. You see that they travelled faster 
 than if they had been put in the post." 
 
 " And what did the prince say then ? " asked D'Har- 
 mental. 
 
 "Oh! the prince wished to carry it off with a high hand, 
 by appealing to his rights as an envoy; but Dubois, who 
 is not wanting in a certain logic, showed him that he had 
 himself somewhat violated these rights, by covering the 
 conspiracy with his ambassador's cloak. In short, as he 
 was the weakest, he was obliged to submit to what he 
 could not prevent. Besides, Leblanc, without asking per- 
 mission, had already opened the desk and examined its 
 contents, while Dubois drew out the drawers of a bureau, 
 and rummaged in them. All at once Cellamare left his 
 place, and stopping Leblanc, who had just taken a packet 
 of papers tied with red ribbon, — 
 
 " * Pardon, monsieur, ' said he, ' to each one his preroga- 
 tives. These are ladies' letters.' 
 
 " * Thanks for your confidence, ' said Dubois, not in the 
 least disconcerted, but rising and taking the papers from 
 the hand of Leblanc; 'I am accustomed to these sort of 
 secrets, and yours shall be well kept. ' 
 
 "At this moment, looking towards the fire, he saw — in 
 the midst of the burnt letters — a paper still untouched, 
 and darting towards it, he seized it just as the flames were 
 reaching it. The movement was so rapid that the ambas- 
 sador could not prevent it, and the paper was in Dubois's 
 hands. 
 
 "* Peste /^ said the prince, seeing Dubois shaking his 
 fingers, *I knew that the regent had skilful spies, but 1
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 337 
 
 did not know that they were brave enough to go into the 
 fire.' 
 
 *' *J/a /oi.' prince,' said Dubois, unfolding the paper, 
 ' they are well rewarded for their bravery, see.' 
 
 "The prince cast his eyes over the paper; I do not know 
 what it contained, but I know that the prince turned pale 
 as death; and that, as Dubois burst out laughing, Cella- 
 mare broke in pieces a little marble statue which was near 
 his hand. 
 
 " *I am glad it was not I,' said Dubois, coldly, and 
 putting the paper in his pocket. 
 
 "'Every one in turn, monsieur; Heaven is just!' said 
 the ambassador. 
 
 " 'Meanwhile,' said Dubois, * as we have got what we 
 wanted, and have not much time to lose to-day, we will 
 set about affixing the seals.' 
 
 " 'The seals here ! ' cried the ambassador, exasperated. 
 
 " 'With your permission,' replied Dubois ; 'proceed, 
 Monsieur Leblanc' 
 
 " Leblanc drew out from a bag bands and wax, all ready 
 prepared. They began operations with the desk and the 
 bureau, then they advanced towards the door of my closet. 
 
 " 'No,' cried the prince, *I will not permit — ' 
 
 " 'Gentlemen,' said Dubois, opening the door, and in- 
 troducing into the room two officers of musketeers, 'the 
 ambassador of Spain is accused of high treason against 
 the State. Have the kindness to accompany him to the 
 carriage which is waiting, and take him — you know 
 where; if he resists, call eight men and take him by 
 force.'" 
 
 " Well, and what did the prince do then ? " asked 
 Brigaud. 
 
 " What you would have done in his place, I presume, 
 my dear abbé. He followed the two officers, and five 
 minutes afterwards your humble servant found himself 
 under seal." 
 
 "How the devil did you get out?" cried D'Harmental. 
 
 22
 
 338 THE CllKVALIER d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "That is the beauty of it. Hardly was the prince gone, 
 when Dubois called the valet de chambre. 
 
 " * What are you called? ' asked Dubois. 
 
 " * Lapierre, at your service, monseigneur.' 
 
 *' ' My dear Leblanc, ' said Dubois, 'explain, if you please, 
 to Monsieur Lapierre, what are the penalties for breaking 
 seals.' 
 
 " * The galleys,' replied Leblanc. 
 
 "'My dear Monsieur Lapierre,' continued Dubois, in 
 a mild tone, 'you hear. If you like to spend a few years 
 rowing on one of his Majesty's vessels, touch one of these 
 seals and the affair is done. If, on the contrary, a hundred 
 louis are agreeable to you, keep them faithfully, and in 
 three days the money shall be given you.' 
 
 " ' I prefer the hundred louis, ' said the scoundrel. 
 
 " * Well, then, sign this paper. We constitute you 
 guardian of the prince's cabinet.' 
 
 " ' I am at your orders, monseigneur,' replied Lapierre; 
 and he signed. 
 
 " ' Now,' said Dubois, 'you understand all the responsi- 
 bility you have undertaken ? ' 
 
 " 'Yes, monseigneur.' 
 
 *' * And submit to it.' 
 
 "'Ido.' 
 
 " * Now, Leblanc, ' said Dubois, ' we have nothing further 
 to do here, and,' added he, showing the paper which he 
 had snatched from the fire, ' I have all I wanted. ' 
 
 " And at these words he left, followed by Leblanc. 
 
 "Lapierre, as soon as he had seen them off, ran to the 
 cabinet, and exclaimed, 'Quick, baron, we must profit by 
 our being alone for you to leave.' 
 
 " ' Did you know I was here then, fellow ? ' 
 
 " ' Pardietc ! I should not have accepted the office of 
 guardian if I had not. I saw you go in, and I thought 
 you would not like to stay there for three days. ' 
 
 " * And you were right; a hundred louis for your good 
 idea.'
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 339 
 
 " ' 3Ion Dieu ! what are you doing? ' cried Lapierre. 
 
 " * I am trying to get out.' 
 
 " * Oh, not by the door ! You would not send a poor 
 fellow to the galleys; besides, they have taken the key 
 with them.' 
 
 " * And where am I to get out, then ? ' 
 
 " * Raise your head.' 
 
 " 'It is raised.' 
 
 " 'Look in the air.' 
 
 " * I am looking.' 
 
 " ' To your right. Do you not see anything ? ' 
 
 " * Yes, a little window.' 
 
 " ' Well, get on a chair, on anything you find ; it opens 
 into the alcove, let yourself slip now, you will fall on the 
 bed, — that is it. You have not hurt yourself, monsieur? ' 
 
 "'iSTo, I hope the prince will have as comfortable a bed 
 where they are taking him.' 
 
 " * And I hope monsieur will not forget the service I 
 have rendered him.' 
 
 " ' Oh, the hundred louis? Well, as I do not want to 
 part with money at this moment, take this ring, it is 
 worth three hundred pistoles ; you gain six hundred francs 
 on the bargain.' 
 
 " ' Monsieur is the most generous gentleman I know.' 
 
 " * Now, tell me how I must go.' 
 
 " * By this little staircase; you will find yourself in the 
 pantry; you must then go through the kitchen into the 
 garden, and go out by the little door.' 
 
 " ' Thanks for the itinerary.' 
 
 "I followed the instructions of Monsieur Lapierre 
 exactly, and here I am." 
 
 "And the prince; where is he ? " asked the chevalier. 
 
 "How do I know? In prison probably." 
 
 ^^ Diable! diable! diable!" said Brigand. 
 
 "Well, what do you say to my Odyssey, abbé ? " 
 
 " I say that it would be very droll if it was not for that 
 cursed paper which Dubois picked out of the cinders."
 
 o40 TUE CHEVALIER D'IIAUMENÏAL. 
 
 "Yes," said Valef, "that spoils it." 
 
 " Aud you have not any idea wliat it could be?" 
 
 "Not the least; but never niind, it is not lost, we shall 
 know some day." 
 
 At this moment they heard some one coming up the 
 staircase. The door opened, and Boniface appeared. 
 
 "Pardon, Monsieur Kaoul," said he, "but it is not you 
 I seek; it is Father Brigaud." 
 
 "jS^ever mind, my dear Boniface, you are welcome. 
 Baron, allow me to present you to my predecessor in my 
 room. The son of our worthy landlady, and godson of the 
 Abbé Brigaud." 
 
 " Oh, you have friends barons. Monsieur Raoul ! what 
 an honour for our house ! " 
 
 "Well," said the abbé, "you were looking for me you 
 said. What do you want ? " 
 
 "I want nothing. It was my mother who sent for you." 
 
 " What does she want? Do you know ? " 
 
 " She wants to know why the parliament is to assemble 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " The parliament assemble to-morrow ! " cried Valef and 
 D'Harmental together. 
 
 " And how did your mother know ? " 
 
 "I told her." 
 
 "And how did you know ?" 
 
 "At the office. Maître Joullu was with the president 
 when the order arrived." 
 
 "Well, tell your mother I will come to her directly." 
 
 "She will expect you. Adieu, Monsieur Raoul." 
 
 And Monsieur Boniface went out, far from suspecting 
 the effect he had produced on his listeners. 
 
 " It is some coup-d' état which is preparing," murmured 
 D'Harmental. 
 
 " I will go to Madame du Maine to warn her," said Valef. 
 
 "And I to Pompadour for news," said Brigaud. 
 
 "And I," said D'Harmental, "remain here; if I am 
 wanted, abbé, you know where I am."
 
 1"HE BEGINNING OF THE END. 341 
 
 "But if you were not at home, chevalier ?" 
 "Oh! I should not be far off. Open the window, clap 
 your hands, and I should come." 
 
 Valef and Brigand went away together, and D'Har- 
 mental went back to Bathilde, whom he found very un- 
 easy. It was five o'clock in the afternoon, and Buvat had 
 not returned, — it was the first time such a thing had ever 
 happened.
 
 342 THE CHEVALIER U'HAKMENTàL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 PARLIAMENTARY JUSTICE. 
 
 The following day, about seven o'clock in the morning, 
 Brigand came to t'etcli D'Harmental, and found the young 
 man ready and waiting. They both wrapped themselves 
 in their cloaks, drew down tlieir hats over their eyes, 
 and proceeded through the Rue de Cléry, the Place des 
 Victoires, and the garden of the Palais Royal. 
 
 On reaching the Rue de l'Echelle, they began to per- 
 ceive an unusual stir. All the avenues leading towards 
 the Tuileries were guarded by detachments of musketeers 
 and light horse, and the people, expelled from the court 
 and gardens of the Tuileries, crowded into the Place du 
 Carousel. D'Harmental and Brigand mixed with the 
 mob. 
 
 Having arrived at the place where the triumphal arch 
 now stands, they were accosted by an officer of Gray 
 Musketeers, wrapped in a large cloak like themselves. It 
 was Valef. 
 
 "Well, baron," asked Brigaud, "what news ?" 
 
 "Ah! it is you, abbé," said Valef; "we have been look- 
 ing for you, Laval, Malezieux, and myself. I have just 
 left them; they must be somewhere near. Let us stop 
 here; it will not be long before they find us. Do you 
 know anything yourself ? " 
 
 "ISTo, nothing. I called at Malezieux's, but he had 
 already gone out." 
 
 " Say that he was not yet come home. We remained at 
 the Arsenal all night." 
 
 " And no hostile demonstration has been made ? " asked 
 D'Harmental.
 
 PARLIAMENTAUY JUSTICE. 343 
 
 ''None. Monsieur le Duc du Maine and Monsieur le 
 Comte de Toulouse were summoned for the regent's coun- 
 cil, which, is to be held before the sitting of the parlia- 
 ment. At half-past six they were both at the Tuileries, 
 so Madame du Maine, in order to get the news as soon as 
 possible, has come and installed herself in her superin- 
 tendent's apartments." 
 
 "Is it known what has become of the Prince de Cella- 
 mare? " asked D'Harmental. 
 
 "He is sent to Orléans, in a chaise and four, in the 
 company of a gentleman of the king's household, and an 
 escort of a dozen light horse." 
 
 "And is nothing known about the paper which Dubois 
 picked out of the cinders ? " asked Brigaud. 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "What does Madame du Maine think ? " 
 
 " That he is brewing something against the legitimated 
 princes, and that he will profit by this to take away some 
 more of their privileges. This morning she lectured her 
 husband sharply, and he promised to remain firm, but she 
 does not rely upon him." 
 
 " And Monsieur de Toulouse ? " 
 
 "We saw him yesterday evening; but, you know, my 
 dear abbé, there is nothing to be done with his modesty, 
 or rather his humility. He always thinks that they have 
 done too much for him, and is ready to abandon to the 
 regent anything that is asked of him." 
 
 "By the bye, the king ?" 
 
 "Well, the king — " 
 
 " Yes, how has he taken the arrest of his tutor? " 
 
 "Ah! do you not know? It seems that there was a 
 compact between the marshal and Monsieur de Fréjus, 
 tliat if one of them left his Majesty, the other should leave 
 immediately. Yesterday morning Monsieur de Fréjus dis- 
 appeared." 
 
 "And where is he?" 
 
 " God knows ! And so the king, who had taken the loss
 
 344 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 of his marsha] very well, was inconsolable at that of his 
 bishop." 
 
 "And how do you know all that ?" 
 
 "Through the Due de Eichelieu, who went yesterday, 
 about two o'clock, to Versailles, to pay his respects to the 
 king, and who found his Majesty in despair in the midst of 
 the china and ornaments which he had broken. Unfortu- 
 nately, Richelieu, instead of encouraging the king's grief, 
 made him laugh by telling him a hundred stories, and 
 almost consoled him by helping him to break the rest of 
 the china and ornaments." 
 
 At this moment an individual clothed in a long advo- 
 cate's robe, and with a square cap, passed near the group 
 which was formed by Brigand, D'Harmental, and Valef, 
 humming the burden of a song made on the marshal after 
 the battle of Ramillies. Brigand turned round, and, 
 under the disguise, thought he recognised Pompadour. 
 On his part the advocate stopped and approached the 
 group in question. The abbé had no longer any doubt. 
 It was really the marquis. 
 
 " Well, Maître Clément, " said he, " what news from the 
 palace ? " 
 
 "Oh!" answered Pompadour, "good news, particularly 
 if it be true ; they say that the parliament refuses to come 
 to the Tuileries." 
 
 " Vive Dieu f " cried Valef, " that will reconcile me with 
 the red robes. But they will not dare." 
 
 "Why not? You know that Monsieur de Mesme is for 
 us, and has been named president through the influence of 
 Monsieur du Maine." 
 
 "Yes, that is true, but that is long since," said Brigand; 
 "and if you have nothing better to rely upon, Maître 
 Clément, I should advise you not to count upon him." 
 
 "Particularly," answered Valef, "as he has just obtained 
 from the regent the payment of five hundred thousand 
 francs of his salary." 
 
 "Oh, oh!" said D'Harmental, "see, it appears to me
 
 PARLIAMENTARY JUSTICE. 345 
 
 that something new is going on. Are they not coming out 
 of the regent's council ? " 
 
 Indeed, a great movement was taking place in the court 
 of the Tuileries, and the two carriages of the Due du 
 Maine and the Comte de Toulouse left their post and 
 approached the clock pavilion. At the same instant they 
 saw the two brothers appear. They exchanged few words, 
 each got into his own carriage, and the two vehicles 
 departed at a rapid pace by the water-side wicket. 
 
 For ten minutes Brigaud, D'Harmental, Pompadour, 
 and Valef were lost in conjectures regarding this event, 
 which, having been remarked by others as well as by 
 them, had made a sensation amongst the crowd, but with- 
 out being able to assign it to its proper cause. Then they 
 noticed Malezieux, who appeared to be looking for them; 
 they went to him, and by his discomposed face they 
 judged that the information which he had to bring was 
 not comforting. 
 
 " Well, " asked Pompadour, " have you any idea of what 
 has been going on ? " 
 
 "Alas!" answered Malezieux, "I am afraid that all is 
 lost." 
 
 "You know that the Due du Maine and the Comte de 
 Toulouse have left the council?" asked Valef. 
 
 "I was on the quay when he passed in his carriage, and 
 he recognised me, and stopped the carriage, and sent me 
 this little pencil note by his valet de chamhrey 
 
 "Let us see," said Brigand, and he read: — 
 
 I do not know what is plotting against us, but the regent invited 
 us — Toulouse and me — to leave the council. That invitat\o(« 
 appeared to me an order, and as all resistance would have been use- 
 less, seeing that we have in the council only four or five voices, upon 
 which we cannot count, I was obliged to obey. Try and see the 
 duchess, who must be at the Tuileries, and tell her that I am retiring 
 to Rambouillet, where I shall wait for the turn of events. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Louis Auguste,
 
 346 TIÏR CHKVALIKR U'iIAlîMENTAL. 
 
 "The coward," said Valef. 
 
 "And these are the meu for whom we risk our heads," 
 murmured Pompadour. 
 
 "You are mistaken, my dear marquis," said Brigaud; 
 " we risk our heads on our own account I hope, and not 
 for others. Is not that true, chevalier? Well, what the 
 devil are you about now ? " 
 
 "Wait, abbé," answered D'Harmental; "I seem to 
 recognise — yes, by heaven, it is he ! You will not go 
 away from this place, gentlemen ! " 
 
 "No, I answer for myself at least," said Pompadour. 
 
 "Nor I," said Valef. 
 
 "Nor I," said Malezieux. 
 
 " Nor I, " said the abbé. 
 
 "Well, then, I will rejoin you in an instant." 
 
 "Where are you going?" asked Brigaud. 
 
 "Do not look, abbé," said D'Harmental, "it is on 
 private business." 
 
 Dropping Valef 's arm, D'Harmental began to traverse 
 the crowd in the direction of an individual whom he had 
 been following with his eyes for some time, and who, 
 thanks to his personal strength, had approached the gate. 
 
 "Captain," said the chevalier, tapping Roquefinette on 
 the shoulder, and hoping that, thanks to the movement 
 occasioned by the approach of the parliament, they should 
 be able to talk without being observed, " can I say a few 
 words to you in private ? " 
 
 "Yes, chevalier, with the greatest pleasure. What is 
 it?" continued he, drawing back. "I have recognised 
 you for the last five minutes, but it was not my business 
 to speak first." 
 
 "And I see with pleasure," said D'Harmental, "that 
 Captain Roquefinette is still prudent." 
 
 "Prudentissimo, chevalier; so if you have any new 
 overture to make, out with it." 
 
 "No, captain, no; not at present, at least. Besides, the 
 place is not suitable for a conference of that nature. Only
 
 PARLIAMENTARY JUSTICE. 347 
 
 I vrish to know, in case of my having need of you, whether 
 you still live in the same place?" 
 
 "Still, chevalier; I am like a brier, — I die where I 
 grow; only, instead of your finding me, as you did the 
 first time, on the first or second floor, you will have 
 to look for me on the fifth or sixth, seeing that, by a 
 very natural see-saw movement, as my funds lower I 
 go up." 
 
 "How, captain," said D'Harmental, laughing, and 
 putting his hand in his pocket, "you are in want of 
 money, and you do not address yourself to your friends? " 
 
 "I borrow money!" cried the captain, stopping D'Har- 
 mental's liberal intentions with a sign; "no; when I do 
 you a service you make me a present; well and good. 
 When I conclude a bargain, you execute the conditions. 
 But I to ask without having a right to ask ! It may do 
 for a church rat, but not for a soldier ; although I am only 
 a simple gentleman, I am as proud as a duke or a peer; 
 but, pardon me, if you want me, you know where to find 
 me. Aic revoir, chevalieT I au revoir !^^ 
 
 And, without waiting for D'Harmental's answer, Koque- 
 finette left him, not thinking it safe that they should be 
 seen talking together. 
 
 As it was only eleven o'clock in the morning, however, 
 and as in all probability the parliament would not break 
 up till four in the afternoon, and as, no doubt, there was 
 nothing determined on yet, the chevalier thought that, 
 instead of remaining on the Place du Carrousel, he would 
 do better to turn the four hours which he had before him 
 to the profit of his love. Moreover, the nearer he ap- 
 proached to the catastrophe, the more need he felt of see- 
 ing Bathilde. Bathilde had become one of the elements 
 of his life; one of the organs necessary to his existence; 
 and, at the moment when he might perhaps be separated 
 from her for ever, he did not understand how he could 
 live a single day away from her. Consequently, pressed 
 by the eternal craving for the presence of the loved objectj
 
 348 THE CHEVALIEIi D'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 the chevalier, instead of going to look for his companions, 
 went towards the Rue du Temps Perdu. 
 
 D'Harmental found the poor child very uneasj'. Buvat 
 had not come home since half-past nine the morning 
 before. Nanette had been to inquire at the library, and to 
 her great astonishment, and the scandal of his fellow 
 clerks, she had learned that he had not been there for live 
 or six days. Such a derangement in Buvat's habits indi- 
 cated serious events. On the other hand, the young girl 
 had noticed in Raoul, the day before, a sort of nervous 
 agitation, which, although kept down by determination, 
 gave warning of an important crisis. Thus, joining her 
 old fears to her new agonies, Bathilde felt instinctively 
 that a misfortune, invisible but inevitable, hung above 
 her, and that at any moment it might fall on her devoted 
 head. 
 
 But when Bathilde saw Raoul, all fear, past or future, 
 was lost in the happiness of the present. On his part, 
 Raoul, whether it was self-command or a similar feeling 
 to her own, thought of nothing but Bathilde, Neverthe- 
 less, this time the preoccupations on both sides were so 
 powerful that Bathilde could not help expressing her un- 
 easiness to Raoul; he made but little answer, for the 
 absence of Buvat became connected in his mind with some 
 suspicions which he had entertained for a minute, and 
 then cast from him. The time, nevertheless, flowed away 
 with its accustomed rapidity, and four o'clock struck 
 when the lovers fancied that they had only been together 
 a few minutes, it was the hour at which he generally 
 took his leave. 
 
 If Buvat returned, he would probably return at this time. 
 After exchanging a hundred vows, the two young people 
 separated, agreeing that, if anything new happened to 
 either of them, whatever hour of the day or night it 
 might be, they should let the other know directly. 
 
 At the door of Madame Denis's house D'Harmental met 
 Brigaud. The sitting was over, and nothing positive was
 
 PAKLJ.AiMENTAKY JUSTICE. 349 
 
 yet known, but vague rumours were afloat that terrible 
 measures had been taken. The information must soon 
 arrive, and Brigand had fixed a rendezvous with Pompa- 
 doui- and Malezieux at D'Harmental's lodgings, which, as 
 they were the least known, must be tlie least watched. 
 
 In about an hour the Marquis de Pompadour arrived. 
 The parliament had at first wished to make opposition, 
 but everything had given way before the will of the regent. 
 The King of Spain's letters had been read and condemned. 
 It had been decided that the dukes and peers should rank 
 immediately after the princes of the blood. The honours 
 of the legitimated princes were restricted to the simple 
 rank of their peerages. Finally, the Due du Maine lost 
 the superintendence of the king's education, which was 
 given to the Due de Bourbon. The Comte de Toulouse 
 alone was maintained, during his lifetime, in his privi- 
 leges and prerogatives. Malezieux arrived in his turn; he 
 had recently left the duchess. They had just given her 
 notice to quit her apartments in the Tuileries, which 
 belonged henceforward to Monsieur le Duc. Such an 
 affront had, as may easily be understood, exasperated the 
 grand-daughter of the great Conde. She had flown into 
 a violent passion, broken all the looking-glasses with her 
 own hands, and had all the furniture thrown out of the 
 window; then, this performance finished, she had got into 
 her carriage, sending Laval to Rambouillet in order to 
 urge Monsieur du Maine to some vigorous action, and 
 charging Malezieux to assemble all her friends that even- 
 ing at the Arsenal. 
 
 Pompadour and Brigand cried out against the impru- 
 dence of such a meeting. Madame du Maine was evi- 
 dently watched. To go to the Arsenal the day when they 
 must know that she was the most irritated would be to 
 compromise themselves openly. Pompadour and Brigand 
 were therefore in favour of going and begging her High- 
 ness to appoint some other time or place for the ren- 
 dezvous. Malezieux and D'Harmental were of the same
 
 350 THE CHEVALIER d'haRMENTAL. 
 
 opinion regarding the danger of the step; but they both 
 declared — the first from devotion, tlie second from a sense 
 of duty — tliat the more perilous the order was, the more 
 honourable it would be to obey it. 
 
 The discussion, as always happens in similar circum- 
 stances, began to degenerate into a pretty sharp alterca- 
 tion, when they heard the steps of two persons mounting 
 the stairs. As tlie tliree individuals who had appointed 
 a meeting at D'Harmental's were all assembled, Brigaud, 
 who, with his ear always on the qui-vive, had heard the 
 sound first, put his finger to his mouth to impose silence 
 on the disputants. They could plainly hear the steps 
 approaching; then a low whispering, as of two people 
 questioning; finally, the door opened, and gave entrance 
 to a soldier of the French guard and a little grisette. 
 
 'J'he guardsman was the lîaron de Valef. 
 
 As to the grisette, she threw off the little black veil 
 which hid her face, and they recognised Madame du 
 Maine.
 
 MAN PROPOSES. 351 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 MAN PROPOSES. 
 
 "Your Highness! your Highness at my lodging!" cried 
 D'Harmeutal. "What have I done to merit such an 
 honour ? " 
 
 "The hour is come, chevalier," said the duchess, "when 
 it is right that we should show people the opinion we 
 hold of their merits. It shall never be said that the 
 friends of Madame du Maine expose themselves for her, 
 and that she does not expose herself with them. Thank 
 God, I am the grand-daughter of the great Conde, and I 
 feel that I am worthy of my ancestor." 
 
 "Your Highness is most welcome," said Pompadour; 
 " for your arrival will get us out of a difficulty. Decided , 
 as we were, to obey your orders, we nevertheless hesitated 
 at the idea of the danger incurred by an assembly at the 
 Arsenal at such a moment as the present, when the police 
 have their eyes upon it." 
 
 " And I thought with you, marquis ; so, instead of wait- 
 ing for you, I resolved to come and seek you. The baron 
 accompanied me. I went to the house of the Comtesse 
 de Chavigny, a friend of De Launay's, who lives in the 
 Rue du Mail. We had clothes brought there; and, as we 
 were only a few steps off, we came here on foot, and here 
 we are. On my honour, Messire Voyer d'Argenson would 
 be clever indeed if he recognized us in this disguise." 
 
 "I see, with pleasure," said Malezieux, "that your 
 Highness is not cast down by the events of this horrible 
 day." 
 
 "Cast down! I ! Malezieux, I hope you know me too 
 well to have feared it for a single instant. Cast down I
 
 652 THE CllEVALlKK u'hARMENTAL. 
 
 On the contrary, I never felt more vigour or more deter* 
 miuation. Oh, if I only were a man ! " 
 
 "Let your Highness command," saidD'IIarraental, "and 
 everything that you could do, if you could act yourself, we 
 will do, — we, who stand in your stead." 
 
 "No, no; it is im})Ossible that any other should do that 
 which I should have done." 
 
 "Nothing is impossible, madame, to five men as devoted 
 as we are. Moreover, our interest demands a prompt and 
 energetic course of action. It is not reasonable to believe 
 that the regent will stop there. The day after to-morrow 
 — to-morrow evening, perhaps — we shall all be arrested. 
 Dubois gives out that the paper which he saved from the 
 flames at the Prince of Cellamare's is nothing less than 
 the list of the conspirators. In that case, he knows all 
 our names. We have, then, at this very moment, a sword 
 hanging over each of our heads; do not let us wait tamely 
 till the thread which suspends it snaps; let us seize it, 
 and strike ! " 
 
 " Strike ! What — where — and how? " asked Brigaud. 
 "That abominable parliament has destroyed all our 
 schemes. Have we measures taken, or a plot made out? " 
 
 "The best plan which has been conceived," said Pompa- 
 dour, "and the one which offered the greatest chance of 
 success, was the first; and the proof is, that it was only 
 overthrown by an unheard of circumstance." 
 
 "Well, if the plan was good then, it is so still," said 
 Valef ; "let us return to it." 
 
 "Yes, but in failing," said Malezieux, "this plan put the 
 regent on his guard." 
 
 "On the contrary," said Pompadour; "in consequence 
 of that very failure, it will be supposed that we have 
 abandoned it." 
 
 "And the proof is," said Valef, "that the regent on 
 this head takes fewer precautions than ever. For exam- 
 ple, since his daughter. Mademoiselle de Chartres, has 
 become Abbess of Chelles, he goes to see her every week,
 
 MAN PROPOSES. 353 
 
 and he goes through the wood of Vincennes without guards, 
 and with only a coachman and two lackeys, and that at 
 eight or nine o'clock at night." 
 
 "And what day does he j)ay this visit ?" asked Brigaud. 
 
 "Wednesday." 
 
 "That is to-morrow," said the duchess. 
 
 "Brigaud," said Valef, "have you still the passport for 
 Spain?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And the same facilities for the route ? " 
 
 "The same. The postmaster is with us, and we shall 
 have only to explain to him." 
 
 "Well," said Valef, "if her Royal Highness will allow 
 me, I will to-morrow call together seven or eight friends, 
 wait for the regent in the Bois de Vincennes, carry him 
 off, and in three days I am at Pampeluna." 
 
 "An instant, my dear baron," said D'Harmental. "I 
 would observe to you that you are stepping into my 
 shoes, and that this undertaking belongs to me of 
 right." 
 
 " You, my dear chevalier ! you have already done what 
 you had to do; now it is our turn." 
 
 "Not at all, if you please, Valef. My honour is con- 
 cerned in it, for I have revenge to take. You would 
 annoy me infinitely by insisting on this subject." 
 
 "All that I can do for you, my dear D'Harmental," said 
 Valef, "is to leave it to her Highness's choice. She knows 
 that we are equally devoted to her; let her decide." 
 
 " Will you accept my arbitration, chevalier ? " said the 
 duchess. 
 
 "Yes, for I trust to your justice, madame," said 
 D'Harmental. 
 
 "And you are right; yes, the honour of the undertaking 
 belongs to you. I place in your hands the fate of the son 
 of Louis the Fourteenth and the grand-daughter of the 
 great Conde. I trust entirely to your devotion and cour- 
 age, and I have the greater hope of your success that 
 
 23
 
 354 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 fortune owes you a compensation. To you, my dear 
 D'Hannental, all the honour, and all the peril." 
 
 "I accept both with gratitude," said D'Harmental, kiss- 
 ing the duchess's hand; "and to-morrow at this hour I 
 shall be dead, or the regent will be on the way to Spain." 
 
 "Very good," said Pompadour, "that is what 1 call 
 speaking; and if you want any one to give you a helping 
 hand, my dear chevalier, count on me." 
 
 " And on me," said Valef. 
 
 "And are we good for nothing ?" said Malezieux. 
 
 "My dear chancellor," said the duchess, "to each one 
 his share. To poets, churchmen, and magistrates, advice; 
 to soldiers, execution. Chevalier, are you sure of finding 
 the men who assisted you before ? " 
 
 "I am sure of their chief, at least." 
 
 " When shall you see him ? " 
 
 "This evening." 
 
 " At what time ? " 
 
 "Directly, if your Highness wishes it." 
 
 "The sooner the better." 
 
 "In a quarter of an hour I will be ready." 
 
 "Where can we learn the result of the interview?" 
 
 " I will come to your Highness, wheresoever you may be." 
 
 "Not at the Arsenal," said Brigand, "it is too dan- 
 gerous." 
 
 "Can we not wait here?" asked the duchess. 
 
 "Remember," said Brigand, "that my pupil is a steady 
 fellow, receiving scarcely any one, and that a long visit 
 might arouse suspicion." 
 
 " Can we not fix a rendezvous where there would be no 
 such fear ? " asked Pompadour. 
 
 "Certainly," said the duchess, "at the stone in the 
 Champs Elysees, for instance. Malezieux and I will come 
 there in a carriage without livery and without arms. 
 Pompadour, Valef, and Brigand will meet us there, each 
 one separately; there we will wait for D'Harmental, and 
 settle the last measure."
 
 MAN PROPOSES. 355 
 
 "That will suit well," said D'Harmental, "for my man 
 lives in the Eue Saint Honoré." 
 
 "You know, chevalier," replied the duchess, "that you 
 may promise as much money as you like." 
 
 "I undertake to fill the purse," said Brigand. 
 
 "That is well, abbé, for I know who will undertake to 
 empty it," said D'Harmental. 
 
 "Then all is agreed," said the duchess. "In an hour, 
 in the Champs Ely sees." 
 
 Then the duchess — having readjusted her mantle so as 
 to hide her face — took Valef's arm and went out. Male- 
 zieux followed at a little distance, taking care not to lose 
 sight of her. Brigand and Pompadour went out together, 
 and D'Harmental went directly to the Rue Saint Honoré. 
 
 Whether it were chance or calculation on the part of the 
 duchess, who appreciated D'Harmental and understood 
 how fully she might rely upon him, the chevalier found 
 himself more than ever put forward in the conspiracy: 
 but his honour was engaged; and although he foresaw the 
 terrible consequences of the step which he was about to 
 take, he went boldly forward, resolved to sacrifice every- 
 thing, even his life and his love, to the fulfilment of his 
 promise. 
 
 He presented himself at La Fillon's with the same 
 tranquillity as before, although many things were altered 
 in his life since then, and having been, as before, received 
 by the mistress of the house in person, he inquired if 
 Captain Roquefinette were visible. 
 
 Without doubt La Fillon had expected a much less 
 moral demand; for on recognising D'Harmental, she could 
 not repress a movement of surprise. However, she asked 
 if he were not the same person, who — two months before 
 — had come there to inquire for the captain. D'Har- 
 mental replied in the affirmative. As soon as she was 
 informed on this point, she called a servant and ordered 
 her to conduct the chevalier to No. 72. The girl obeyed, 
 taking a candle and going before D'Harmental, who fol
 
 o56 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 lowed ber. This time no songs guided him in his ascent; 
 all was silent in the house; and, as the chevalier himself 
 was occupied with grave thoughts, he mounted the six 
 flights and knocked at once at the door. 
 
 "Enter," said Roquefinette. 
 
 The chevalier slipped a louis into the servant's hand, 
 opened the door, and went in. 
 
 The same change was observable in the interior as in 
 the exterior. Roquefinette was no longer, as on the first 
 occasion, sitting among the débris of a feast surrounded 
 by slaves smoking his long pipe. He was alone in a little 
 dark attic, lighted by a single candle, which, nearly burnt 
 out, gave more smoke than flame, and whose flickering 
 light gave a strange expression to the harsh face of 
 the brave captain, who was standing leaning against the 
 chimney-piece. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Roquefinette, in a slightly ironical tone, 
 "it is you, chevalier; I expected you." 
 
 " You expected me, captain ! and what induced you to 
 do so ? " 
 
 "Events, chevalier, events." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 "I mean that you thought you could make open war, 
 and consequently put poor Captain Roquefinette aside, as 
 a bandit, who is good for nothing but a nocturnal blow at 
 a street corner, or in a wood ; and now Dubois knows all ; 
 the parliament, on whom we thought we might count, 
 have failed us, and has said yes, instead of no. Now we 
 come back to the captain. My dear capatin here ! my 
 good captain there ! Is not this exactly as it has hap- 
 pened, chevalier? Well, here is the captain, what do you 
 want of him? Speak." 
 
 "Really, my dear captain," said D'Harmental, not 
 knowing exactly how to take this speech, "there is some 
 truth in what you say. Only you are mistaken if you 
 think we had forgotten you. If our plan had succeeded, 
 you would have had proof that my memory was better,
 
 MAN PROPOSES. 357 
 
 and I should have come to offer you my credit, as I now 
 come to ask your assistance." 
 
 "Hum !" said the captain; "for the last three days, 
 since T have inhabited this new apartment, I have made 
 many reflections on the vanity of human things, and have 
 more than once felt inclined to retire altogether from these 
 affairs, or — if I did undertake one — to take care that it 
 should be sufficiently brilliant to insure my future." 
 
 " What I come to propose to you is just the thing. 
 Without preamble, it is — " 
 
 " What? " asked the captain, after waiting two or three 
 minutes in vain for the end of the speech. 
 
 " Oh, captain, I thought — " 
 
 " What did you think, chevalier ? " 
 
 " I thought I heard steps, — a sort of creaking in the 
 wall." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the captain, " there are not a few rats in 
 this establishment, I can tell you." 
 
 "Oh, that must be it!" said D'Harmental. "Well! 
 my dear Roquefinette, we wish to profit by the regent's 
 returning unguarded from Chelles to carry him off and 
 take him to Spain." 
 
 "Before going any further," said Roquefinette, "I must 
 warn you that this is a new treaty, and that every new 
 treaty implies new conditions." 
 
 "No need of discussions on that point. You shall fix 
 them yourself; but can you still dispose of your men ?" 
 
 "lean." 
 
 " Will they be ready at two o'clock to-morrow ? " 
 
 "They will." 
 
 "That is all that is necessary." 
 
 " Something else is necessary, — money to buy a horse 
 and arms." 
 
 "There are a hundred louis in that purse; take it." 
 
 "It is well. You shall have an account of it." 
 
 "Then to-morrow at my house at two o'clock." 
 
 "It is agreed, chevalier; you are not to be astonished 
 if I am a little exacting."
 
 358 THE CHEVALIER I)" H AU MENTAL. 
 
 "You know that last time I only complained of your 
 being too modest." 
 
 "Very well, that will do," said the captain, "you are 
 easily satisfied. Lot me light you; it would be a pit}^ 
 that a brave fellow like j^ou should break his neck." 
 
 And the captain took the candle, which, now burnt 
 down to the paper, threw a splendid light over the stair- 
 case. 
 
 D'Harmental had not forgotten that Madame du Maine 
 waited with anxiety for the result of the interview. He 
 did not trouble himself, therefore, about what had become 
 of La Fillon, whom he did not see on leaving; and having 
 gone down the Rue des Feuillons, he passed along the 
 Champs Elysees, which, without being altogether deserted, 
 was nevertheless almost solitary. Having arrived at the 
 stone, he noticed a carriage standing on the opposite side 
 of the road, while two men were walking at a little dis- 
 tance off in the cross-road. He approached the carriage; 
 a woman, seeing him, pat her head impatiently out of the 
 window. The chevalier recognised Madame du IMaine; 
 Malezieux and Valef were with her. As to the walkers, 
 who, seeing D'Harmental, approached the vehicle, it is 
 needless to say that they were Brigand and Pompadour. 
 
 The chevalier, without naming Roquefinette, or enlar- 
 ging on the character of the illustrious captain, told them 
 in a few words what had passed. This recital was wel- 
 comed by a general exclamation of joy. The duchess gave 
 D'Harmental her hand to kiss; the men pressed his. It 
 was agreed that the next day at two o'clock the duchess, 
 Pompadour, Laval, Valef, Malezieux, and Brigand should 
 meet at Xo. 15, Faubourg Saint Antoine, a house occupied 
 by D'Avranches' mother, and that they should there await 
 the event. 
 
 The result was to be announced to them by D'Avranches 
 himself, who at three o'clock should be at the Barrière 
 du Trône with two horses, one for himself, the other for 
 the chevalier. He was to follow D'Harmental at a dis-
 
 MAN PROPOSES. 359 
 
 tance, and return to announce what had i^assed. Five 
 other horses, saddled and bridled, were to be ready in the 
 stables of the house in the Faubourg Saint Antoine, so 
 that the conspirators might fly at once in case of the 
 chevalier's failure. 
 
 These plans settled, tlie duchess forced the chevalier to 
 seat himself beside her. The duchess wished to drive 
 him home, but he told her that the appearance of a car- 
 riage at Madame Denis's door would produce too much 
 sensation, and that, flattering as it would be to him, it 
 would be too dangerous for all. In consequence, the 
 duchess set D'Harmental down in the Place des Victoires, 
 after repeatedly expressing her gratitude for his devotion. 
 It was ten o'clock in the evening. D'Harmental had 
 scarcely seen Bathilde during the day; he wished to see 
 her again ; he was sure to find her at her window, but that 
 was not sufficient, for what he had to say was too serious 
 to be thus spoken from one side to the other of the street. 
 
 He was thinking under what pretext he could present 
 himself at such a late hour, when he thought he saw a 
 woman at the door of her house. He advanced and recog- 
 nised Nanette, who was there by Bathilde' s order. The 
 poor girl was dreadfully uneasy, Buvat not having 
 returned. All the evening she had remained at the 
 window to watch for D'Harmental, but had not seen him. 
 It seemed to Bathilde that there must be some connection 
 between Buvat's strange disappearance and the melancholy 
 which she had remarked the day before in D'Harmental's 
 face, Nanette was waiting at the door for Buvat and 
 D'Harmental; she now waited for Buvat, and D'Har- 
 mental went up to Bathilde. 
 
 Bathilde had heard and recognised his step, and ran to 
 open the door. At the first glance she noticed the pensive 
 expression of his face. 
 
 "Oh! mon Dieu, Raoul!" she exclaimed, "has any- 
 thing happened to you?" 
 
 "Bathilde," said D'Harmental, with a melancholy smile,
 
 360 THE CHEVALIER DIIAUMENTAL. 
 
 "you have often told me that there is in me something 
 mysterious which frightens you."' 
 
 '* Yes," cried Bathilde; "it is the only torment of my 
 life; my only fear for the future." 
 
 "And you are right; for before 1 knew you, Bathilde, 
 I had abandoned a part of my free-will; this portion of 
 myself no longer belongs to me, but submits to a supreme 
 law, and to unforeseen events. It is a black point in a 
 clear sky. xVccording to the way the wind blows, it may 
 disappear as a vapour or increase into a storm. The hand 
 Avhich holds and guides mine may lead me to the high- 
 est favour or to the most complete disgrace. Tell me, 
 Bathilde, are you disposed to share my good and evil 
 fortune, — the calm and the tempest ? " 
 
 "Everything with you, Raoul." 
 
 "Think of what you are undertaking, Bathilde. It may 
 be a happy and a brilliant life which is reserved for you; 
 it may be exile; it may be captivity; it ma}- be that 3'ou 
 will be a widow before you are a wife." 
 
 Bathilde turned so pale that Raoul thought she would 
 fall; but she quickly regained her self-command, and, 
 holding out her hand to D'Harmental, — 
 
 " Raoul, " said she, " have I not already told you that I 
 love you; that I never have and never can love any other? 
 It seems to me that all these promises you ask are in- 
 cluded in those words; but since you wish them renewed, 
 I do so. Your life shall be my life, and your death my 
 death; both are in the hands of God." 
 
 "And I, Bathilde," said D'Harmental, leading her 
 before the crucifix, "I swear that from this moment you 
 are my wife before God and before men; and since the 
 events which may dispose of my life leave me nothing but 
 my love to offer to you, that love is yours, — profound, 
 unalterable, eternal;" and the young people exchanged 
 their first kiss with the renewal of their vows. 
 
 When D'Harmental left Bathilde Buvat had not 
 returned.
 
 DAVID AND GOLIATH. 361 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 DAVID AND GOLIATH. 
 
 Towards ten o'clock in the morning the Abbé Brigand 
 entered D'Harmental's room; he brought him twenty 
 thousand francs, partly in gohl, partly in Spanish paper. 
 The duchess had passed the night at the Comtesse de 
 Chavigny's, in the Kue du Mail. The plans of the pre- 
 ceding day were in no degree changed, and they had ascer- 
 tained that the regent would pay his accustomed visit to 
 Chelles. At ten o'clock Brigand and D'Harmental went 
 down, Brigand to join Pompadour and Valef on the Boule- 
 vard du Temple, and D'Harmental to visit Bathilde. 
 
 Uneasiness was at its height in the little household; 
 Buvat was still absent, and it was easy to see by Ba- 
 thilde's eyes that she had had but little sleep. As soon as 
 she saw D'Harmental she understood that some expedition 
 was preparing. D'Harmental again wore that dark cos- 
 tume in which she had never seen him but on that evening 
 when, on returning, he had thrown his mantle on a chair, 
 and displayed to her sight the pistols in his belt. More- 
 over, she saw by his spurs that he expected to ride during 
 the day. All these things would have appeared insignifi- 
 cant at any other time, but after the nocturnal betrothal 
 we have described they took a new and grave importance. 
 Bathilde tried at first to make the chevalier speak, but 
 he told her that the secret she asked did not belong to 
 himself, and she desisted. An hour after Nanette ap- 
 peared with a distressed face. She came from the 
 library; Buvat had not been there, and no one had heard 
 anything of him. 
 
 Bathilde could contain herself no longer; she fell into
 
 362 THE CHEVALIER d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 Raoul's arms and Inirst into tears. Then Raoul oonfesserl 
 to her his fears, and tliat the papers which the pretended 
 Prince de Listhnay had given Buvat to copy were politi- 
 cally important, by which lie might have been compro- 
 mised and arrested, but had nothing to fear, and that the 
 passive part which he had played in this affair did not 
 endanger him in the least. 
 
 Bathilde, having feared some much greater misfortune, 
 eagerly seized on this idea. She did not confess to herself 
 that the greater part of lier uneasiness was not for Buvat, 
 and that all the tears she shed were not for the absent. 
 
 When D'Harmental was near Ba.thilde time appeared 
 to fly; he was astonished when he found that he had been 
 with her an hour and a half, and, remembering that at two 
 o'clock he had to arrange his new treaty with Koqueiinette, 
 he rose to go. Bathilde turned pale. D'Harmental, to 
 reassure her, promised to come to her again after tbe 
 departure of the person he expected. 
 
 The chevalier had only been a few minutes at his 
 window when he saw Roquefinette appear at the corner of 
 the Rue Montmartre. He was mounted on a dapple-gray 
 horse, both swift and strong, and evidently chosen by a 
 connoisseur. He came along leisurely, like a man to 
 whom it is equally indiffereuc whether he is seen or not. 
 On arriving at the door he dismounted, fastened up his 
 horse, and ascended the stairs. As on the day before, his 
 face was grave and pensive, his compressed lips indicated 
 some fixed determination, and D'Harmental received him 
 with a smile, which met with no answer on the captain's 
 face. 
 
 D'Harmental at a glance took in all these different 
 signs. 
 
 "Well, captain," said he, "T see that you are still 
 punctuality itself." 
 
 "It is a military habit, chevalier, and is not astonishing 
 in an old soldier." 
 
 " I did not doubt you, but you might not have been able 
 to meet your men."
 
 DAVID AND GOLIATH. 363 
 
 "I told you I knew where to find them." 
 
 "And where are they?" 
 
 "In the horse-market at the Porte Saint Martin." 
 
 "Are you not afraid they will be noticed? " 
 
 " How should twelve or fifteen men dressed as peasants 
 be noticed among three hundred other peasants buying and 
 selling horses? It is like a needle in a bottle of hay, 
 which none but myself can find." 
 
 "But how can these men accompany you, captain?" 
 
 "The simplest thing in the world. Each one has 
 bargained for the horse which suits him. Each one has 
 offered a price, to which the vendor replies by another. I 
 arrive, give to each tweuty-five or thirty louis. Every one 
 pays for his horse, has it saddled, mounts, slips into the 
 holsters the pistols which he has in his belt, and, by a 
 different route, arrives at a given place in the Bois de 
 Vincennes at four o'clock. Then only I explain to them 
 for what they are wanted. I again distribute money, put 
 myself at the head of my squadron, and go to the work — 
 supposing that you and I agree on the conditions." 
 
 "Well, these conditions, captain," said D'Harmental, 
 " let us discuss them, and I think I have arranged so that 
 you will be satisfied with what I have to offer you." 
 
 "Let us hear them," said Roquefinette, sitting down by 
 the table. 
 
 "First, double the sum you received last time," said the 
 chevalier. 
 
 "Ah ! " said Roquefinette, "1 do not care for money." 
 
 "What! you do not care for money, captain?" 
 
 "Not the least in the world." 
 
 "What do you care for, then?" 
 
 "A position." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean, chevalier, that every day I am four and 
 twenty hours older, and that with age comes philosophy." 
 
 "Well, captain," said D'Harmental, beginning to be seri- 
 ously uneasy, " what is the ambition of your philosophy ? "
 
 364 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 " I have told you, chevalier. A position suitable to my 
 long services, — not in France, you understand. In France 
 I have too many enemies, beginning with the lieutenant 
 of police; but in Spain, for instance. Ah! that would 
 suit me well. A fine country — beautiful women — plenty 
 of doubloons! Decidedly, I should like a rank in Spain." 
 
 "The thing is possible; it depends on the rank you 
 desire." 
 
 " Well, you know, chevalier, when one is wishing, it is 
 as well to wish for sometliing worth the trouble." 
 
 "You make me uneasy, monsieur," said D'Harmental, 
 "for I have not the seals of King Philip to sign brevets 
 in his name. But never mind; speak." 
 
 "Well," said Roquefinette, "I see so many greenhorns 
 at the heads of regiments, that I also have thought of 
 being a colonel." 
 
 "Colonel? Impossible ! " 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "Because, if they make you a colonel, you who only 
 hold a secondary position in the affair, what am I to ask, 
 I, who am at the head?" 
 
 "That is the very thing; I wish to change positions for 
 the moment. You remember what I said to you on a 
 certain evening in the Rue du Valois?" 
 
 "Aid my memory, captain. I have unfortunately for- 
 gotten." 
 
 " I told you that if I had an affair like this to manage, 
 things would go better. I added that I would speak to 
 you of it again. I do so now." 
 
 " What the devil are you talking about, captain ? " 
 
 "A simple matter, chevalier. We made a first attempt 
 together, which failed. Then you changed batteries : you 
 thought you could do without me, and you failed again. 
 The first time you failed at night, and without noise: we 
 each went our own way, and there was nothing known 
 about it. The second time, on the contrary, you failed 
 in broad daylight, and with an éclat which has compro-
 
 DAVID AND GOLIATH. 365 
 
 mised all; so that if you do not save yourselves by a bold 
 stroke, you are all lost, as Dubois has your names; and 
 to-morrow — to-night perhaps — you may be all arrested, 
 knights, barons, dukes, and princes. Xow there is in the 
 world one man, and one only, who can free you from 
 your troubles : that man is Captain Roquefinette, and you 
 offer him the same place he held before ! Fie, chevalier ! 
 — you wish to bargain with him. Remember, pretensions 
 increase with the services to be rendered. I am now an 
 important personage. Treat me as such, or I put my 
 hands in my pockets, and leave Dubois to do as he likes." 
 
 D'Harmental bit his lips, but he understood that he had 
 to treat with a man who was accustomed to sell his ser- 
 vices as dear as possible; and as what the captain said 
 of their necessity was literally true, he restrained his 
 impatience and his pride. 
 
 " Then you wish to be a colonel ? " 
 
 "That is my idea." 
 
 *' But suppose I make you this promise, who can answer 
 that I have influence enough to ratify it ? " 
 
 "Oh, chevalier, I reckon on managing my little affairs 
 myself," 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 "At Madrid." 
 
 " Who told you that I shall take you there ? " 
 
 "I do not know if you will take me there, but I know 
 that I shall go there." 
 
 " You, to Madrid ! What for ? " 
 
 "To take the regent." 
 
 "You are mad." 
 
 "Come, come, chevalier, no big words. You ask my 
 conditions ; I tell them you. They do not suit you ; good 
 evening. We are not the worse friends for that." 
 
 And Roquefinette rose, took his hat, and was going 
 towards the door. 
 
 " What, are you going ? " 
 
 "Certainly."
 
 366 TUE ClIIiVALIEK D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "But you forget, captain." 
 
 "Ah! it is true," said Roquefinette, intentionally mis- 
 taking D'Harmental's meaning; "you gave me a hundred 
 louis; I must give you an account of them." 
 
 He took his purse from his pocket. 
 
 "A horse, thirty louis; a pair of double-barrelled 
 pistols, ten louis; a saddle, bridle, etc., two louis; total, 
 forty -two louis. There are fifty-eight louis in this purse; 
 the horse, pistols, saddle, and bridle, are yours. Count, 
 we are quits." 
 
 And he threw the purse on the table. 
 
 "But that is not what I have to say to you, captain." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 "That it is impossible to confide to you a mission of 
 juch importance." 
 
 " It must be so, nevertheless, or not at all. I must take 
 the regent to Madrid, and I alone, or he remains at the 
 Palais Royal." 
 
 " And you think yourself worthy to take from the hands 
 of Philippe d'Orléans the sword which conquered at 
 Lérida la Pucelle, and which rested by the sceptre of 
 Louis XIV., on the velvet cushion with the golden 
 tassels ? " 
 
 "I heard in Italy that Francis I., at the battle of Pavia, 
 gave up his to a butcher." 
 
 And the captain pressed his hat on his head, and once 
 more approached the door. 
 
 "Listen, captain," said D'Harmental, in his most con- 
 ciliating tone ; " a truce to arguments and quotations ; let 
 us split the difference. I will conduct the regent to 
 Spain, and you shall accompany me." 
 
 " Yes, so that the poor captain may be lost in the dust 
 which the dashing chevalier excites, and that the brilliant 
 colonel may throw the old bandit into the shade ! Impos- 
 sible, chevalier, impossible ! I will have the management 
 of the affair, or 1 will have nothing to do with it." 
 
 "But this is treason ! " cried D'Harmental.
 
 DAVID AND GOLIATH. 367 
 
 " Treason, chevalier ! And where have you seen, if you 
 please, that Captain Roquefinette was a traitor? Where 
 are the agreements which I have made and not kept ? 
 Where are the secrets which I have divulged? 1 a 
 traitor ! Good heavens, chevalier, it was only the day 
 before yesterday that I was offered gold to betray you, 
 and I refused ! No, no ! Yesterday you came and asked 
 me to aid you a second time. I told you that I was ready, 
 but on new conditions. Well, I have just told you those 
 conditions. Accept them or refuse them. Where do you 
 see treason in all this ? " 
 
 " And if I was weak enough to accept these conditions, 
 monsieur, do you imagine that the confidence which her 
 Eoyal Highness the Duchesse du Maine reposes in the 
 Chevalier d'Harmental can be transferred to Captain 
 Roquefinette ? " 
 
 " And what has the Duchesse du Maine to remark upon 
 in this ? You undertake a piece of business. There are 
 material hindrances in the way of your executing it your- 
 self. You hand it over to me. That is all." 
 
 "That is to say," answered D'Harmental, shaking his 
 head, " that you wish to be free to loose the regent, if the 
 regent offers you, for leaving him in France, twice as 
 much as I offer you for taking him to Spain." 
 
 "Perhaps," replied Roquefinette. 
 
 "Hearken, captain," said D'Harmental, making a new 
 effort to retain his sang-froid, and endeavouring to renew 
 the negotiations, " I will give you twenty thousand francs 
 down." 
 
 "Trash," answered the captain. 
 
 "I will take you with me to Spain." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks." 
 
 "And I engage on my honour to obtain you a regiment." 
 
 Roquefinette began to hum a tune. 
 
 "Take care," said D'Harmental; "it is more dangerous 
 for you now, at the point at which we have arrived, and 
 with the terrible secrets which you know, to refuse than 
 to accept."
 
 368 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "And what will happen, then, if I refuse?" asked 
 Roquefinette. 
 
 "It will happen, captain, that you will not leave this 
 room." 
 
 "And who will prevent me?" 
 
 "I!" cried D'Harmental, bounding before the door, a 
 pistol in each hand. 
 
 "You?" said Roquefinette, making a step towards the 
 chevalier, and then crossing his arms and regarding him 
 fixedly. 
 
 "One step more, captain," said the chevalier, "and I 
 give you my word I will blow your brains out." 
 
 " You blow my brains out, — you ! In the first place, it 
 is necessary for that that you should not tremble like an 
 old woman. Do you know what you will do ? You will 
 miss me; the noise will alarm the neighbours, who will 
 call the guard, and they will question me as to the reasons 
 of your shooting at me, and I shall be obliged to tell 
 them." 
 
 "Yes, you are right, captain," cried the chevalier, 
 uncocking his pistols, and replacing them in his belt, 
 "and I shall be obliged to kill you more honourably than 
 you deserve. Draw, monsieur, draw." 
 
 And D'Harmental, leaning his left foot against the 
 door, drew his sword and placed himself on guard. It 
 was a court sword, a thin ribbon of steel set in a gold 
 handle. Roquefinette began to laugh. 
 
 "With what shall I defend myself, chevalier? Do you 
 happen to have one of your mistress's knitting needles 
 here? " 
 
 " Defend yourself with your own sword, monsieur; long 
 as it is, you see that I am placed so that I cannot make a 
 step to avoid it." 
 
 "What do you think of that, my dear?" said the 
 captain, addressing his blade. 
 
 "It thinks that you are a coward, captain," cried 
 D'Harmental, "since it is necessary to strike you in the
 
 DAVID AND GOLIATH. 369 
 
 face to make you fight." And with a movement as quick 
 as lightning, D'Harmental cut the captain across the face 
 with his rapier, leaving on the cheek a long blue mark 
 like the mark of a whip. 
 
 Roquefinette gave a cry which might have been taken 
 for the roaring of a lion, and, bounding back a step, threw 
 himself on guard, his sword in his hand. Then began 
 between these two men a duel, terrible, hidden, silent, for 
 both were intent on their work, and each understood what 
 sort of an adversary he had to contend with. By a reac- 
 tion very easy to be understood, it was now D'Harmental 
 who was calm, and Roquefinette who was excited. Every 
 instant he menaced D'Harmental with his long sword, but 
 the frail rapier followed it as iron follows the loadstone, 
 twisting and spinning round it like a viper. At the end 
 of about five minutes the chevalier had not made a single 
 lunge, but he had parried all those of his adversary. At 
 last, on a more rapid thrust than the others, he came too 
 late to the parry, and felt the point of his adversary's 
 sword at his breast. At the same time a red spot spread 
 from his shirt to his lace frill. D'Harmental saw it, and 
 with a spring engaged so near to Roquefinette that the 
 hilts almost touched. The captain instantly saw the dis- 
 advantage of his long sword in such a position. A thrust 
 sur les armes, and he was lost; he made a spring back- 
 wards, his foot slipped on the newly waxed floor, and his 
 sword-hand rose in spite of himself. Almost by instinct 
 D'Harmental profited by it, lunged within, and pierced 
 the captain's chest, where the blade disappeared to the 
 hilt. D'Harmental recovered to parry in return, but the 
 precaution was needless ; the captain stood still an instant, 
 opened his eyes wildly, the sword dropped from his grasp, 
 and, pressing his two hands to the wound, he fell at full 
 length on the floor. 
 
 " Curse the rapier ! " murmured he, and expired ; the 
 strip of steel had pierced his heart. 
 
 Still D'Harmental remained on guard, with his eyes 
 
 24
 
 370 ÏIIE ClIEVALlKlt D'ilAKMENTAL. 
 
 fixed ou the captain, only lowv'i-iiig liis sword as the dead 
 man let his slip. Finally, he found himself face to face 
 with a corpse, but this corpse had its eyes open, and 
 continued to look at him. Leaning against the door, the 
 chevalier remained an instant thunderstruck; his hair 
 bristled, his forehead became covered with perspiration, 
 he did not dare to move, he did not dare to speak, his 
 victory seemed to him a dream. Suddenly the mouth of 
 the dying man set in a last convulsion, — the partisan was 
 dead, and his secret had died with him. 
 
 How to recognise, in the midst of three hundred peas- 
 ants, buying and selling horses, the twelve or fifteen pre- 
 tended ones who were to carry off the regent? 
 
 D'Harmental gave a low cry; he would have given ten 
 years of his own life to add ten minutes to that of the 
 captain. He took the body in his arms, raised it, called 
 it, and, seeing his reddened hands, let it fall into a sea of 
 blood, which, following the inclination of the boards down 
 a channel in the floor, reached the door, and began to 
 spread over the threshold. 
 
 At that moment the horse, which was tied to the shut- 
 ter, neighed violently. 
 
 D'Harmental made three steps towards the door, then 
 he remembered that Koqueiinette might have some memo- 
 randum about him which might serve as a guide. In spite 
 of his repugnance, he searched the pockets of the corpse, 
 one after another, but the only papers he found were two 
 or three old bills of restaurateurs, and a love-letter from 
 La Normande. 
 
 Then, as he had nothing more to do in that room, he 
 filled his pockets with gold and notes, closed the door 
 after him, descended the stairs rapidly, left at a gallop 
 towards the Rue Gros Chenet, and disappeared round the 
 angle nearest to the Boulevard.
 
 Death of Roqulfinette.
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 371 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 
 
 While these terrible events were going forward in the 
 attic of Madame Denis's house, Bathilde, uneasy at seeing 
 her neighbour's window so long shut, had opened hers, 
 and the first thing she saw was the dapple-gray horse 
 attached to the shutter; but as she had not seen the 
 captain go in, she thought that the steed was for Raoul, 
 and that reflection immediately recalled both her former 
 and present fears. 
 
 Bathilde consequently remained at the window, looking 
 on all sides, and trying to read in the physiognomy of 
 every passer-by whether that individual was an actor in 
 the mysterious drama which was preparing, and in which 
 she instinctively understood that Raoul was to pHy the 
 chief part. She remained, then, with a beating heart, 
 her neck stretched out and her eyes wandering hither and 
 thither, when all at once her unquiet glances concentrated 
 on a point. The young girl gave a cry of joy, for she saw 
 Buvat coming round the corner from the Rue Montmartre. 
 Indeed, it was the worthy caligraphist in person, who, 
 looking behind him from time to time, as if he feared 
 pursuit, advanced with his cane horizontal, and at as 
 swift a run as his little legs permitted. 
 
 While he enters and embraces his ward, let us look 
 back and relate the causes of that absence, which doubt- 
 less caused as much uneasiness to our readers as to Nanette 
 and Bathilde. 
 
 It will be remembered how Buvat — driven by fear of 
 torture to the revelation of the conspiracy — had been 
 forced by Dubois to make every day, at his house, a copy
 
 372 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 of the documents which tlie pretended Prince de Listhnay 
 had given him. It was thus that the minister of the 
 regent had successively learned all the projects of the 
 conspirators, which he had defeated by the arrest of 
 Marshal Villeroy, and by the convocation of parliament. 
 Buvat had been at work as usual, but about four o'clock, 
 as he rose and took his hat in one hand and his cane in 
 the other, Dubois came in and took him into a little room 
 above that where he had been working, and, having arrived 
 there, asked him what he thought of the apartment. 
 Flattered by this deference of the prime minister's to his 
 judgment, Buvat hastened to reply that he thought it very 
 agreeable. 
 
 "So much the better," answered Dubois, "and I am very 
 glad that it is to your taste, for it is yours." 
 
 "Mine!" cried Buvat, astonished. 
 
 "Certainly; is it astonishing that I should wish to 
 have under my hand, or rather under my eyes, a personage 
 as important as yourself ? " 
 
 "But," asked Buvat, "am I then going to live in the 
 Palais Royal?" 
 
 "For some days at least," answered Dubois. 
 
 "Monseigneur, let me at all events inform Bathilde." 
 
 "That is just the thing. Bathilde must not be in- 
 formed." 
 
 " But you will permit that the first time I go out — " 
 
 "As long as you remain here you will not go out." 
 
 "But," cried Buvat, with terror, "but I am then a 
 prisoner?" 
 
 "A State prisoner, as you have said, my dear Buvat: 
 but calm yourself; your captivity will not be long, and 
 while it lasts we will take of you all the care which is the 
 due of the saviour of France, for you have saved France, 
 Monsieur Buvat." 
 
 "I have saved France, and here I am a prisoner under 
 bolts and bars ! " 
 
 " And where on earth do you see bolts and bars, my dear
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 373 
 
 Buvat?" said Dubois, laughing; "the door shuts with a 
 latch, and has not even a lock; as to the window, yours 
 looks on the gardens of the Palais Royal, and has not even 
 a lattice to intercept the view, a superb view. You are 
 lodged here like the regent himself." 
 
 " Oh, my little room ! Oh, my terrace ! " cried Buvat, 
 letting himself sink exhausted on a seat. 
 
 Dubois, who had no other consolation to bestow upon 
 Buvat, went out, and placed a sentinel at the door. The 
 explanation of this step is easy. Dubois feared that, see- 
 ing the arrest of Villeroy, they would suspect from whom 
 the information came, and would question Buvat, and that 
 he would confess all. This confession would, doubtless, 
 have arrested the conspirators in the midst of their 
 schemes, which, on the contrary, Dubois, informed before- 
 hand of all their plans, wished to see carried to a point, 
 so that in crushing one monster rebellion he might put an 
 end to all lesser ones. 
 
 Towards eight o'clock, as daylight began to fade, Buvat 
 heard a great noise at his door, and a sort of metallic 
 clashing, which did not tend to reassure him. He had 
 heard plenty of lamentable stories of State prisoners who 
 had been assassinated in their prisons, and he rose trem- 
 bling and ran to the window. The court and gardens of 
 the Palais Royal were full of people, the galleries began 
 to be lighted up, the whole scene was full of gaiety and 
 light. He heaved a profound sigh, thinking perhaps that 
 he might be bidding a last adieu to that life and anima- 
 tion. At that instant the door was opened; Buvat turned 
 round shuddering, and saw two tall footmen in red livery 
 bringing in a well-supplied table. The metallic noise 
 which had so much disturbed him had been the clattering 
 of the silver plates and dishes. 
 
 Buvat's first impression was one of thankfulness to 
 Heaven that so imminent a danger as that which he had 
 feared had changed into such a satisfactory event. But 
 immediately the idea struck him that the deadly inten-
 
 .'■.74 THE CHEVALÎEU D'IIAIÎMENTAL. 
 
 tiens held towards him were still the same, and that onlj 
 tlie mode of their execution was changed — instead of 
 being assassinated, like Jean-sans-Fenr, or the Due de 
 Guise, he was going to be poisoned, like the Dauphin, or 
 the Due de Burgundy. He threw a rapid glance on the 
 two footmen, and thought he remarked something sombre 
 which denoted the agents of a secret vengeance. From 
 this instant his determination was taken, and, in spite of 
 the scent of the dishes, which appeared to him an addi- 
 tional proof, he refused all sustenance, saying majestically 
 that he was neither hungry nor thirsty. 
 
 The footmen looked at each other knowingly. They 
 were two sharp fellows, and had understood Buvat's char- 
 acter at a glance, and not understanding a man not being 
 hungry when before a pheasant stuffed with truffles, or not 
 thirsty before a bottle of Chambertin, had penetrated the 
 prisoner's fears pretty quickly. They exchanged a few 
 words in a low tone, and the boldest of the two, seeing 
 that there was a means of drawing some profit from the 
 circumstances, advanced towards Buvat, who recoiled 
 before him as far as the room would allow. 
 
 "Monsieur," said he, in a reassuring tone, "we under- 
 stand your fears, and, as we are honest servants, we will 
 show you that we are incapable of lending ourselves to 
 the dealings which you suspect; consequently, during the 
 whole time that you remain here, my comrade and I, each 
 in our turn, will taste all the dishes which are brought 
 you, and all the wines which are sent in, happy if by our 
 devotion we can restore your tranquillity." 
 
 "Monsieur," answered Buvat, ashamed that his secret 
 sentiments had been discovered thus, "monsieur, you are 
 very polite, but in truth I am neither hungry nor thirsty." 
 
 "Never mind, monsieur," said the man, "as my comrade 
 and myself desire not to leave the smallest doubt on your 
 mind, we will execute what we have offered. Comtois, 
 my friend," continued the fellow, sitting down in the 
 place which had been intended for Buvat, "do me the
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 375 
 
 favour to help me to a little of that soup, a wing of that 
 pullet in rice, a glass of that Chambertin, there — to your 
 health, monsieur." 
 
 "Monsieur," said Buvat, opening his eyes and looking 
 at the footman who was dining so impudently in his stead, 
 "monsieur, it is I who am your servant, and I should wish 
 to know your name in order to preserve it in my memory 
 by the side of that of the good jailer who gave to Comte 
 l'Ancien a similar proof of devotion to that which you 
 give me." 
 
 "Monsieur," answered the footman, modestly, "I am 
 called Bourguignon, and here is my cojnrade Comtois, 
 whose turn for devotion will come to-morrow, and who, 
 when the moment shall have arrived, will not be behind- 
 hand. Comtois, my friend, a slice of that pheasant, and 
 a glass of champagne. Do you not see that, in order to 
 reassure monsieur completely, 1 must taste everything; it 
 is a severe test, I know, but where would be the merit of 
 being an honest man if it did not sometimes bring trials 
 like the present? To your health. Monsieur Buvat." 
 
 "Heaven preserve yours. Monsieur Bourguignon." 
 
 "Now, Comtois, hand me the dessert, so that I may 
 leave no doubt on Monsieur Buvat's mind." 
 
 "Monsieur Bourguignon, I beg you to believe that, if I 
 had any, they are completely dissipated." 
 
 "No, monsieur, no, I beg your pardon; you still have 
 some. Comtois, my friend, now the hot coffee, very hot; 
 I wish to drink it exactly as monsieur would have done, 
 and I presume it is thus that monsieur likes it." 
 
 "Boiling, monsieur, boiling," answered Buvat, bowing. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Bourguignon, sipping his coffee, and rais- 
 ing his eyes blissfully to the ceiling, "you are right, 
 monsieur. It is only so that coffee is good, — half-cold it 
 is a very second-rate beverage. This, I may say, is excel- 
 lent. Comtois, my friend, receive my compliments, you 
 wait admirably; now help me to take away the table. 
 You ought to know that there is nothing more unpleasant
 
 376 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 than the smell of wines and viands to those who are not 
 hungry nor thirsty. Monsieur," continued Bourguignon, 
 stepping towards the door, which he had carefully shut 
 during the repast, and which he opened while his com- 
 panion pushed the table before him, ''monsieur, if you 
 have need of anything, you have three bells, one at the 
 head of your bed and two at the mantel-piece. Those at 
 the fireplace are for us, that at the bed for your valet 
 de chamhrey 
 
 "Thank you, monsieur," said Buvat, "you are too good. 
 I do not wish to disturb any one." 
 
 " Do not trouble yourself about that, monsieur, — mon- 
 seigneur desires that you should make yourself at home." 
 
 "Monseigneur is very polite." 
 
 "Does monsieur require anything else ?" 
 
 "Nothing more, my friend, nothing more," said Buvat, 
 touched by so much devotion \ " nothing, except to express 
 my gratitude." 
 
 "I have only done my duty, monsieur," answered Bour- 
 guignon, modestly, bowing for the last time, and shutting 
 the door. 
 
 ^^ Ma foi!" said Buvat, following Bourguignon with his 
 eyes, " it must be allowed that some proverbs are great 
 liars. One says, 'As insolent as a lackey,' and yet here 
 is an individual practising that calling, who nevertheless 
 could not possibly be more polite. I shall never believe 
 in proverbs again, or, rather, I shall make a difference 
 between them." 
 
 And making himself this promise, Buvat found himself 
 alone. 
 
 Nothing makes a man so hungry as the sight of a good 
 dinner; that which had just been eaten under the good 
 man's very eyes surpassed in luxury everything that he 
 had ever dreamed of, and he began — influenced by the 
 decided calls of his stomach — to reproach himself for his 
 too great distrust of his persecutors; but it was too late. 
 Buvat, it is true, might have rung for Monsieur Bour-
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 377 
 
 guignoD, and requested a second dinner, but he was of too 
 timid a character for that, and the result was that he had 
 to search amongst his stock of proverbs for the most con- 
 soling, and having found, between his situation and the 
 proverb, "He who sleeps dines," an analogy which seemed 
 to him most direct, he resolved to make use of it, and, as 
 he could not dine, to endeavour at least to sleep. 
 
 But, at the moment of taking this resolution, Buvat 
 found himself assailed by new fears. Could they not 
 profit by his sleep to despatch him? The night is the 
 time of ambushes. He had often heard his mother tell of 
 beds which, by the lowering of their canopies, smothered 
 the unfortunate sleeper; of beds which sank through a 
 trap, so softly as not to wake the occupant; finally, of 
 secret doors opening in panels, and even in furniture, to 
 give entrance to assassins. This luxurious dinner, these 
 rich wines, had they not been sent him to insure a sounder 
 sleep? All this was possible, nay, probable, and Buvat, 
 who felt the instinct of self-preservation in the highest 
 degree, took his candle, and commenced a most minute 
 investigation. After having opened the doors of all the 
 cupboards, sounded all the panelling, Buvat had gone 
 down on his hands and feet, and was stretching his head 
 timidly under the bed, when he thought he heard steps 
 behind him. The position in which he found himself did 
 not permit him to act on the defensive; he therefore 
 remained motionless, and waited with a beating heart. 
 After a few seconds of solemn silence, which filled Buvat 
 with vague alarms, a voice said, — 
 
 "Your pardon; but is not monsieur looking for his 
 nightcap ? " 
 
 Buvat was discovered; — there was no means of escaping 
 the danger, if danger there was. He therefore drew his 
 head from under the bed, took his candle, and, remaining 
 on his knees as a humble and beseeching posture, he 
 turned towards the individual who had just addressed 
 him, and found himself face to face with a man dressed
 
 378 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 in black, and carrying folded up on his arm many articles, 
 which Buvat recognised as human clothes. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur," said Buvat, seizing the opening which 
 was oiïered to him, with a presence of mind on which he 
 secretly congratulated himself; " is that search forbidden? " 
 
 "Why did not monsieur, instead of troubling himself, 
 ring the bell? I have the honour to be appointed 
 monsieur's valet de chambre, and I have brought him a 
 nightcap and nightshirt." 
 
 And with these words the valet de chambre spread 
 on the bed a nightshirt embroidered with flowers, a cap of 
 the finest lawn, and a rose-coloured ribbon. Buvat, still 
 on his knees, regarded him with the greatest astonishment. 
 
 "Now," said the valet de cJiambre, "will monsieur allow 
 me to help him to undress?" 
 
 "No, monsieur, no," said .Buvat, accompanying the 
 refusal with the sweetest smile he could assume. "No, I 
 am accustomed to undress myself. I thank you, mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 The valet de chambre retired, and Buvat remained alone. 
 
 As the inspection of the room was completed, and as his 
 increasing hunger rendered sleep more necessary, Buvat 
 began to undress, sighing; placed, in order not to be left 
 in the dark, a candle on the corner of the chimney-piece, 
 and sprang, with a groan, into the softest and warmest 
 bed he had ever slept on. 
 
 " The bed is not sleep " is an axiom which Buvat might, 
 from experience, have added to the list of his true prov- 
 erbs. Either from fear or hunger, Buvat passed a very 
 disturbed night, and it was not till near morning that he 
 fell asleep; even then his slumbers were peopled with 
 the most terrible visions and nightmares. He was just 
 waking from a dream that he had been poisoned by a leg 
 of mutton, when the valet de chambre entered, and asked 
 at what time he would like breakfast. 
 
 Buvat was not in the habit of breakfasting in bed, so 
 he rose quickly, and dressed in haste ; he had just finished,
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 379 
 
 when Messieurs Bourguignon and Comtois entered, bring- 
 ing the breakfast, as the day before they had brought the 
 dinner. 
 
 Then took place a second rehearsal of the scene which 
 we have before related, with the exception that now it was 
 Monsieur Comtois who ate and Monsieur Bourguignon who 
 waited; but when it came to the coffee, and Buvat, who 
 had taken nothing for twenty-four hours, saw his dearly 
 loved beverage, after having passed from the silver coffee- 
 pot into the porcelain cup, pass into the cavernous mouth 
 of Monsieur Comtois, he could hold out no longer, and 
 declared that his stomach demanded to be amused with 
 something, and that, consequently, he desired that they 
 would leave him the coffee and a roll. This declaration 
 appeared to disturb the devotion of Monsieur Comtois, 
 who was nevertheless obliged to satisfy himself with one 
 cup of the odoriferous liquid, which , together with a roll 
 and the sugar, was placed on a little table, while the two 
 scamps carried off the rest of the feast, laughing in their 
 sleeves. 
 
 Scarcely was the door closed, when Buvat darted to- 
 wards the little table, and, without even waiting to dip 
 one into the other, ate the bread and drank the coffee; 
 then, a little comforted by that repast, insufficient as it 
 was, he began to look at things in a less gloomy point of 
 view. 
 
 In truth, Buvat was not wanting in a certain kind of 
 good sense, and as he had passed the preceding evening 
 and night, and entered on the present morning, withoul 
 interference, he began to understand that, though fron- 
 some political motive they had deprived him of his lib- 
 erty, they were far from wishing to shorten his days, and 
 surrounded him, on the contrary, with cares of which he 
 had never before been the object. He had seen that the 
 dinner of the day before was better than his ordinary 
 dinner, that the bed was softer than his ordinary bed, 
 that the coffee he had just drunk possessed an aroma,
 
 ;1S0 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 which the mixture of chicory took away from his, and he 
 couhl not conceal from himself that the elastic couches 
 and stuffed chairs which he had sat upon for the last 
 twenty-four hours were much preferable to the hair sofa 
 and cane chairs of his own establishment. The only 
 thing, then, which remained to trouble him, was the 
 uneasiness which Bathilde would feel at his not returning. 
 He had for an instant the idea — not daring to renew the 
 request which he had made the day before, to have news 
 of him sent to his ward — of imitating the man with the 
 iron mask, who had thrown a silver plate from the window 
 of his prison on to the shore, by throwing a letter from 
 his balcony into the courtyard of the Palais Royal; but 
 he knew what a fatal result this infraction of the will of 
 Monsieur de Saint-Mars had had for the unfortunate pris- 
 oner, so that he feared, by such an action, to increase the 
 rigours of his captivity, which at present seemed to him 
 tolerable. 
 
 The result of all these reflections was, that Buvat passed 
 the morning in a much less agitated manner than he had 
 the evening and the night; moreover, his hunger — 
 appeased by the roll and the coffee — only existed in the 
 form of that appetite which is an enjoyment when one is 
 sure of a good dinner. Add to all this the particularly 
 cheerful lookout which the prisoner had from his window, 
 and it will be easily understood that midday arrived with- 
 out too many sorrows, or too much ennui. 
 
 Exactly at one o'clock the door opened, and the table 
 reappeared ready laid, and brought, like the day before 
 and that morning, by the two valets. But this time it 
 was neither Monsieur Bourguignon nor Monsieur Comtois 
 who sat down to it. Buvat declared himself perfectly 
 reassured concerning the intentions of his august host; he 
 thanked Messieurs Comtois and Bourguignon for the devo- 
 tion of which each in turn had given him a proof, and 
 begged them to wait upon him in their turn. The two 
 servants made wrj faces, but obeyed. It will be under-
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 381 
 
 îtood that the happy disposition in which Buvat now was 
 became more blissful under the influence of a good dinner. 
 Buvat ate all the eatables, drank all the drinkables, and 
 at last, after having sipped his coffee — a luxury which he 
 usually only allowed himself on Sundays — and having 
 capped the Arabian nectar with a glass of Madame Anfoux's 
 liquor, was, it must be confessed, in a state bordering 
 upon ecstasy. 
 
 That evening the supper was equally successful ; but as 
 Buvat had abandoned himself at dinner rather freely to 
 the consumption of Chambertin and Sillery, about eight 
 o'clock in the evening he found himself in a state of glori- 
 fication impossible to describe. The consequence was, 
 that when the valet de chambre entered, instead of finding 
 him, as the evening before, with his head under the bed, 
 he found Buvat seated on a comfortable sofa, his feet on 
 the hobs, his head leaning back, his eyes winking, and 
 singing between his teeth, with an expression of infinite 
 tenderness, 
 
 " Then let me go, 
 And let me play 
 Beneath the hazel-tree," — 
 
 which, as may be seen, was a great improvement on the 
 state of the worthy writer twenty-four hours before. 
 Moreover, when the valet de chambre offered to help him 
 to undress, Buvat, who found a slight difficulty in expres- 
 sing his thoughts, contented himself with smiling in sign 
 of approbation; then extended his arms to have his coat 
 taken off, then his legs to have his slippers removed; but, 
 in spite of his state of exaltation, it is only just to Buvat 
 to say, that it was only when he found himself alone that 
 he laid aside the rest of his garments. 
 
 This time, contrarj^ to what he had done the day before, 
 he stretched himself out luxuriously in his bed, and 
 fell asleep in five minutes, and dreamed that he was the 
 Grand Turk. 
 
 He awoke as fresh as a rose, having only one trouble,
 
 382 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 the uneasiness that Bathilde must experience, but other- 
 wise perfectly happy. 
 
 It may easily be imagined that the breakfast did not 
 lessen his good spirits; on the contrary, being informed 
 that he might write to Monsieur the Archbishop of Cam- 
 bray, he asked for paper and ink, which were brought 
 him, took from his pocket his penknife, which never left 
 him, cut his pen with the greatest care, and commenced, 
 in his finest writing, a most touching request, that if his 
 captivity was to last, Bathilde might be sent for, or at 
 least that she might be informed that, except his liberty, 
 he was in want of nothing, thanks to the kindness of the 
 prime minister. 
 
 This request, to the caligraphy of which Buvat had 
 devoted no little care, and whose capital letters repre- 
 sented different plants, trees, or animals, occupied the 
 worthy writer from breakfast till dinner. On sitting 
 down to table he gave the note to Bourguignon, who 
 charged himself with carrying it to the prime minister, 
 saying that Comtois would wait during his absence. In a 
 quarter of an hour Bourguignon returned, and informed 
 Buvat that monseigneur had gone out, but that — in his 
 absence — the petition had been given to the person who 
 aided him in his public affairs, and that person had 
 requested that Monsieur Buvat would come and see him 
 as soon as he had finished his dinner, but hoped that 
 monsieur would not in any degree hurry himself, since he 
 who made the request was dining himself. In accordance 
 with this permission Buvat took his time, feasted on the 
 best cookery, imbibed the most generous wines, sipped his 
 coffee, played with his glass of liquor, and then — the last 
 operation completed — declared in a resolute tone that he 
 was ready to appear before the substitute of the prime 
 minister. 
 
 The sentinel had received orders to let him pass, so 
 Buvat, conducted by Bourguignon, passed proudly by 
 him. For some time they followed a long corridor, than
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 383 
 
 descended a staircase ; at last the footman opened a door, 
 and announced Monsieur Buvat. 
 
 Buvat found himself in a sort of laboratory, situated on 
 the ground floor, with a man of from forty to forty-two, 
 who was entirely unknown to him, and who was very 
 simply dressed, and occupied in following — at a blazing 
 furnace — some chemical experiment, to which he ap- 
 peared to attach great importance. This man, seeing 
 Buvat, raised his head, and having looked at him 
 curiously, — 
 
 "Monsieur," said he, "are you Jean Buvat ?" 
 
 "At your service, monsieur," answered Buvat, bowing. 
 
 "The request which you have just sent to the abbé is 
 your handwriting ? " 
 
 "My own, monsieur." 
 
 "You write a fine hand." 
 
 Buvat bowed with a proudly modest smile. 
 
 "The abbé," continued the unknown, "has informed me 
 of the services which you have rendered us." 
 
 "Monseigneur is too good," murmured Buvat, "it was 
 not worth the trouble." 
 
 " How ! not worth the trouble ? Indeed, Monsieur 
 Buvat, it was, on the contrary, well worth the trouble, 
 and the proof is, that, if you have any favour to ask from 
 the regent, I will charge myself with the message." 
 
 "Monsieur," said Buvat, "since you are so good as to 
 offer to interpret my sentiments to his royal highness, 
 have the kindness to request him, when he is less pressed, 
 if it is not too inconvenient, to pay me my arrears." 
 
 " How ! your arrears. Monsieur Buvat ? What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 "I mean, monsieur, that I have the honour to be 
 employed at the royal library, but that for six years I 
 have received no salary." 
 
 " And how much do your arrears amount to ? " 
 
 "Monsieur, I must have a pen and ink to calculate 
 exactly."
 
 384 THE CHEVALIER D'H ARMENT AL. 
 
 "Oh, but something near the mark, — calculate from 
 memory." 
 
 "To five thousand three hundred and odd francs, besides 
 the fractions of sous and deniers." 
 
 " And you wish for payment, Monsieur Buvat ? " 
 
 "I do not deny it, monsieur; it would give me great 
 pleasure." 
 
 " And is this all you ask ? " 
 
 "All." 
 
 "But do you not ask anything for the service which 
 you have just rendered France ? " 
 
 "Indeed, monsieur, I should like permission to let my 
 ward Bathilde know that she may be easy on my account, 
 and that I am a prisoner at the Palais Koyal. I would 
 also ask — if it would not be imj^osing upon your kindness 
 too much — that she might be allowed to pay me a little 
 visit, but, if this second request is indiscreet, I will 
 confine myself to the first." 
 
 "We will do better than that; the causes for which you 
 were retained exist no more, and we are going to set you 
 at liberty; so you can go yourself to carry the news to 
 Bathilde." 
 
 "What, monsieur, what!" cried Buvat; "am I, then, 
 no longer a prisoner ? " 
 
 "You can go when you like." 
 
 "Monsieur, I am your very humble servant, and I have 
 the honour of presenting you my respects." 
 
 "Pardon, Monsieur Buvat, one word more." 
 
 "Two, monsieur." 
 
 "I repeat to you that France is under obligations to 
 you, which she will acquit. Write, then, to the regent, 
 inform him of what is due to you, show him your situa- 
 tion, and if you have a particular desire for anything, say 
 so boldly. I guarantee that he will grant your request." 
 
 "Monsieur, you are too good, and I shall not fail. I 
 hope, then, that out of the first money which comes into 
 the treasury — "
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 385 
 
 "You will be paid. I give you my word." 
 
 " Monsieur, this very day my petition shall be addressed 
 to the regent." 
 
 "And to-morrow you will be paid." 
 
 "Ah, monsieur, what goodness ! " 
 
 "Go, Monsieur Buvat, go; your ward expects you." 
 
 "You are right, monsieur, but she will lose nothing by 
 having waited for me, since I bring her such good news. I 
 may have the honour of seeing you again, monsieur. Ah ! 
 pardon, would it be an indiscretion to ask your name ? " 
 
 "Monsieur Philippe." 
 
 " Au revoir ! Monsieur Philippe ! " 
 
 "Adieu ! Monsieur Buvat. One instant, — I must give 
 orders that they are to allow you to pass." 
 
 At these words he rang : an usher appeared. 
 
 "Send Kavanne." 
 
 The usher went out; a few seconds afterwards a young 
 officer of guards entered. 
 
 "Ra vanne," said Monsieur Philippe, "conduct this gen- 
 tleman to the gate of the Palais Royal. There he is free 
 to go where he wishes." 
 
 "Yes, monseigneur," answered the young officer. 
 
 A cloud passed over Buvat's eyes, and he opened his 
 mouth to ask who it was that was being called monseigneur, 
 but Ravanne did not leave him time. 
 
 "Come, monsieur," said he, "I await you." 
 
 Buvat looked at Monsieur Philippe and the page with 
 a stupefied air; but the latter — not understanding his 
 hesitation — renewed his invitation to follow. Buvat 
 obeyed, drawing out his handkerchief, and wiping his 
 forehead. 
 
 At the door, the sentinel wished to stop Buvat. 
 
 "By the order of his Royal Highness, Monseigneur the 
 Regent, monsieur is free," said Ravanne. 
 
 The soldier presented arms, and allowed him to pass. 
 
 Buvat thought he should faint; he felt his legs fail him, 
 and leaned against a wall. 
 
 25
 
 386 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 " What is the matter, monsieur ? " asked his guide. 
 
 "]^ardon, monsieur," murmured Buvat, "but who is the 
 person to whom I have just had the honour of speaking ? " 
 
 "Monseigneur the llegent in person." 
 
 " Not possible ! " 
 
 "Not only possible, but true." 
 
 " What ! it was the regent himself who promised to pay 
 me my arrears ? " 
 
 " I do not know what he promised you, but I know that 
 the person who gave me the order to accompany you was 
 the regent." 
 
 "But he told me he was called Philippe." 
 
 "Well, he is, —Philippe d'Orléans." 
 
 " That is true, monsieur, that is true, Philippe is his 
 Christian name. The regent is a brave man, and when I 
 remember that there exist scoundrels who conspire against 
 him, — against a man who has promised to pay me my 
 arrears — But they deserve to be hanged, all of them, to 
 be broken on the wheel, drawn and quartered, burnt alive: 
 do not you think so, monsieur ?" 
 
 "Monsieur," said Ravanne, laughing, "I have no 
 opinion on matters of such importance. We are at the 
 gate; I should be happy to accompany you further, but 
 monseigneur leaves in half an hour for the Abbey of 
 Chelles, and, as he has some orders to give me before his 
 departure, I am, to my great regret, obliged to quit you." 
 
 "All the regret is on my side, monsieur," said Buvat, 
 graciously, and answering by a profound bow to the slight 
 nod of the young man, who, when Buvat raised his head, 
 had already disappeared. This departure left Buvat per- 
 fectly free in his movements, and he profited thereby to 
 take his way down the Place des Victoires towards the 
 Rue du Temps Perdu, round the corner of which he turned 
 at the very moment when D'Harmental ran his sword 
 through the body of Roquefinette. It was at this moment 
 that poor Bathilde — who was far from suspecting what 
 was passing in her neighbour's room — had seen her
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 387 
 
 guardian, and had rushed to meet him on the stairs, where 
 Buvat and she had met at the third flight. 
 
 "Oh, my dear, dear father," cried Bathilde, remounting 
 the staircase in Buvat's arms, and stopping to embrace 
 him at every step, "where have you been? What has 
 happened? How is it that we have not seen you since 
 Monday ? What uneasiness you have caused us, mon 
 Dieu ! But something extraordinary must have occurred." 
 
 "Yes, most extraordinary," answered Buvat. 
 
 "Ah, mon Dieu ! tell me then, first, where do you come 
 from ? " 
 
 "From the Palais Koyal." 
 
 "What! from the Palais Koyal; and with whom were 
 you stopping at the Palais Royal ? " 
 
 "The regent." 
 
 "You with the regent ! and what about ?" 
 
 "I was a prisoner." 
 
 " A prisoner, — you ! " 
 
 " A State prisoner." 
 
 " And why were you a prisoner ? " 
 
 "Because I have saved France." 
 
 " Oh, father ! are you mad ? " cried Bathilde, terrified. 
 
 " No, but there has been enough to make me so if I had 
 not had a pretty strong head." 
 
 " Oh, explain, for God's sake ! " 
 
 "Fancy that there was a conspiracy against the regent." 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu ! " 
 
 "And that I belonged to it." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes, I, without being — that is to say, you know that 
 Prince de Listhnay ? " 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "A sham prince, my child, a sham prince ! " 
 
 "But the copies which you made for him ?" 
 
 "Manifestos, proclamations, incendiary papers, a gen- 
 eral revolt — Brittany — Normandy — the States-General 
 — King of Spain — I have discovered all this."
 
 388 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "You?" cried Bathilde, horrified. 
 
 "Yes, I; and tlie regent has called me the savioar of 
 France, — me; and is going to pay me my arrears." 
 
 " My father, my father, you talk of conspirators, do you 
 remember the name of any of them ? " 
 
 "First, Monsieur the Due du Maine; fancy that mis- 
 erable bastard conspiring against a man like Monseigneur 
 the Regent. Then a Comte de Laval, a Marquis de Pom- 
 padour, a Baron de Valef, the Prince de Cellamare, the Abbé 
 Brigaud, that abominable Abbé Brigand ! Think of my 
 having copied the list." 
 
 "My father," said Bathilde, shuddering with fear, "my 
 father, amongst all those names, did you not see the name 
 — the name — of — Chevalier — Raoul d'Harmental ? " 
 
 "That I did," cried Buvat, "the Chevalier Raoul d'Har- 
 mental, — why he is the head of the company ; but the 
 regent knows them all. This very evening they will all 
 be arrested, and to-morrow hung, drawn, quartered, broken 
 on the wheel." 
 
 " Oh, luckless, shameful, that you are ! " cried Bathilde, 
 wringing her hands wildly; "you have killed the man 
 whom I love; but 1 swear to you, by the memory of my 
 mother, that if he dies I will die also ! " 
 
 And thinking that she might still be in time to warn 
 D'Harmental of the danger which threatened him, Bathilde 
 left Buvat confounded, darted to the door, flew down the 
 staircase, cleared the street at two bounds, rushed up 
 the stairs, and, breathless, terrified, dying, hurled herself 
 against the door of D'Harmental's room, which, badly 
 closed by the chevalier, yielded before her, exposing to 
 her view the body of the captain stretched on the floor, 
 and swimming in a sea of blood. 
 
 At this sight, so widely different from what she ex- 
 pected, Bathilde, not thinking that she might perhaps be 
 compromising her lover, sprang towards the door, calling 
 for help, but on reaching the threshold, either from weak- 
 ness, or from the blood, her foot slipped, and she fell 
 backwards with a terrible cry.
 
 THE SAVIOUR OF FRANCE. 389 
 
 The neighbours came running in the direction of the 
 cry, and found that Bathikle had fainted, and that her 
 head, in falling against the angle of the door, had been 
 badly wounded. 
 
 They carried Bathilde to Madame Denis's room, and the 
 good woman hastened to offer her hospitality. 
 
 As to Captain Koquefinette, as he had torn off the 
 address of the letter which he had in his pocket to light 
 his pipe with, and had no other paper to indicate his 
 name or residence, they carried his body to the Morgue, 
 where, three days afterwards, it was recognised by La 
 Kormande.
 
 390 THE CHEVALIER DH ARMENT AL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 GOD DISPOSES. 
 
 D'Harmental, as we have seen, had set off at a gallop, 
 feeling that he had not an instant to lose in bringing 
 about the changes which the death of Captain Roquefinette 
 rendered necessary in his hazardous enterprise. In the 
 hope of recognising by some sign the individuals who were 
 destined to play the part of supernumeraries in this great 
 drama, he followed the Boulevards as far as the Porte 
 Saint Martin, and, having arrived there, turned to the 
 left, and was in the midst of the horse market: it was 
 there, it will be remembered, that the twelve or fifteen 
 sham peasants enlisted by Roquefinette waited the orders 
 of their captain. 
 
 But, as the deceased had said, no sign pointed out to 
 the eye of the stranger who were the men, clothed like the 
 rest, and scarcely known to one another. D'Harmental, 
 therefore, sought vainly; all the faces were unknown to 
 him; buyers and sellers appeared equally indifferent to 
 everything except the bargains which they were conclud- 
 ing. Twice or thrice, after having approached persons 
 whom he fancied he recognised as false bargainers, he 
 went away without even speaking to them, so great was 
 the probability that, among the five or six hundred indi- 
 viduals who were on the ground, he should make some 
 mistake which might be not only useless, but even dan- 
 gerous. 
 
 The situation was pitiable. D'Harmental unquestion- 
 ably had there ready to his hand all the means necessary 
 to the happy completion of his plot, but he had, in killing 
 the captain, broken with his own hand the thread which
 
 GOD DISPOSES. 391 
 
 should have served him as a clue to them, and, the centre 
 link broken, the whole chain had become useless. 
 
 D'Harmental bit his lips till the blood came, and wan- 
 dered to and fro, from end to end of the market, still 
 hoping that some unforeseen event would get him out of 
 his difficulty. Time, however, flowed away, the market 
 presented the same aspect, no one spoke to him, and two 
 peasants to whom despair had caused him to address some 
 ambiguous words, had opened their eyes and mouths in 
 such profound astonishment that he had instantly broken 
 off the conversation, convinced that he was mistaken. 
 
 Five o'clock struck. 
 
 At eight or nine the regent would repair to Chelles, 
 there was therefore no time to be lost, particularly as this 
 ambuscade was the last resource for the conspirators, who 
 might be arrested at any moment, and who staked their 
 remaining hopes on this last throw. D'Harmental did 
 not conceal from himself the difficulties of the situation; 
 he had claimed for himself the honour of the enterprise; 
 on him therefore rested all the responsibility, — and that 
 responsibility was terrible. On the other hand, he found 
 himself in one of those situations where courage is useless, 
 and where human will shatters itself against an impos- 
 sibility, and where the last chance is to confess one's 
 weakness, and ask aid from those who expect it of us. • 
 But D'Harmental was a man of determination ; his reso- 
 lution was soon taken. He took a last turn round the 
 market to see if some conspirator would not betray him- 
 self by his impatience ; but, seeing that all faces retained 
 their expression of unconcern, he put his horse to the 
 gallop, rode down the Boulevards, gained the Faubourg 
 Saint Antoine, dismounted at No. 15, went up the stair- 
 case, opened the door of a little room, and found himself 
 in the company of Madame du Maine, Laval, Valef, Pom- 
 padour, Malezieux, and Brigaud. 
 
 A general cry arose on seeing him. 
 
 D'Harmental related everything, — the pretensions of
 
 392 THE CHEVALIER D'HAUMENÏAL. 
 
 Roquefinette, tlie discussion which had followed, the duel 
 which had terminated that discussion. He opened his 
 cloak and showed his shirt saturated with blood; then he 
 passed to the hopes which he had entertained of recognis- 
 ing the sham peasants, and putting himself at their head 
 in place of the captain. He showed his hopes destroyed, 
 his investigations useless, and wound up by an appeal to 
 Laval, Pompadour, and Valef, who answered that they 
 were ready to follow the chevalier to the end of the earth, 
 and to obey his orders. 
 
 Nothing was lost then, — four resolute men, acting on 
 their own account, were well worth twelve or fifteen hired 
 vagabonds, who were not influenced by any motive beyond 
 that of gaining some hundred louis apiece. The horses 
 were ready in the stable, every one had come armed; 
 D'Avranches was not yet gone, which reinforced the little 
 troop by another devoted man. They sent for masks of 
 black velvet, so as to hide from the regent as long as 
 possible who his enemies were, left with Madame du 
 Maine Malezieux, who from his age, and Brigand, who 
 from his profession, were naturally excluded from such 
 an expedition, fixed a rendezvous at Saint Mandé, and 
 left each one separately, so as not to arouse suspicions. 
 An hour afterwards the five friends were reunited, and 
 ambushed on the road to Chelles, between Vincennes and 
 Nogent-sur-Marne. 
 
 Half-past six struck on the château clock. 
 
 D'Avranches had been in search of information. The 
 regent had passed at about half -past three ; he had neither 
 guards nor suite, he was in a carriage and four, ridden 
 by two jockeys, and preceded by a single outrider. There 
 was no resistance to be feared; on arresting the prince 
 they would turn his course towards Charenton, where the 
 postmaster was, as we have said, in the interest of Madame 
 du Maine, take him into the courtyard, whose door would 
 close upon him, and force him to enter a travelling car- 
 riage, which would be waiting with the postilion in his
 
 GOD DISPOSES. 393 
 
 saddle. D'Harmental and Valef would seat themselves by 
 him, they would cross the Marne at Alfort, the Seine at 
 Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, reach Grand-Vaux, then Mon- 
 théry, and find themselves on the road to Spain. If at 
 any of the villages where they changed horses the regent 
 endeavoured to call out, D'Harmental and Valef would 
 threaten him, and, if he called out in spite of the menaces, 
 they had that famous passport to prove that he who 
 claimed assistance was not the prince, but only a madman 
 who thought himself the regent, and whom they were 
 conducting to his family, who lived at Saragossa. All 
 this was a little dangerous, it is true, but, as is well 
 known, these are the very enterprises which succeed, so 
 much the easier from their unforeseen audacity. 
 
 Seven o'clock, eight o'clock, struck successively. 
 D'Harmental and his companions saw with pleasure the 
 night approaching, and the darkness falling more and 
 more dense and black around them; two or three carriages 
 had already given false alarms, but had had no other effect 
 than preparing them for the real attack. At half -past 
 eight the night was pitch dark, and a sort of natural fear, 
 which the conspirators had felt at first, began to change 
 into impatience. 
 
 At nine o'clock they thought they could distinguish 
 sounds. D'Avranches lay down with his ear to the 
 ground, and distinctly heard the rolling of a carriage. At 
 that instant they saw, at about a thousand paces from the 
 angle of the road, a point of light like a star; the conspir- 
 ators trembled with excitement, it was evidently the 
 outrider with his torch. There was soon no doubt, — they 
 saw the carriage with its two lanterns. D'Harmental, 
 Pompadour, Valef, and Laval, grasped one another's 
 hands, put on their masks, and each one took the place 
 assigned to him. The carriage advanced rapidly, — it was 
 really that of the duke. By the light of the torch which 
 he carried, they could distinguish the red dress of the 
 outrider, some five and twenty paces before the horses.
 
 394 THE ciiKVALiKR d'iiarmental. 
 
 The road was silent and deserted, everything was favoura- 
 ble. D'Harmental threw a last glauce on his companions. 
 D'Avranches was in the middle of the road pretending 
 to be druuk, Laval and Pompadour one on each side of 
 the path, and opposite him Valef, who was cocking his 
 pistols. As to the outrider, the two jockeys, and the 
 prince, it was evident that they were all in a state of per- 
 fect security, and would fall quietly into the trap. The 
 carriage still advanced; already the outrider had passed 
 D'Harmental and Valef, suddenly he struck against 
 D'Avranches, who sprang up, seized the bridle, snatched 
 the torch from his hand, and extinguished it. At this 
 sight the jockeys tried to turn the carriage, but it was too 
 late; Pompadour and Laval sprang upon them pistol in 
 hand, whilst D'Harmental and Valef presented themselves 
 at the two doors, extinguished the lanterns, and intimated 
 to the prince that if he did not make any resistance his 
 life would be spared, but that if, on the contrary, he 
 defended himself, or cried out, they were determined to 
 proceed to extremities. 
 
 Contrary to the expectation of D'Harmental and Valef, 
 who knew the courage of the regent, the prince only 
 said, — 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, do not harm me. I will go wherever 
 you wish." 
 
 D'Harmental and Valef threw a glance at tlie road; 
 they saw Pompadour and D'Avranches leading into the 
 depth of the wood the outrider, the two jockeys, the out- 
 rider's horse, and two of the carriage horses which they 
 had unharnessed. The chevalier sprang from his horse, 
 mounted that of the first postilion; Laval and Valef 
 placed themselves before the doors, the carriage set off at 
 a gallop, and, taking the first turn to the left, began to 
 roll, without noise and without light, in the direction of 
 Charenton. All the arrangements had been so perfect, 
 that the seizure had not occupied more than five minutes; 
 no resistance had been made, not a cry had been uttered.
 
 GOD DISPOSES. 395 
 
 Most assuredly, this time fortune was on the side of the 
 conspirators. 
 
 But having arrived at the end of the cross road, D'Har- 
 mental encountered a first obstacle; the barrier — either 
 by accident or design — was closed, and they were obliged 
 to retrace their steps and take another road. The chev- 
 alier turned his horses, took a lateral alley, and the 
 journey, interrupted for an instant, recommenced at an 
 increased speed. 
 
 The new route which the chevalier had taken led him 
 to a four-cross road; one of the roads led straight to 
 Charenton. There was no time to lose, and in any event 
 he must traverse this square. For an instant he thought 
 he distinguished men in the darkness before him, but this 
 vision disappeared like a mist, and the carriage continued 
 its progress without interruption. On approaching the 
 cross roads D'Harmental fancied he heard the neighing of 
 a horse, and a sort of ringing of iron, like sabres being 
 drawn from their sheaths, but either taking it for the 
 wind among the leaves, or for some other noise for which 
 he need not stop, he continued with the same swiftness, 
 the same silence, and in the midst of the same darkness. 
 But, having arrived at the cross roads, D'Harmental 
 noticed a singular circi;mstance, a sort of wall seemed to 
 close all the roads; something was happening. D'Har- 
 mental stopped the carriage, and wished to return by the 
 road he had come down, but a similar wall had closed 
 behind him. At that instant he heard the voices of Laval 
 and Valef crying, — 
 
 " We are surrounded, save yourself ! " 
 
 And both left the doors, leaped their horses over the 
 ditch, darted into the forest, and disappeared amongst the 
 trees. 
 
 But it was impossible for D'Harmental, who was 
 mounted on the postillion's horse, to follow his com- 
 panions, and, not being able to escape the living wall, 
 which the chevalier recognised as a regiment of mus-
 
 396 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 keteers, he tried to break through it, and with his head 
 lowered, and a pistol in each hand, spurred his horse up 
 the nearest road, without considering whether it was the 
 right one. He had scarcely gone ten steps, however, 
 wlien a musket-ball entered the head of his horse, which 
 fell, entangling D'llarmental's leg. Instantly eight or 
 ten cavaliers sprang upon him; he fired one pistol by 
 hazard, and put the other to his head, to blow his brains 
 out, but he had not time, for two musketeers seized him 
 by the arms, and four others dragged him from beneath 
 the horse. The pretended prince descended from the car- 
 riage, and turned out to be a valet in disguise; they 
 placed D'Harmental with two officers inside the carriage, 
 and harnessed another horse in the place of the one which 
 had been shot. The carriage once more moved forward, 
 taking a new direction, and escorted by a squadron of 
 musketeers. A quarter of an hour afterwards it rolled 
 over a drawbridge, a heavy door grated upon its hinges, 
 and D'Harmental passed under a sombre and vaulted gate- 
 way, on the inner side of which an officer in the uniform 
 of a colonel was waiting for him. It was Monsieur de 
 Launay, the governor of the Bastille. 
 
 If our readers desire to know how the plot had been 
 discovered, they must recall the conversation between 
 Dubois and La Fillon. The gossip of the prime minister, 
 it will be remembered, suspected Roquefinette of being 
 mixed up in some illicit proceeding, and had denounced 
 him on condition of his life being spared. A few days 
 afterwards D'Harmental came to her house, and she recog- 
 nised him as the young man who had held the former 
 conference with Roquefinette. She had consequently 
 mounted the stairs behind him, and, going into the next 
 room, had, by aid of a hole bored in the partition, heard 
 everything. 
 
 What she had heard was the project for carrying off the 
 regent on his return from Chelles. Dubois had been 
 informed the same evening, and, in order to take the
 
 GOD DISPOSES. 397 
 
 conspirators in the act, had put a suit of the regent's 
 clothes on Monsieur Bourguignon, and, having surrounded 
 the Bois de Vincennes with a regiment of Gray Musket- 
 eers, besides light-horse and dragoons, had produced the 
 result we have just related. The head of the plot had 
 been taken in the fact, and as the prime minister knew 
 the names of all the conspirators there was little chance 
 remaining for them of escape from the meshes of the vast 
 net which was hourly closing around them.
 
 398 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 A PRIME minister's MEMORY. 
 
 {Vhen Bathilde reopened her eyes, she found herself in 
 Mademoiselle Emilia's room. Mirza was lying on the end 
 of the bed; the two sisters were one at each side of her 
 pillow, and Buvat, overcome by grief, was sitting in a 
 corner, his head bent, and his hands resting on his knees. 
 
 At first all her thoughts were confused, and her sensa- 
 tion was one of bodily pain; she raised her hand to her 
 head; the wound was behind the temple. A doctor, who 
 had been called in, had arranged the first dressing, and 
 left orders that he was to be sent for if fever declared 
 itself. 
 
 Astonished to find herself — on waking from a sleep 
 which had appeared to her heavy and painful — in bed in 
 a strange room, the young girl turned an inquiring glance 
 on each person present, but Emilie and Athenais shunned 
 her eyes, and Buvat heaved a mournful sigh. Mirza alone 
 stretched out her little head for a caress. Unluckily for 
 the coaxing little creature, Bathilde began to recover her 
 memory; the veil which was drawn before the late events 
 rose little by little, and soon she began to connect the 
 broken threads which might guide her in the past. She 
 recalled the return of Buvat, what he had told her of the 
 conspiracy, the danger which would result to D'Harmental 
 from the revelation he had made. Then she remembered 
 her hope of being in time to save him, the rapidity with 
 which she had crossed the street and mounted the stair- 
 case; lastly, her entry into Raoul's room returned to hei 
 memory, and once more she found herself before the 
 corpse of Roquefinette.
 
 A PRIME minister's MEMORY. 399 
 
 "And he," she cried, "what has become of him ?" 
 
 No one answered, lor neither of the three persons who 
 were in the room knew what reply to give; only Buvat, 
 choking with tears, rose, and went towards the door. 
 Bathilde understood the grief and remorse expressed in 
 that mute withdrawal j she stopped him by a look, and, 
 extending her arms towards him, — • 
 
 "My father," said she, "do you no longer love your 
 poor Bathilde ? " 
 
 " I no longer love you, my darling child ! " cried Buvat, 
 falling on his knees, and kissing her hand, "I love you 
 no longer ! My God ! it will be you who will not love me 
 now, and you will be right, for I am worthless. I ought 
 to have known that that young man loved you, and ought 
 to have risked all, suffered all, rather than — But you 
 told me nothing, you had no confidence in me, and I — 
 with the best intentions in the world — made nothing but 
 mistakes; oh, unlucky, unhappy that I am ! you will 
 never forgive me, and then — how shall I live ? " 
 
 "Father," cried Bathilde, "for Heaven's sake try and 
 find out what has happened." 
 
 "Well, my child, well, I will discover; will not you 
 forgive me if I bring you good news ? If the news is bad 
 you will hate me even more; that will but be just; but you 
 will not die, Bathilde ? " 
 
 "Go, go," said Bathilde, throwing her arms round his 
 neck, and giving him a kiss, in which fifteen years of 
 gratitude struggled with one day of pain; "go, my exist- 
 ence is in the hands of God; He only can decide whether 
 I shall live or die." 
 
 Buvat understood nothing of all this but the kiss, and 
 — having inquired of Madame Denis how the chevalier 
 had been dressed — he set out on his quest. 
 
 It was no easy matter for a detective so simple as Buvat 
 to trace Raoul's progress; he had learnt from a neighbour 
 that he had been seen to spring upon a gray horse which 
 had remained some half-hour fastened to the shutter, and
 
 400 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 that he had turned round the Rue Gros Chenet. A grocer, 
 who lived at the corner of the Rue des Jeûneurs, remem- 
 bered having seen a cavalier, whose person and horse 
 agreed perfectly with the description given by Buvat, pass 
 by at full gallop; and, lastly, a fruit-woman, who kept 
 a little shop at the corner of the Boulevards, swore posi- 
 tively that she had seen the man, and that he had disap- 
 peared by the Forte Saint Denis; but from this point all 
 the information was vague, unsatisfactory, and uncertain, 
 BO that, after two hours of useless inquiry, Buvat returned 
 to Madame Denis's house without any more definite infor- 
 mation to give Bathilde than that, wherever D'Harmental 
 might be gone, he had passed along the Boulevard Bonne- 
 Nouvelle. Buvat found his ward much agitated; during 
 his absence she had grown rapidly worse, and the crisis 
 foreseen by the doctor was fast approaching. Bathilde's 
 eyes flashed; her skin seemed to glow; her words were 
 short and firm. Madame Denis had just sent for the 
 doctor. 
 
 The poor woman was not without her own anxieties ; for 
 some time she had suspected that the Abbé Brigand was 
 mixed up in some plot, and what she had just learned, 
 that D'Harmental was not a poor student but a rich 
 colonel, confirmed her conjectures, since it had been 
 Brigand who had introduced him to her. This similarity 
 of position had not a little contributed to soften her heart 
 — always kind — towards Bathilde. She listened, then, 
 with eagerness to the little information which Buvat had 
 been able to collect for the sufferer, and, as it was far 
 from being sufficiently positive to calm the patient, she 
 promised, if she heard anything herself, to report it 
 directly. 
 
 In the mean time the doctor arrived. Great as was his 
 command over himself, it was easy to see that he thought 
 Bathilde in some danger; he bled her abundantly, ordered 
 refreshing drinks, and advised that some one should watch 
 at the bedside. Emilie and Athenais, who, their little
 
 A PRIME MINISTER'S MEMORY. 401 
 
 absurdities excepted, were excellent girls, declared directly 
 that that was their business, and that they would pass the 
 night with Bathilde alternately; Emilie, as eldest, claimed 
 the first watch, which was given her without contest. As 
 to Buvat, since he could not remain in the room, they 
 asked him to return home, a thing to which he would not 
 consent till Bathilde herself had begged it. The bleeding 
 had somewhat calmed her, and she seemed to feel better; 
 Madame Denis had left the room; Mademoiselle Athenais 
 also had retired; Monsieur Boniface, after returning from 
 the Morgue, where he had been to pay a visit to the body 
 of Roquefinette, had mounted to his own room, and Emilia 
 watched by the fireplace, and read a little book which she 
 took from her pocket. She shortly heard a movement in 
 the bed, and ran towards it; then, after an instant's 
 silence, during which she heard the opening and shutting 
 of two or three doors, and before she had time to say, 
 " That is not the voice of Monsieur Raoul, it is the Abbé 
 Brigand," Bathilde had fallen back on her pillow. 
 
 An instant afterwards Madame Denis half opened the 
 door, and in a trembling voice called Emilie, who kissed 
 Bathilde and went out. 
 
 Suddenly Bathilde was aroused; the abbé was in the 
 room next to hers, and she thought that she heard him 
 pronounce Raoul's name. She now remembered having 
 several times seen the abbé at D'Harmental's rooms; she 
 knew that he was one of the most intimate friends of 
 Madame du Maine ; she thought, then, that the abbé must 
 bring news of him. Her first idea was to slip from the 
 bed, put on a dressing-gown, and go and ask what had 
 happened; but she considered that if the news was bad 
 they would not tell it, and that it would be better to over- 
 hear the conversation, which appeared animated. Con- 
 sequently she pressed her ear to the panel, and listened 
 as if her whole life had been spent in cultivating that 
 single sense. 
 
 Brigaud was relating to Madame Denis what had hap- 
 
 86
 
 402 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 pened. Valef had made his way to the Faubourg Saint 
 Antoine, and given warning to Madame du Maine of the 
 faihire of the expedition. Madame du Maine had imme- 
 diately freed the conspirators from their oaths, advised 
 Malezieux and Brigand to save themselves, and retired to 
 the Arsenal. Brigand came therefore to bid adieu to 
 Madame Denis; he was going to attempt to reach Spain 
 in the disguise of a pedlar. In the midst of his recital, 
 interrupted by the exclamation of poor Madame Denis and 
 of Mademoiselle Athenais and Emilie, the abbé thought 
 that he heard a cry in the next room, just at the time 
 when he was relating D'Harmental's catastrophe; but as 
 no one had paid any attention to the cry, and as he was 
 not aware of Bathilde's being there, he had attached no 
 importance to this noise, regarding the nature of which 
 he might easily have been mistaken; moreover Boniface, 
 summoned in his turn, had entered at the moment, and, as 
 the abbé had a particular fancy for Boniface, his entrance 
 had naturally turned Brigand's thoughts into a different 
 channel. 
 
 Still, this was not the time for long leave-takings ; 
 Brigand desired that daylight should find him as far as 
 possible from Paris. He took leave of the Denis family, 
 and set out with Boniface, who declared that he would 
 accompany friend Brigand as far as the barrier. 
 
 As they opened the staircase door they heard the voice 
 of the portress, who appeared to be opposing the passage 
 of some one ; they descended to discover the cause of the 
 discussion, and found Bathilde, with streaming hair, 
 naked feet, and wrapped in a long white robe, standing on 
 the staircase, and endeavouring to go out in spite of the 
 efforts of the portress. The poor girl had heard every- 
 thing: the fever had changed into delirium; she would 
 join Raoul; she would see him again; she would die with 
 him. 
 
 The three women took her in their arms. For a minute 
 she struggled against them, murmuring incoherent words j
 
 A PKIME minister's MEMORY. 403 
 
 her cheeks were flushed with fever, while her limbs 
 trembled, and her teeth chattered; but soon her strength 
 failed her, her head sank back, and, calling on the name 
 of Raoul, she fainted a second time. 
 
 They sent once more for the doctor. What he had 
 feared was now no longer doubtful, — brain fever had 
 declared itself. At this moment some one knocked; it 
 was Buvat,whom Brigaud and Boniface had found wander- 
 ing to and fro before the house like a ghost, and who, not 
 able to keep up any longer, had come to beg a seat in some 
 corner, he did not care where, so long as from time to time 
 he had news of Bathilde. The poor famil}^ were too sad 
 themselves not to feel for the grief of others. Madame 
 signed to Buvat to seat himself in a corner, and retired 
 into her own room with Athenais, leaving Emilie once 
 more with the sufferer. About daybreak Boniface re- 
 turned; he had gone with Brigaud as far as the Barrière 
 d'Enfer, where the abbé had left him, hoping — thanks to 
 his good steed, and to his disguise — to reach the Spanish 
 frontier. 
 
 Bathilde's delirium continued. All night she talked of 
 Raoul; she often mentioned Buvat's name, and always 
 accused him of having killed her lover. Buvat heard it, 
 and, without daring to defend himself, to reply, or even 
 to groan, had silently burst into tears, and, pondering on 
 what means existed of repairing the evil he had caused, 
 he at last arrived at a desperate resolution. He approached 
 the bed, kissed the feverish hand of Bathilde, who did not 
 recognise him, and went out. 
 
 Buvat, had, in fact, determined on a bold course. It 
 was to go himself to Dubois, tell him everything, and ask 
 as his recompense, not the payment of his arrears, not 
 advancement at the library, b\it pardon for D'Harmental. 
 It was the least that could be accorded to the man whom 
 the regent himself had called the saviour of France. 
 Buvat did not doubt that he should soon return bearing 
 good news, and that it would restore Bathilde to health.
 
 40-i TllK CHEVALIER d'HAUMENïAL. 
 
 Consequently Buvat went home to arrange his disordered 
 dress, which bore the marks of the events of the day and 
 the emotions of the night; and, moreover, he did not dare 
 to present himself at the minister's house so early, for 
 fear of disturbing him. His toilet finished, and as it was 
 still only nine o'clock, he returned for a few minutes to 
 Bathilde's room; it was that which the young girl had 
 left the day before. Buvat sat down in the chair whii;h 
 she had quitted, touched the articles which she liked to 
 touch, kissed the feet of the crucifix, which she kissed 
 each night, — one would have thought him a lover follow- 
 ing the steps of his mistress. 
 
 Ten o'clock struck; it was the hour at which Buvat had 
 often before repaired to the Palais Royal. The fear of 
 being importunate gave place to the hope of being received 
 as he had always been. He took his hat and cane, and 
 called at Madame Denis's to ask how Bathilde had been 
 during his absence ; he found that she had never ceased to 
 call for Raoul. The doctor had bled her for the third 
 time. He raised his eyes to heaven, heaved a profound 
 sigh, and set out for the Palais Royal. 
 
 The moment was unlucky. Dubois, who had been con- 
 stantly on his feet for four or five days, suffered horribly 
 from the malady which was to cause his death in a few 
 months; moreover, he was beyond measure annoyed that 
 only D'Harmental had been taken, and had just given 
 orders to Leblanc and D'Argenson to press on the trial 
 with all possible speed, when his valet de chambre, who 
 was accustomed to see the worthy writer arrive every 
 morning, announced Monsieur Buvat. 
 
 "And who the devil is Monsieur Buvat ?" 
 
 "It is I, monseigneur," said the poor fellow, venturing 
 to slip between the valet and the door, and bowing his 
 honest head before the prime minister. 
 
 " Well, who are you ? " asked Dubois, as if he had never 
 seen him before. 
 
 " What, monseigneur ! " exclaimed the astonished Buvat,
 
 A PRIME minister's MEMORY. 405 
 
 " do you not recognise me ? I come to congratulate you 
 on the discovery of the conspiracy." 
 
 "I get congratulations enough of that kind, thanks for 
 yours, Monsieur Buvat," said Dubois, quietly. 
 
 "But, monseigneur, 1 come also to ask a favour." 
 
 " A favour ! and on what grounds ? " 
 
 "Monseigneur," stammered Buvat, "but — monseigneur 
 — do you not remember that you promised me a — a 
 recompense." 
 
 "A recompense to you, you double idiot." 
 
 "What! monseigneur," continued poor Buvat, getting 
 more and more frightened, " do you not recollect that you 
 told me here, in this very room, that I had my fortune at 
 my fingers' ends ? " 
 
 " And now, " said Dubois, " I tell you that you have your 
 life in your legs, for unless you decamp pretty quick — " 
 
 " But, monseigneur — " 
 
 "Ah! you reason with me, scoundrel," shouted Dubois, 
 raising himself with one hand on the arm of his chair, and 
 the other on his archbishop's crook, " wait, then, you shall 
 see — " 
 
 Buvat had seen quite enough ; at the threatening gesture 
 of the premier he understood what was to follow, and, 
 turning round, he fled at full speed; but, quick as he was, 
 he had still time to hear Dubois, with the most horrible 
 oaths and curses, order his valet to beat him to death if 
 ever again he put his foot inside the door of the Palais 
 Royal. 
 
 Buvat understood that there was no more hope in that 
 direction, and that, not only must he renounce the idea of 
 being of service to D'Harmental, but also of the payment 
 of his arrears, in which he had fondly trusted. This 
 chain of thought naturally reminded him that for eight 
 days he had not been to the library. He was near there; 
 he resolved to go to his ofi&ce, if it was only to excuse him- 
 self to his superior, and relate to him the causes of his 
 absence; but here a grief, not less terrible than the rest,
 
 406 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 was in store for Buvat; on opening the door of his office 
 he saw his seat occupied j a stranger had been appointed 
 to his place ! 
 
 As he had never before — during the whole fifteen years 
 — been an hour late, the curator had imagined him dead, 
 and had replaced him. Buvat had lost his situation for 
 having saved France ! 
 
 This last stroke was more than he could bear, and Buvat 
 returned home almost as ill as Bathilde.
 
 BONIFACE. 407 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 BONIFACE. 
 
 As we have seen, Dubois urged on the trial of D'Har- 
 inental, hoping that his revelations would furnish him 
 with weapons against those whom he wished to attack, but 
 D'Harmental took refuge in a total denial with respect to 
 others. As to what concerned himself personally, he con- 
 fessed everything, saying that his attempt on the regent 
 was the result of private revenge, — a revenge which had 
 arisen from the injustice which had been done him in 
 depriving him of his regiment. As to the men who had 
 accompanied him, and who had lent him their aid in the 
 execution of his plans, he declared that they were poor 
 devils of peasants, who did not even know whom they 
 were escorting. All this was not highly probable, but 
 there was no means of bringing anything beyond the 
 answers of the accused to bear on the matter ; the conse- 
 quence was, that, to the infinite annoyance of Dubois, the 
 real criminals escaped his vengeance, under cover of the 
 eternal denials of the chevalier, who denied having seen 
 Monsieur or Madame du Maine more than once or twice 
 in his life, or ever having been trusted with any political 
 mission by either of them. 
 
 They had arrested successively Laval, Pompadour, and 
 Valef, and had taken them to the Bastille, but they knew 
 that they might rely upon the chevalier; and, as the situa- 
 tion in which they found themselves had been foreseen, 
 and it had been agreed what each should say, they all 
 entirely denied any knowledge of the affair, confessing 
 associations with Monsieur and Madame du Maine, but 
 saying that those associations were confined to a respectful
 
 408 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 friendship. As to D'Harmental, they knew him, they 
 said, for a man of honour, who complained of a great 
 injustice which had been done to him. They were con- 
 fronted, one after another, with the chevalier; but these 
 interviews had no other result than that of confirming 
 each in his system of defence, and showing each that the 
 system was religiously adhered to by his companion. 
 
 Dubois was furious; he reopened the proofs for the 
 affair of the States-General, but that had been settled by 
 the special parliament, which had condemned the King 
 of Spain's letters, and degraded the legitimated princes 
 from their rank; every one regarded them as suflficiently 
 punished by this judgment, without raising a second pros- 
 ecution against them on the same grounds. Dubois had 
 hoped, by the revelations of D'Harmental, to entangle 
 Monsieur and Madame du Maine in a new trial, more seri- 
 ous than the first; for this time it was a question of a 
 direct attempt, if not on the life, at least on the liberty of 
 the regent; but the obstinacy of the chevalier destroyed 
 all his hopes. His anger had therefore turned solely on 
 D'Harmental, and, as we have said, he had ordered 
 Leblanc and D'Argenson to expedite the prosecution, — 
 an order which the two magistrates had obeyed with their 
 ordinary punctuality. 
 
 During this time Bathilde's illness had progressed in a 
 manner which had brought the poor girl to death's door; 
 but at last youth and vigour had triumphed ; to the excite- 
 ment of delirium had succeeded a complete and utter 
 prostration ; one would have said that the fever alone had 
 sustained her, and that in departing it had taken life 
 along with it. 
 
 Still every day brought improvement — slight, it is 
 true, but decided — to the eyes of the good people who 
 surrounded the bed of sickness. Little by little Bathilde 
 began to recognise those who were about her, then she 
 had stretched out her hand to them, and then spoken to 
 them. As yet, to the astonishment of every one, they had
 
 BONIFACE. 409 
 
 remarked that Bathilde had not mentioned the name of 
 D'Harmental; this was a great relief to those who watched 
 her, for, as they had none but sad news to give her about 
 him, they preferred, as will easily be understood, that she 
 should remain silent on the subject; every one believed, 
 and the doctor most of all, that the young girl had com- 
 pletely forgotten the past, or, if she remembered it, that 
 she confounded the reality with the dreams of her deli- 
 rium. They were all wrong, even the doctor: this was 
 what had occurred. 
 
 One morning when they had thought Bathilde sleeping, 
 and had left her alone for a minute, Boniface, who, in 
 spite of the severity of his neighbour, still preserved a 
 great fund of tenderness towards her, had, as was his 
 custom every morning since she had been ill, half -opened 
 the door to ask news of her. The growling of Mirza 
 aroused Bathilde, who turned round and saw Boniface, 
 and having before conjectured that she might probably 
 know from him that which she should ask in vain from 
 the others, namely, what had become of D'Harmental, she 
 had, while quieting Mirza, extended her pale and emaci- 
 ated hand to Boniface. Boniface took it between his own 
 two great red hands, then, looking at the young girl, and 
 shaking his head, — 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle Bathilde, yes," said he, "you were 
 right ; you are a lady, and I am only a coarse peasant. 
 You deserved a nobleman, and it was impossible that you 
 should love me." 
 
 "As you wished, true, Boniface ; but I can love you in 
 another manner." 
 
 "True, Mademoiselle Bathilde, very true ; well, love 
 me as you will, so that you love me a little." 
 
 "I can love you as a brother." 
 
 " As a brother ! You could love poor Boniface as a 
 brother, and he might love you as a sister; he might 
 sometimes hold your hand as he holds it now, and em- 
 brace you as he sometimes embraces Melie and Nais ?
 
 410 THE CHEVALIEfi D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 Oh ! speak, Mademoiselle Bathilde, what must I do for 
 that ? " 
 
 " My friend — " said Bathilde. 
 
 "She has called me her friend," said Boniface j "she 
 has called me her friend, — I, who have said such things 
 about her. Listen, Mademoiselle Bathilde: do not call 
 me your friend, I am not worthy of the name. You do 
 not know what I have said. I said that you lived with an 
 old man; but I did not believe it, Mademoiselle Bathilde, 
 on my honour I did not ; it was anger, it was rage. Made- 
 moiselle Bathilde, call me beggar, rascal; it will give me 
 less pain than to hear you term me your friend." 
 
 "My friend," recommenced Bathilde, "if you have said 
 all that, I pardon you, for now not only can you make up 
 for it, but also acquire eternal claims upon my gratitude," 
 
 " And what shall I do ? Speak ! Let me see ! Must I 
 go through the fire ? Shall I jump out of the second-floor 
 window? Shall I — What shall I do ? Tell me ! Every 
 thing is alike." 
 
 "No, no, my friend, something much easier." 
 
 "Speak, Mademoiselle Bathilde, sp'^ak !" 
 
 "First, it is necessary that you should swear to do it." 
 
 *' i swear by Heaven ! " 
 
 " Whatever they may say to hinder you ? " 
 
 "Hinder me from doing what you ask ? — never ! " 
 
 " Whatever may be the grief that it may cause me ? " 
 
 "No, that is a different thing; if it is to give you pain 
 I would rather be cut in half." 
 
 "But if I beg you, my friend, my brother," said Ba- 
 thilde, in her most persuasive voice. 
 
 " Oh, if you speak like that I shall cry like the Fountain 
 of the Innocents ! " 
 
 And Boniface began to sob. 
 
 "You will tell me all, then, my dear Boniface ?" 
 
 "Everything." 
 
 " Well, tell me first — " Bathilde stopped. 
 
 "What?"
 
 BONIFACE. 411 
 
 " Can you not imagine, Boniface ? " 
 
 "Yes, I think so; you want to know what has become 
 of Monsieur Raoul, do you not ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," cried Bathilde, "in Heaven's name, what 
 has become of him ? " 
 
 "Poor fellow ! " murmured Boniface. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! is he dead ? " exclaimed Bathilde, sitting 
 up in the bed. 
 
 "No, happily not; but he is a prisoner." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 "In the Bastille." 
 
 "I feared it," said Bathilde, sinking down in the bed; 
 " in the Bastille ! Oh, vfion Dieu ! mon Dieu ! " 
 
 "Oh, now you are crying, Mademoiselle Bathilde." 
 
 " And I am here in this bed chained, dying ! " cried 
 Bathilde. 
 
 "Oh, do not cry like that, mademoiselle; it is your poor 
 Boniface who begs you." 
 
 "No, I will be firm, I will have courage; see, Boniface, 
 I weep no longer; but you understand that I must know 
 everything from hour to hour, so that when he dies I may 
 die." 
 
 " You die. Mademoiselle Bathilde ! Never, never ! " 
 
 " You have promised, you have sworn it. Boniface, you 
 will keep me informed of all ? " 
 
 " Oh, wretch that I am, what have I promised ! " 
 
 "And, if it must be, at the moment, — the terrible 
 moment, — you will aid me, you will conduct me, will you 
 not, Boniface? I must see him again — once — once more 
 — if it be on the scaffold." 
 
 "I will do all you desire, mademoiselle," said Boniface, 
 falling on his knees, and trying vainly to restrain his sobs. 
 
 "You promise me ?" 
 
 "I swear." 
 
 " Silence ! some one is coming. Not a word of this ; it is 
 a secret between us two. Rise, wipe your eyes, do as I 
 do, and leave me."
 
 412 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 And Bathilde began to laugh with a feverish nervous 
 ness that was frightful to see. Luckily it was only Buvat, 
 and Boniface profited by his entrance to depart. 
 "Well, how are you ?" asked the good man, 
 "Better, father, — much better; I feel my strength 
 returning; in a few days I shall be able to rise; but you, 
 father, why do you not go to the office ? " Buvat sighed 
 deeply. " It was kind not to leave me when I was ill, but 
 now I am getting better, you must return to the library, 
 father." 
 
 "Yes, my child, yes," said Buvat, swallowing his sobs. 
 "Yes, I am going." 
 
 " Are you going without kissing me ? " 
 
 "No, my child, no indeed." 
 
 "Why, father, you are crying, and yet you see that I 
 am better ! " 
 
 " I cry ! " said Buvat, wiping his eyes with his handker- 
 chief. "I crying ! If I am crying, it is only for joy. 
 Yes, I am going, my child — to my office — I am going." 
 
 And Buvat, after having embraced Bathilde, returned 
 home, for he would not tell his poor child that he had lost 
 his place, and the young girl was left alone. 
 
 Then she breathed more freely now that she was tran- 
 quil ; Boniface, in his quality of clerk to the procureur at 
 Chatelet, was in the very place to know everything, and 
 Bathilde was sure that Boniface would tell her everything. 
 Indeed, from that time she knew all; that Raoul had been 
 interrogated, and that he had taken everything on himself; 
 then the day following she learned that he had been con- 
 fronted with Laval, Valef, and Pompadour, but that inter- 
 view had produced nothing. Faithful to his promise, 
 Boniface every evening brought her the da3'''s news, and 
 every evening Bathilde at this recital, alarming as it was, 
 felt inspired with new resolution. A fortnight passed 
 thus, at the end of which time Bathilde began to get up 
 and walk a little about the room, to the great joy of 
 Buvat; Nanette; and the whole Denis family.
 
 BONIFACE. 413 
 
 One day Boniface, contrary to his usual habit, returned 
 home from Joullu's at three o'clock, and entered the room 
 of the sufferer. The poor boy was so pale and so cast 
 down that Bathilde understood that he brought some 
 terrible information, and, giving a cry, she rose upright, 
 with her eyes fixed on him. 
 
 "All is finished, then ?" asked Bathilde. 
 
 "Alas ! " answered Boniface, "it is all through his own 
 obstinacy. They offered him pardon, — do you under- 
 stand, Mademoiselle Bathilde? — his pardon if he would, 
 — and he would not speak a word." 
 
 "Then," cried Bathilde, "no more hope; he is con- 
 demned." 
 
 "This morning, Mademoiselle Bathilde, this morning." 
 
 "To death?" 
 
 Boniface bowed his head. 
 
 " And when is he to be executed ? " 
 
 "To-morrow morning at eight o'clock." 
 
 "Very well," said Bathilde. 
 
 "But perhaps there is still hope," said Boniface. 
 
 " What ? " asked Bathilde. 
 
 "If even now he would denounce his accomplices." 
 
 The young girl began to laugh, but so strangely that 
 Boniface shuddered from head to foot. 
 
 "Well," said Boniface, "who knows ? I, if I was in his 
 place, for example, should not fail to do so; I should say, 
 'It was not I, on my honour it was not I; it was such a 
 one, and such another, and so on.' " 
 
 "Boniface, I must go out." 
 
 " You, Mademoiselle Bathilde ! " cried Boniface, terri- 
 fied. "You go out ! why, it would kill you." 
 
 "I say I must go out." 
 
 "But you cannot stand upright." 
 
 "You are wrong, Boniface, I am strong, — see." 
 
 And Bathilde began to walk up and down the room with 
 a firm step. 
 
 "Moreover," added Bathilde, "you will go and fetch a 
 coach."
 
 414 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 " But, Mademoiselle Bathilde — " 
 
 "Boniface," said the youtig girl, "you have promised to 
 obey me; till this minute you have kept your word; are 
 you getting lax in your devotion ? " 
 
 "I, Mademoiselle Bathilde ! I lax in my devotion to 
 you. You ask for a coach; I will fetch two." 
 
 "Go, my friend, my brother," said Bathilde. 
 
 "Oh ! Mademoiselle Bathilde, with such words you can 
 make me do what you like. In five minutes the coach will 
 be here." 
 
 And Boniface ran out. 
 
 Bathilde had on a loose white robe; she tied it in with 
 a girdle, threw a cloak over her shoulders, and got ready. 
 As she was advancing to the door Madame Denis entered. 
 
 "Oh, my dear child, what in Heaven's name are you 
 going to do ? " 
 
 "Madame," said Bathilde, "it is necessary that I should 
 go out." 
 
 " Go out ! you are mad ? " 
 
 "No, madame," said Bathilde, "I am in perfect posses 
 sion of my senses, but you would drive me mad by retain- 
 ing me." 
 
 "But at least, where are you going, my dear child ?" 
 
 " Do you not know that he is condemned ? " 
 
 " Oh ! mon Dieu ! mon Dieu ! who told you that ? I 
 had asked every one to keep it from you." 
 
 "Yes, and to-morrow you would have told me that he 
 was dead, and I should have answered, 'You have killed 
 him, for I had a means of saving him perhaps.' " 
 
 " You, you, my child ! you have a means of saving him ? " 
 
 "I said perhaps; let me try the means; it is the only 
 one remaining." 
 
 "Go, my child," said Madame Denis, struck by the 
 inspired tone of Bathilde's voice, "go, and may God guide 
 you ! " 
 
 Bathilde went out, descended the staircase with a slow 
 but firm step, crossed the street, ascended the four stories
 
 BONIFACE. 415 
 
 without resting, opened the door of her room , which she 
 had not entered since the day of the catastrophe. At the 
 noise which she made, Nanette came out of the inner 
 room, and gave a cry at seeing her young mistress. 
 
 "Well," asked Bathilde, in a grave tone, "what is it, 
 my good Nanette ? " 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu!^^ cried the poor woman, trembling, 
 "is that really you, or is it your shadow ?" 
 
 "It is I, Nanette; I am not yet dead." 
 
 " And why have you left the Denis's house ? have they 
 said anything to wound you ? " 
 
 "No, Nanette, but I have something to do which is 
 necessary, — indispensable." 
 
 " You go out in your present state ! you will kill your- 
 self. Monsieur Buvat, Monsieur Buvat, here is our young 
 lady going out; come and tell her that it must not be." 
 
 Bathilde turned towards Buvat, with the intention of 
 employing her ascendency over him, if he endeavoured to 
 stop her, but she saw him with so sorrowful a face that 
 she did not dovibt that he knew the fatal news. On his 
 part, Buvat burst into tears on seeing her. 
 
 "My father," said Bathilde, "what has been done to-day 
 has been the work of men, what remains is in the hands of 
 God, and he will have pity on us." 
 
 "Oh ! " cried Buvat, sinking into a chair, "it is I who 
 have killed him; it is I who have killed him." 
 
 Bathilde went up to him solemnly and kissed him. 
 
 "But what are you going to do, my child ?" 
 
 "My duty," answered Bathilde. 
 
 She opened a little cupboard in the prie-dieu, took out a 
 black pocket-book, opened it, and drew out a letter. 
 
 "You are right, you are right, my child, I had forgotten 
 that letter." 
 
 "I remembered it," answered Bathilde, kissing the 
 letter, and placing it next her heart, "for it was the sole 
 inheritance my mother left me." 
 
 At that moment they heard the noise of a coach at the 
 door.
 
 416 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "Adieu, father! adieu, Nanette ! Pray for my success." 
 
 And Bathilde went away, with a solemn gravity which 
 made her, in the eyes of those who watched her, almost 
 a saint. 
 
 At the door she found lîouiface waiting with a coach. 
 
 " Shall I go with you, Mademoiselle Bathilde? " asked he. 
 
 "No, no, my friend," said Bathilde, "not nowj to- 
 morrow, perhaps." 
 
 She entered the coach. 
 
 " Where to ? " asked the coachman. 
 
 "To the Arsenal."
 
 THE THREE VISITS. 417 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE THREE VISITS. 
 
 On arriving at the Arsenal, Bathilde asked for Mademoi- 
 selle de Launay, who, at her request, led her at once to 
 Madame du Maine. 
 
 " Ah, it is you, my child ! " said the duchess, with a 
 distracted air and voice; "it is well to remember one's 
 friends when they are in misfortune." 
 
 " Alas, madame ! " replied Bathilde ; " I come to your 
 Royal Highness to speak of one still more unfortunate. 
 Doubtless you may have lost some of your titles, some of 
 your dignities, but their vengeance will stop, for no one 
 would dare to attack the life, or even the liberty, of the 
 son of Louis XIV., or the granddaughter of the great 
 Condé." 
 
 ''The life, no; but the liberty I will not answer for. 
 Do you know that that idiot of an Abbé Brigaud has got 
 arrested three days ago at Orleans, dressed as a pedlar; 
 and, on false revelations, which they represented to him 
 as coming from me, has confessed all, and compromised 
 us terribl}^ so that I should not be astonished at being 
 arrested this very day ? " 
 
 " He for whom I come to implore your pity, madame, has 
 revealed nothing, but, on the contrary, is condemned to 
 death for having kept silence." 
 
 "Ah! my dear child," cried the duchess, "you speak of 
 poor D'Harmental; he is a gentleman; you know him, 
 then ? " 
 
 " Alas ! " said Mademoiselle de Launay, " not only 
 Bathilde knows him, but she loves him." 
 
 2?
 
 418 THE CHEVALIER L'lIARMENTAL. 
 
 "Poor cliild ! but what can 1 do ? I can do nothing: I 
 have no influence. For me to attempt anything in his 
 favour would be to take away from him the last hope 
 remaining." 
 
 "I know it, madame," said Bathilde, "and I only ask 
 of your Highness one thing; it is, that, through some of 
 your friends or acquaintances, I may gain admission to 
 monseigneur the regent. The rest lies with me." 
 
 " My child, do you know what you are asking ? " in- 
 quired the duchess. "Do you know that the regent 
 respects no one? Do you know — that you are beautiful 
 as an angel, and still more so from your present paleness ? 
 Do you know — " 
 
 "Madame," said Bathilde, with dignity, "I know that 
 my father saved his life, and died in his service." 
 
 "Ah, that is another thing," said the duchess; "stay, 
 De Launay, call Malezieux." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Launay obeyed, and a moment after- 
 wards the faithful chancellor entered. 
 
 "Malezieux," said the duchess, "you must take this 
 child to the Duchess de Berry, with a recommendation 
 from me. She must see the regent, and at once; the life 
 of a man depends upon it, — it is that of D'Harmental, 
 whom I would myself give so much to save." 
 
 "I go, madame," said Malezieux. 
 
 "You see, my child," said the duchess, "I do all I can 
 for you; if I can be useful to you in any other way, — if, 
 to prepare his flight, or to seduce a jailer, money is 
 needed, T have still some diamonds, which cannot be better 
 employed than in saving the life of so brave a gentleman. 
 Come, lose no time; go at once to my niece; you know 
 that she is her father's favourite." 
 
 "I know, madame," said Bathilde, "that you are an 
 angel, and, if I succeed, I shall owe you more than my 
 life." 
 
 "Come, De Launay," continued Madame du Maine, 
 when Bathilde was gone, "let us return to our trunks."
 
 THE THREE VISITS. 419 
 
 Bathilde, accompanied by Malezieux, arrived at the 
 Luxembourg in twenty minutes. Thanks to Malezieux, 
 Bathilde entered without difficulty; she was conducted 
 into a little boudoir, where she was told to wait while the 
 chancellor should see her Royal Highness, and inform her 
 of the favour they came to ask. 
 
 Malezieux acquitted himself of the commission with 
 zeal, and Bathilde had not waited ten minutes when she 
 saw him return with the Duchesse de Berry. The duchess 
 had an excellent heart, and she had been greatly moved 
 by Malezieux's recital, so that, when she appeared, there 
 was no mistaking the interest she already felt in the 
 young girl who came to solicit her protection. Bathilde 
 came to her, and would have fallen at her feet, but the 
 duchess took her by the hand, and kissing her on the 
 forehead, — 
 
 "My poor child," said she, "why did you not come to 
 me a week ago ? " 
 
 " And why a week ago rather than to-day, madame ? " 
 asked Bathilde, with anxiety. 
 
 "Because a week ago I should have yielded to none the 
 pleasure of taking you to my father, and that now is 
 impossible." 
 
 " Impossible ! and why ? " cried Bathilde. 
 
 "Do you not know that I am in complete disgrace since 
 the day before yesterday? Alas ! princess as I am, I am 
 a woman like you, and like you I have had the misfortune 
 to love. We daughters of the royal race, you know, may 
 not dispose of our hearts without the authority of the king 
 and his ministers. I have disposed of my heart, and I 
 have nothing to say, for I was pardoned ; but I disposed of 
 my hand, and I am punished. See what a strange thing ! 
 They make a crime of what in any one else would have 
 been praised. For three days my lover has been my hus- 
 band, and for three days that is to say, from the moment 
 when I could present myself before my father without 
 blushing, I am forbidden his presence. Yesterday my
 
 420 THF. CIIEVALIUU D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 guard was taken from me; this morning I presented my* 
 self at the Palais Koyal and was refused admittance.'' 
 
 *'Alas!" said Bathilde, "I am unhappy, for I had no 
 hope but in you, madame, and I know no one who can 
 introduce me to the regent. And it is to-morrow, madame, 
 at eight o'clock, that they will kill him whom I love as 
 you love Monsieur de Riom. Oh, madame, take pity on 
 me, for if you do not, I am lost ! " 
 
 ^^ Mon Dieu! Riom, come to our aid," said the duchess, 
 turning to her husband, who entered at this moment; 
 " here is a poor child who wants to see ray father directly, 
 without delay; her life depends on the interview. Her 
 life ! What am I saying ? More than her life, — the life 
 of a man she loves. Lauzun's nephew should never be at 
 a loss ; find us a means, and, if it be possible, I will love 
 i^ou more than ever." 
 
 "I have one," said Riom, smiling. 
 
 "Oh, monsieur," cried Bathilde, "tell it me, and I will 
 ^e eternally grateful." 
 
 " Oh, speak ! " said the Duchesse de Berry, in a voice 
 *^.lmost as pressing as Bathilde's. 
 
 "But it compromises your sister singularly." 
 
 " Which one ? " 
 
 "Mademoiselle de Vaiois." 
 
 " Aglae ! how so ? " 
 
 "Do you not know that there exists a kind of sorcerer, 
 tvho has the power of appearing before her day or night, 
 no one knows how ? " 
 
 "Richelieu ? it is true ! " cried the Duchesse de Berry; 
 "but — " 
 
 " But what, madame ? " 
 
 "He will not, perhaps — " 
 
 "I will beg him so that he will take pity on me," said 
 Bathilde; "besides, you will speak a word for me, will 
 you not ? He will not dare to refuse what your Highness 
 asks." 
 
 "We will do better than that," said the duchess.
 
 THE THREE VISITS. 421 
 
 "Riom, call Madame de Mouchy, beg her to take made- 
 moiselle herself to the duke. Madame de Mouchy is my 
 first lady in waiting," said the duchess, turning to Ba- 
 thilde, " and it is supposed that the Due de Richelieu owes 
 her some gratitude. You see, I could not choose you a 
 better introductress." 
 
 *'0h, thanks, madame," cried Bathilde, kissing the 
 duchess's hands, "you are right, and all hope is not yet 
 lost. And you say that the Due de Richelieu has a means 
 of entering the Palais Royal ? " 
 
 " Stay, let us understand each other. I do not say so ; 
 report says so." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Bathilde, " if we only find him at home ! " 
 
 "That is a chance; but yet, let me see, what time is it ? 
 scarcely eight o'clock. He will probably sup in town, and 
 return to dress. I will tell Madame de Mouchy to wait 
 for him with you. Will you not," said she, turning to the 
 lady in waiting, who now entered, "wait for the duke till 
 he returns ? " 
 
 "I will do whatever your Highness orders," said Madame 
 de Mouchy. 
 
 " Well, I order you to obtain from the Due de Richelieu 
 a promise that mademoiselle shall see the regent, and I 
 authorise you to use, for this purpose, whatever influence 
 you may possess over him." 
 
 "Madame goes a long way," said Madame de Mouchy, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Never mind, go and do what I tell you; and you, my 
 child, take courage, follow madame, and if, on your road 
 in life, you hear much harm of the Duchesse de Berry, 
 whom they anathematise, tell them that I have a good 
 heart, and that, in spite of all these excommunications, I 
 hope that much will be forgiven me, because I have loved 
 much. Is it not so, Riom ? " 
 
 "I do not know, madame," said Bathilde, "whether you 
 are well or ill spoken of, but I know that to me you seem 
 so good and great that I could kiss the trace of your 
 footsteps."
 
 422 THE CHEVALIER d'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "Now go, my child; if you miss Monsieur de Richelieu 
 you may not know where to lind him, and may wait for 
 him uselessly." 
 
 "Since her Highness permits it, come then, madame," 
 said Bathilde, "for every minute seems to me an age." 
 
 A quarter of an hour afterwards, Bathilde and Madame 
 de Mouchy were at Itichelieu's hotel. Contrary to all 
 expectation , he was at home. Madame de Mouchy entered 
 at once, followed by Bathilde. They found Kichelieu 
 occupied with Kaffé, his secretary, in burning a number of 
 useless letters, and putting some others aside. 
 
 "Well, madame," said Kichelieu, coming forward with 
 a smile on his lips, "what good wind blows you here? 
 And to what event do I owe the happiness of receiving 
 you at my house at half-past eight in the evening ? " 
 
 "To my wish to enable you to do a good action, duke." 
 
 "In that case, make haste, madame." 
 
 "Do you leave Paris this evening ?" 
 
 " No, but I am going to-morrow morning — to the 
 Bastille." 
 
 " What joke is this ? " 
 
 "I assure you it is no joke at all to leave my hotel, 
 where I am very comfortable, for that of the king, where 
 I shall be just the reverse. I know it, for this will be my 
 third visit." 
 
 " What makes you think you will be arrested to-morrow ? " 
 
 "I have been warned." 
 
 " By a sure person ? " 
 
 "Judge for yourself." 
 
 And he handed a letter to Madame de Mouchy, who took 
 it and read, — 
 
 "Innocent or guilty, you have only time to fly. The 
 regent has just said aloud before me that at last he has got 
 the Due de Richelieu. To-morrow you will be arrested." 
 
 "Do you think the person in a position to be well 
 informed ? " 
 
 "Yes, for I think I recognise the writing. You see,
 
 THE THREE VISITS. 423 
 
 then, that I was right in telling you to make haste. Now, 
 if it is a thing which may be doue in the space of a night, 
 speak, I am at your orders." 
 
 "An hour will suffice." 
 
 "Speak, then; you know I can refuse you nothing." 
 
 "Well," said Madame de Ivlouchy, "the thing is told in 
 a few words. Do you intend this evening to go and thank 
 the person who gave you this advice ? " 
 
 "Probably," said the duke, laughing. 
 
 "Well, you must present mademoiselle to her." 
 
 " Mademoiselle ! " cried the duke, astonished, and turn- 
 ing towards Bathilde, who till then had remained hidden 
 in the darkness, " and who is mademoiselle ? " 
 
 "A young girl who loves the Chevalier d'Harmental, 
 who is to be executed to-morrow, as you know, and whose 
 pardon she wishes to ask from the regent." 
 
 "You love the Chevalier d'Harmental, mademoiselle ?" 
 said the duke, addressing Bathilde. 
 
 " Oh, monsieur ! " stammered Bathilde, blushing. 
 
 " Do not conceal it, mademoiselle. He is a noble young 
 man, and I would give ten years of my own life to save 
 him. And do you think you have any means of interest- 
 ing the regent in his favour ? " 
 
 "I believe so." 
 
 "It is well. I only hope it may be so. Madame," con- 
 tinued the duke, turning to Madame de Mouchy, " return 
 to her Koyal Highness and tell her that mademoiselle 
 shall see the regent in an hour." 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur le Duc !" cried Bathilde. 
 
 "Decidedly, my dear Richelieu, I begin to think, as 
 people say, that you have made a compact with the devil ; 
 that you may pass through keyholes, and I confess I shall 
 be less uneasy now in seeing you go to the Bastille." 
 
 " At any rate, you know, madame, that charity teaches 
 us to visit prisoners, and if you retain any recollection of 
 poor Armand — " 
 
 "Silence, duke, be discreet, and we will see what can
 
 424 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 be done for you. Meanwhile, you promise that made- 
 moiselle shall see the regent ? " 
 
 "It is a settled thing." 
 
 "Adieu, duke, and may the Bastille be easy to you." 
 
 " Is it adieu you say ? " 
 
 " Au revoir ! " 
 
 "That is right." 
 
 And, having kissed Madame de Mouchy's hand, he led 
 her to the door; then, returning to Bathilde: — 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said he, "what I am about to do for 
 you compromises the reputation and honour of a princess 
 of the blood, but the gravity of the occasion demands some 
 sacrifice. Swear to me, then, that you will never tell, but 
 to one person, — for I know there are persons from whom 
 you have no secrets, — swear that you will never tell any 
 but him, and that no other shall ever know in what manner 
 you came to the regent." 
 
 "Monsieur, I swear it by all I hold most sacred in the 
 world, — by my mother's memory." 
 
 "That will suffice," said the duke, ringing a bell. A 
 valet de chambre entered. 
 
 "Lafosse," said the duke, "the bay horses and the 
 carriage without arms." 
 
 "Monsieur," said Bathilde, "if you would save time, I 
 have a hired carriage below." 
 
 "That is still better. I am at your orders, mademoi- 
 selle." 
 
 " Am I to go with monsieur ? " asked the servant. 
 
 "No, stay and help Raffé to put these papers in order. 
 There are several which it is quite unnecessary for Dubois 
 to see." 
 
 And the duke offered his arm to Bathilde, went down, 
 handed her into the carriage, and, after telling the coach- 
 man to stop at the corner of the Rue Saint Honoré and the 
 Rue de Richelieu, placed himself by her side, as thought- 
 less as though the fate from which he was about to save 
 the chevalier might not also await himself.
 
 THE CLOSET. 425 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE CLOSET. 
 
 The carriage stopped at its destination, and Richelieu, 
 getting out and taking a key from his pocket, opened the 
 door of a house at the corner of the Rue de Richelieu. 
 
 "I must ask your pardon, mademoiselle," said the duke, 
 offering his arm to Bathilde, "for leading you by badly 
 lighted staircases and passages; but I am anxious not to 
 be recognised, should any one meet me here. We have 
 not far to go." 
 
 Bathilde had counted about twenty steps, when the duke 
 stopped, drew a second key from his pocket, and opened a 
 door, then entered an antechamber and lighted a candle 
 at a lamp on the staircase. 
 
 "Once again 1 must ask pardon, mademoiselle," said 
 the duke, "but you will soon understand why 1 chose to 
 dispense with a servant here." 
 
 It mattered little to Bathilde whether the duke had a 
 servant or not; she entered the antechamber without 
 replying, and the duke locked the door behind her. 
 
 "Xow follow me," said the duke; and he walked before 
 the young girl, lighting her with the candle which he held 
 in his hand. They crossed a dining-room and drawing- 
 room, then entererd a bedroom, where the duke stopped. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said Richelieu, placing the candle on 
 the chimney-piece, " I have your word that you will reveal 
 nothing of what you are about to see." 
 
 "I have given you my promise, and I now renew it; I 
 should be ungrateful indeed if I were to fail." 
 
 " Well, then, be the third in our secret, which is one of 
 love; we put it under the safeguard of love."
 
 426 TlIK GHEVALIKlt J)'J1AUMENTAL. 
 
 And tlie Due de Riehelieu, sliding away a panel in the 
 woodwork, diseovered an opening in the wall, beyond 
 which was the back of a closet, and he knocked soi'tly 
 three times, l^resently they heard a key turn in the lock, 
 then saw a light between the planks, then a low voice 
 asked, " Is it you ? " On the duke's replying in the 
 affirmative, three of tliese planks were quietly detached, 
 opening a means of communication from one room to the 
 other, and the duke and Bathilde found themselves in the 
 presence of Mademoiselle de Valois, who uttered a cry on 
 seeing her lover accompanied by a woman. 
 
 "Fear nothing, dear Aglae," said the duke, passing into 
 the room where she was, and taking her hand, while Ba- 
 thilde remained motionless in her place, not daring to move 
 a step till her presence was explained. 
 
 "But will you tell me ?" began Mademoiselle de Valois, 
 looking at Bathilde uneasily. 
 
 " Directly. You have heard me speak of the Chevalier 
 d'Harmental, have you not ?" 
 
 " The day before yesterday you told me that by a word 
 he might save his own life and compromise you all, but 
 that he would never speak this word." 
 
 "Well, he has not spoken, and he is condemnea to 
 death, and is to be executed to-morrow. This young girl 
 loves him, and his pardon depends on the regent. Do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said Mademoiselle de Valois. 
 
 "Come, mademoiselle," said the duke to Bathilde, 
 taking her by the hand ; then, turning again to the prin- 
 cess, " She did not know how to reach your father, my 
 dear Aglae, and came to me just as I had received your 
 letter. I had to thank you for the good advice you gave 
 me; and, as I know your heart, I thought I should please 
 you by showing my gratitude in offering you an opportunity 
 to save the life of a man to whose silence you probably 
 ewe my own." 
 
 "And you were right, duke. You are welcome, made- 
 moiselle. What can T do for you ? "
 
 i iiilllB III IWI I IIIill il J iiiiii | il| | M| 
 
 Batiiilde nx tier Way to the Recjent.
 
 THE CLOSET. 427 
 
 "I wish to see the regent," said Bathilde, ''and your 
 Highness can take me to him." 
 
 " Will you wait for me, duke ? " asked Mademoiselle de 
 Valois, uneasily. 
 
 "Can you doubt it?" 
 
 "Then go into the closet, lest any one should surprise 
 you here. I will take mademoiselle to my father, and 
 return directly." 
 
 "I will wait," said the duke, following the instructions 
 of the princess and entering the closet. Mademoiselle de 
 Valois exchanged some low words with her lover, locked 
 the closet, put the key in her pocket, and, holding out her 
 hand to Bathilde, — 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said she, "all women who love are 
 sisters; Armand and you did well to rely upon me; come." 
 
 Bathilde kissed the hand she held out, and followed her. 
 They passed through all the rooms facing the Palais 
 Royal, and' then, turning to the left, entered those which 
 looked on the Rue de Valois, amongst which was the 
 regent's bedroom. 
 
 " We have arrived, " said Mademoiselle de Valois, stop- 
 ping before a door and turning to Bathilde, who, at this 
 news trembled and turned pale; for all the strength which 
 had sustained her for the last three or four hours was 
 ready to disappear just as she needed it the most. 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu ! I shall never dare to speak," said 
 Bathilde. 
 
 "Courage, mademoiselle ! enter, fall at his feet, God 
 and his own heart will do the rest." 
 
 At these words, seeing that the young girl still hesi- 
 tated, she opened the door, pushed Bathilde in, and closed 
 it behind her. She then ran down with a light step to 
 rejoin Richelieu, leaving Bathilde to plead her cause tête- 
 à-tête with the regent. 
 
 At this unforeseen action, Bathilde uttered a low cr}', 
 and the regent, who was walking to and fro with his head 
 bent down, raised it, and turned towards Bathilde, who,
 
 428 THE CHEVALIER D'HAKMENTAL. 
 
 incapable of making a stop in advance, fell on her knees, 
 drew out her letter, and held it towards the regent. The 
 regent had bad sight; lie did not understand what was 
 going on, and advanced towards this woman, who appeared 
 to him in the shade as a white and indistinct form; but 
 soon in that form he recognised a woman, and in that 
 woman a young, beautiful, and kneeling girl. 
 
 As to the poor child, in vain she attem})tcd to articulate 
 a ])rayer. Voice and strength failing her together, she 
 would have fallen if the regent had not held her in his 
 arms. 
 
 "3Ion Dieu/ mademoiselle," said the regent, on whom 
 the signs of grief produced their ordinary effect, " what is 
 the matter ? What can I do for you? Come to this couch, 
 I beg." 
 
 "No, monseigneur, it is at your feet that I should be, 
 for I come to ask a boon." 
 
 "And what is it?" 
 
 " See first who I am, monseigneur, and then I may dare 
 to speak." 
 
 And again Bathilde held out the letter, on which rested 
 her only hope, to the Due d'Orléans. 
 
 The regent took the letter, and, by the light of a candle 
 which burnt on the chimney-piece, recognised his own 
 writing, and read as follows : — 
 
 Madame, — Your husband has died for France and for me. Nei- 
 ther France nor I can give you back your husband ; but remember 
 that, if ever you are in want of anything, we are both your debtors. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Philippe d'Orléans. 
 
 "I recognise this letter perfectly as being my own," 
 said the regent, " but to the shame of my memory I must 
 confess that I do not know to whom it was written." 
 
 "Look at the address, monseigneur," said Bathilde, a 
 little reassured by the expression of benevolence on the 
 duke's face.
 
 THE CLOSET. 429 
 
 "Clarice du Eocher," cried the regent, "yes, indeed, I 
 remember now; I wrote this letter from Spain after the 
 death of Albert, who was killed at the battle of Almanza. 
 I wrote this letter to his widow. How did it fall into 
 your hands, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 "Alas, monseigneur, I am the daughter of Albert and 
 Clarice." 
 
 "You, mademoiselle ! And what has become of your 
 mother ? " 
 
 "She is dead." 
 
 " Long since ? " 
 
 "Nearly fourteen years." 
 
 "But happy, doubtless, and wanting nothing." 
 
 "In despair, monseigneur, and wanting everything." 
 
 " But why did she not apply to me ? " 
 
 "Your Highness was still in Spain." 
 
 " Oh ! vion Dieu ! what do you say ? Continue, made- 
 moiselle, for you cannot tell how much you interest me. 
 Poor Clarice, poor Albert, they loved each other so much, I 
 remember. She could not survive him. Do you know that 
 your father saved my life at Nerwinden, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 "Yes, monseigneur, I know it, and that gave me courage 
 to present myself before you." 
 
 "But you, poor child, poor orphan, what became of 
 you ? " 
 
 "I, monseigneur, was taken by a friend of our family, 
 a poor writer called Jean Buvat." 
 
 " Jean Buvat ! " cried the regent, " I know that name ; 
 he is the poor copyist who discovered the whole con- 
 spiracy, and who some days ago made his demands in 
 person. A place in the library, was it not, some arrears 
 due ? " 
 
 "The same, monseigneur." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," replied the regent, "it appears that 
 those who surround you are destined to save me. I am 
 thus twice your debtor. You said you had a boon to ask 
 of me; speak boldly, I listen to you."
 
 430 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " murmured Bathilde, " give me strength." 
 
 "Is it, then, a very important and difficult thing that 
 you desire ? " 
 
 "Monseigneur," said Bathilde, "it is the life of aman 
 who has deserved death." 
 
 "Is it the Chevalier d'Harmental ?" 
 
 "Alas, monseigneur, it is." 
 
 The regent's brow became pensive, while Bathilde, 
 seeing the imiDression produced by her demand, felt her 
 heart beat and her knees tremble. 
 
 "Is he your relation, your ally, your friend ?" 
 
 "He is my life, he is my soul, monseigneur; I love 
 him." 
 
 "But do you know that if I pardon him I must pardon 
 all the rest, and that there are some still more guilty than 
 he is?" 
 
 "His life only, monseigneur; all I ask is that he may 
 live." 
 
 " But if I change his sentence to a perpetual imprison- 
 ment you will never see him again. What would become 
 of you, then ? " asked the regent. 
 
 Bathilde was obliged to suj^port herself by the back of 
 a chair. 
 
 " I would enter into a convent, where I could pray the 
 rest of my life for you, monseigneur, and for him." 
 
 "That cannot be," said the regent. 
 
 " Why not, monseigneur ? " 
 
 "Because this very day, this very hour, I have been 
 asked for your hand, and have promised it." 
 
 "You have promised my hand, monseigneur; and to 
 whom ? " 
 
 "Read," said the regent, taking an open letter from his 
 desk, and presenting it to the young girl. 
 
 "Raoul's writing!" cried Bathilde; "what does this 
 mean ?" 
 
 ^'Read," repeated the regent. 
 
 A.nd, in a choking voice, Bathilde read the following 
 letter : —
 
 THE CLOSET. 431 
 
 Monseigneur, — I have deserved death: T know it, and T do 
 not ask yon for Hfe. I am ready to die at the day and hour a[)- 
 pointed ; but it depends on your Highness to make this death sweeter 
 to me. I love a young girl whom 1 should have married if I had 
 lived; grant that she may be my wife before 1 die. In leaving her 
 for ever alone and friendless in the world, let me at least have the 
 consolation of giving her the safeguard of my name and fortune. On 
 leaving the ohureh, monseigneur, I will walk to the scaffold. This is 
 my last wish, my sole desire. Do not refuse the prayer of a dying 
 man. 
 
 Raoul d'Harmental. 
 
 "Oh, monseigneur," said Bathilde, sobbing, "you see 
 that while I thought of him, he tliought of rae. Am I not 
 right to love him, when he loves me so much ?" 
 
 "Yes," said the regent, "and I grant his request, it is 
 just; may it, as he says, sweeten his last moments." 
 
 "Monseigneur," cried the young girl, "is that all you 
 grant him ? " 
 
 "You see," said the regent, "he is just; he asks nothing 
 else." 
 
 "Oh, it is cruel ! it is frightful ! to see him again, and 
 lose him directly; his life, monseigneur, his life, I beg ! 
 and let me never see him again, — better so." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said the regent, in a tone which ad 
 mitted of no reply, and writing some lines on a papei 
 which he sealed, "here is a letter to Monsieur de Launay, 
 the governor of the Bastille; it contains my instructions 
 with regard to the prisoner. My captain of the guards 
 will go with you, and see that my instructions are 
 followed." 
 
 "Oh ! his life, monseigneur, his life; on my knees, ana 
 in the name of Heaven, I implore you." 
 
 The regent rang the bell; a valet entered. 
 
 "Call Monsieur the Marquis de Lafare," he said. 
 
 "Oh, monsieur, you are cruel," said Bathilde, rising-, 
 "at least permit me then to die with him. We will not 
 be separated, even on the scaffold; we will be together, 
 even in the tomb."
 
 432 THE CHEVALIER D'HARMENTAL. 
 
 "Monsieur de Lafare, accompany mademoiselle to the 
 Bastille," said the regent. "Here is a letter for Monsieur 
 de Launay, read it with him, and see that the orders it 
 contains are punctually executed." 
 
 Then, without listening to Bathilde's last cry of despair, 
 the Due d'Orléans opened the door of a closet and dis- 
 appeared.
 
 THE MAKKIAUE IN EXTREMIS. 433 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE IN EXTREMIS. 
 
 Lafabe dragged the young girl away, almost fainting, and 
 placed her in one of the carriages always standing in the 
 courtyard of the Palais Royal. During the route Bathilde 
 did not speak; she was cold, dumb, and inanimate as a 
 statue. Her eyes were fixed and tearless, but on arriving 
 at the fortress she started. She fancied she had seen in 
 the shade, in the very place where the Chevalier de Rohan 
 "was executed, something like a scaffold. A little farther 
 a sentinel cried, ^^ Qui vive/" the carriage rolled over a 
 drawbridge, and drew up at the door of the governor's 
 house. A footman out of livery opened the door, and 
 Lafare gave Bathilde his arm; she could scarcely stand; 
 all her strength had left her when hope left her. Lafare 
 and the valet were obliged almost to carry her to the first 
 floor. Monsieur de Launay was at supper. They took 
 Bathilde into a room to wait, while Lafare went directly 
 to the governor. Ten minutes passed, during which Ba- 
 thilde had only one idea, — that of the eternal separation 
 which awaited her. The poor girl saw but one thing, — 
 her lover on the scaffold. Lafare re-entered with the 
 governor. Bathilde looked at them with a bewildered air. 
 Lafare approached her, and offering her his arm, — 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said he, "the church is prepared, the 
 priest is ready." 
 
 Bathilde, without replying, rose and leant on the arm 
 which was offered her. Monsieur de Launay went first, 
 lighted by two men bearing torches. 
 
 As Bathilde entered by one of the side doors, she saw 
 entering by the other the Chevalier d'Harmental, accom- 
 
 28
 
 434 TUF, CHEVALIER D'IIARMENTAL. 
 
 panied by Valef and Vompadour. These were his witnesses, 
 as De Launay and La are were hers. Each door was kept 
 by two of the Frenci. guard, silent and motionless as 
 statues. 
 
 The two lovers advanced, lîathilde pale and fainting, 
 Raoul calm and smiling. On arriving before tlie altai-, 
 the chevalier took Bathilde's hand, and both fell on their 
 knees, without having spoken a word. 
 
 The altar was lighted only by four wax tapers, which 
 threw a funereal light over the chapel, already dark, and 
 filled with gloomy recollections. 
 
 The priest commenced the ceremony; he was a fine old 
 man with white hair, and whose melancholy countenance 
 showed the traces of his daily functions. He had been 
 chaplain of the Bastille for five and twenty years, and had 
 heard many sad confessions, and seen many lamentable 
 events. He spoke to them, not, as usual, of their duties 
 as husband and wife, but of divine inercy and eternal 
 resurrection. At the benediction Bathilde laid her head 
 on Raoul's shoulder; the priest thought she was fainting, 
 and stopped. 
 
 "Finish, my father," murmured Bathilde. 
 
 The priest pronounced the sacramental words, to which 
 both replied by a "yes," which seemed to unite the whole 
 strength of their souls. The ceremony finished, D'Har- 
 mental asked Monsieur de Launay if he might spend his 
 few remaining hours with his wife. Monsieur de Launay 
 replied that there was no objection. Raoul embraced 
 Pompadour and Valef, thanked them for having served as 
 witnesses at his marriage, pressed Lafare's hand, thanked 
 Monsieur de Launay for his kindness to him during his 
 imprisonment, and, throwing his arm round Bathilde, 
 led her away by the door through which he had entered. 
 When they reached D'Harmental's room, Bathilde could 
 no longer contain her tears, a despairing cry escaped her 
 lips, and she fell weeping on a chair, where doubtless 
 D'Harmental had often sat, during the three weeks of his
 
 THE MARRIAGE IN EXTREMIS. 43o 
 
 captivity, and thought of her. llaoul threw himself at 
 her feet, and tried to console her, but was himself so much 
 moved by her grief that his own tears mingled with hers. 
 This heart of iron melted in its turn, and Bathilde felt at 
 once on her lips the tears and kisses of her lover. They 
 had been about half an hour together when they heard 
 steps a|)proaching the dour, and a key turning in the lock. 
 Bathilde started, and pressed D'Harmental convulsively 
 against her heart, llaoul understood the dreadful fear 
 which crossed her mind, and reassured her. It could not 
 be what she dreaded, since the execution was fixed for 
 eight o'clock in the morning, and eleven had only just 
 struck. 
 
 It was Monsieur de Launay who appeared. 
 
 "Monsieur le Chevalier," said he, "have the kindness to 
 follow me." 
 
 " Alone ? " asked D'Harmental, clasping Bathilde in 
 his arms. 
 
 "No, with madame," replied the governor. 
 
 " Oh ! together, Raoul, together ! " cried Bathilde, 
 "where they like, so that we are together. We are ready, 
 monsieur, we are ready." 
 
 Raoul kissed Bathilde again; then, recalling all his 
 pride, he followed Monsieur de Launay, with a face which 
 showed no trace of the terrible emotion he had experienced. 
 They passed through some ill-lighted corridors, descended 
 a spiral staircase, and found themselves at the door of a 
 tower. This door opened out to a yard, surrounded by 
 high walls, which served as a promenade to those prisoners 
 who were not kept secret. In this courtyard was standing 
 a carriage with two horses, on one of which was a pos- 
 tilion, and they saw shining in the darkness the cuirasses 
 of a dozen musketeers. A ray of hone crossed the minds 
 of the two lovers. Bathilde had asked the regent to 
 change Raoul's death into a perpetual imprisonment. Per- 
 haps the regent had granted liim this favour. The car- 
 ricvge, ready, doubless, to conduct him to some state
 
 436 THE CIIKVALIER ij'lIAllMENTAL. 
 
 prison, the musketeers destiued to escort tlicm, all gnve 
 to the supposition an air of reality. They raised their 
 eyes to heaven to thank God fur this unexpected happi- 
 ness. Meanwhile Monsieur de Launay had signed to the 
 carriage to approach; the postilion had obeyed, the door 
 ■was opened, and the governor — Avith his head uncov- 
 ered — held his hand to Bathilde, to assist her into the 
 carriage. 
 
 She hesitated an instant, turning uneasily to see that 
 they did not take Raoul away by the other side; but seeing 
 that he was ready to follow her, she got in without resist- 
 ance. An instant afterwards Raoul was sitting by her; 
 the door was closed, and both carriage and escort passed 
 through the gate, over the drawbridge, and they found 
 themselves outside of the Bastille. 
 
 They threw themselves into each other's arms; there 
 was no longer any doubt; the regent granted D'Harmental 
 his life, and, what was more, consented not to separate him 
 from Bathilde. 
 
 This was what Bathilde and D'Harmental had never 
 dared to hope; this life of seclusion, a punishment to 
 many, would be to them a paradise of love; they would 
 be together; and what else had they desired for their 
 future, even when they were masters of their own fate ? 
 A single sad idea crossed their minds, and both, with the 
 sympathy of hearts who love, pronounced the name of 
 Buvat. 
 
 At this moment the carriage stopped; at such a time 
 everything was, for the lovers, a subject of fear. They 
 again trembled, least they should have given way too 
 much to hope. The door opened, — it was the postilion. 
 
 ''What do you want ?" asked D'Harmental. 
 
 "I want to know where I am to take you." 
 
 " Where you are to take me ! Have you no orders ? " 
 
 "My orders were to take you to the Bois de Vincennes, 
 between the Château and Nogent-sur-Marne, and here we 
 are."
 
 THE MARRIAGE IN EXTREMIS. 437 
 
 "And where is the escort ?" asked D'Harmental. 
 
 "Oh, the escort left us at the barrier ! " 
 
 "Oh, mon DieuP^ cried D'Harmental, while Bathilde, 
 panting with hope, joined her hands in silence, "is it 
 possible ? " 
 
 And the chevalier jumped out of the carriage, looked 
 round him anxiously, then, clasping Bathilde in his arms, 
 they uttered together a cry of joy and thankfulness. 
 
 They were free as the air they breathed, but the regent 
 had ordered that they should be taken to the very place 
 where D'Harmental had carried off Bourguignon, mistak- 
 ing him for himself. 
 
 This was the only revenge of Philippe le Débonnaire. 
 
 "Four years after this event, Buvat — reinstated in his 
 place, and with his arrears paid — had the satisfaction 
 of placing a pen in the hand of a fine boy of three years 
 old; he was the son of Raoul and Bathilde. 
 
 The first two names which the child wrote were Albert 
 du Rocher and Clarice Gray. The third was that of 
 Philippe d'Orléans, Regent of France.
 
 438 THE CllEVALlEK j/ilAliMENTAL, 
 
 POSTSCRIPTUM. 
 
 Perhaps some persons may have taken sufficient interest 
 in those who have played a secondary part in our history 
 to wish to know what became of them after the events 
 which lost the conspiracy and saved the. regent. We will 
 satisfy them in a few words. 
 
 The Due and Duchesse du Maine, whose plotting they 
 wished to stop for the future, were arrested, — the duke 
 at Sceaux, and the duchess in her house in the Rue Saint 
 Honoré. The duke was taken to the château of Doullens, 
 and the duchess to that of Dijou, and afterwards to the 
 citadel of Chalons. Both left at the end of a few months, 
 disarming the regent, one by an absolute denial, the other 
 by a complete avowal. 
 
 Richelieu was arrested, as Mademoiselle de Valois had 
 warned him, the day after that on which he had procured 
 Bathilde's interview with the regent; but his captivity 
 was a new triumph for him. It was reported that the 
 handsome prisoner had obtained permission to walk on the 
 terrace of the Bastille. The Rue Saint Antoine was filled 
 with most elegant carriages, and became, in tvv'cuty-four 
 hours, the fashionable promenade. The regent — who 
 declared that he had proofs of the treason of Monsieur de 
 Richelieu sufficient to lose him four heads if he had them 
 — would not, however, risk his popularity with the fair 
 sex by keeping him long in prison. Richelieu, again at 
 liberty, after a captivity of three months, was more bril- 
 liant and more sought after than ever; but the closet 
 had been walled up, and Mademoiselle de Valois became 
 Duchesse de Modena. 
 
 The Abbé Brigand — arrested, as we have said, at 
 Orleans — was kept for some time in the prison of that 
 town, to the great despair of Madame Denis and her chil-
 
 POSTSCRIPTUM. 439 
 
 dren; but, one fine morning, as they -u^ere sitting down to 
 breakfast, the abbé entered, as calm as ever. They asked 
 him a number of questions, but, with his habitual pru- 
 dence, he referred them to his judicial declarations, say- 
 ing that the affair had already given him so much trouble 
 that they would greatly oblige him by never speaking of 
 it any more. Now, as the Abbé Brigand was quite an 
 autocrat in Madame Denis's establishment, his desire was 
 religiously respected, and from that day the affair was as 
 completely forgotten in the Rue du Temps Perdu as if it 
 had never existed. Some days afterwards Pompadour, 
 Valef, Laval, and Malezieux went out of prison in their 
 turn, and began again to pay their court to Madame du 
 Maine, as if nothing had happened. As to the Cardinal 
 de Polignac, he was not even arrested; he was simply 
 exiled to his Abbey d'Anchin. 
 
 These proofs of clemency appeared to Dubois so out of 
 all reason that he came to the regent, intending to make a 
 scene about it, but the regent only replied, by repeating 
 the burden of the song which Saint-Simon had made on 
 him : — 
 
 " For I am Philippe le Débonnaire, 
 Philippe le Débonnaire." 
 
 This enraged Dubois so much, that the regent, in order 
 to pacify him, was obliged to transform him into his 
 Eminence the Cardinal. 
 
 La Fillon felt so exalted by Dubois's promotion that she 
 said she would receive from that time forward only those 
 who could trace their ancestry as far back as 1399. It 
 should be added, that her house had lost one of its most 
 illustrious inmates. Three days after the death of Captain 
 RoquefinettCj La Normande entered the house of the 
 Filles Repenties. 
 
 THE END.
 
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