"Yes, but great cities are dangerous places for virtuous young maids such as you appear to be. They should have told you that, my child."

"Yes, they did, mademoiselle! but I am not afraid of anything."

"Why, you must believe yourself very wary, very strong, to think you can escape the snares they'll set for you."

"Indeed it's not that, mademoiselle, but it is that--I daren't say--it's a mystery, a secret."

Secret and mystery had the same effect upon the old maid as love and marriage have upon a young maid--they aroused all her feelings.

Marguerite's little eyes beamed and she cried,--

"What, my child! you have a secret? I am not curious, but you interest me; I should like to be useful to you, but it's necessary that I should know everything that concerns you. What is this mystery that you dare not mention?"

"Mademoiselle, I did not wish to confide in anyone in Paris, for somebody told me there were pickpockets who would steal my treasure."

"You possess a treasure?"

"Oh, yes, mademoiselle; but one with which I could still die of hunger."

"Why, indeed, what does that matter, my child, hasn't every young girl a treasure without price--her innocence, her virtue--and those who guard it the best are not always the richest. When I see shameless women, who live in luxury and abundance, riding in gilded carriages, it makes me feel ill. But about your secret, my child; would you refuse to confide in me?"

"No, indeed, mademoiselle, you appear so respectable, so good, that I cannot refuse you."

Marguerite half smiled and tapped the country woman on the arm, for praise is a flower whose perfume is grateful at any age.

"Out with it then," she said. "What is it?"

"Mademoiselle, I'll tell you with much pleasure; but it's a long story, and I must go into a good many houses this morning. If you would let me tell it to you this evening at your house, that would be better, for I dare not say all that in the street; some one might hear me and take me for a sorcerer, and I'm very much afraid of the Chambre Ardente. G.o.d knows, however, mademoiselle, that I understand nothing of magic, and I'm more afraid of the devil than I am of men."

"Oh," said Marguerite, whose curiosity had reached an unbearable point, "this mystery of yours is of itself extraordinary?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"Indeed! Well, this is very embarra.s.sing; to receive you in the house is difficult. Where do you live, my child?"

Urbain hesitated for a moment, then replied:--

"Near the Porte Saint-Antoine."

"Oh, good heavens--that's more than a league from here. I could never get there; my master's a very strict man and doesn't wish that anyone should have visitors."

Marguerite reflected for some moments, then her curiosity carried the day.

"Well," said she at last, "come this evening at seven o'clock; it'll be dark; but look well at that house over there--that alleyway."

"Oh, I shall recognize it."

"Don't knock; keep near the door. I'll let you in, and show you up to my room. At that hour my master doesn't ordinarily need my services, and he never leaves the lower room."

"That's enough, mademoiselle, I'll be there at seven precisely."

"What is your name?"

"Ursule Ledoux."

"Above all, Ursule, don't gossip with anybody about this. It's no crime to receive you, but my master's a little ridiculous and might find it wrong. Besides, my child, one must be discreet in everything. You'll tell me your secret this evening, Ursule?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"At seven o'clock, the house over there."

Urbain departed, delighted by the success of his stratagem, breathing with difficulty, partly from the hope of seeing Blanche and partly because his corset impeded his respiration; and Marguerite reached her dwelling, saying,--

"This young girl looks as sweet as she looks honest, and there's no harm in receiving her for a moment--it'll amuse my poor little Blanche a little; she's been rather sad for some days and seems more lonely than usual; and we shall know the secret which--mon Dieu, if seven o'clock would only come soon."

Marguerite hastened to find Blanche. Since the night of the serenade the lovely child had been even more dreamy than before; she sang nothing but the refrain of her dear romance, and the villanelles, the virelays, the old songs amused her no longer. Marguerite drew near to her and said mysteriously, in a low tone,--

"This evening we shall have a visitor."

"A visitor," said Blanche. "Oh, M. Chaudoreille I suppose."

"No, indeed, a very pleasing, very honest young country girl whom you don't know. A poor child who possesses a treasure and who is looking for a place as cook; she wishes to remain virtuous, and for that reason has come to Paris; she is afraid of the devil, but of nothing else."

"But dear nurse, I don't understand."

"Hush! hush! keep still! This evening she will come, and we shall hear her story; there is a question of a very curious mystery, but be silent; it is not necessary that M. Touquet should know anything about that for he might forbid this poor Ursule from coming to chat with us, and that would displease me very much because she will amuse you a little, my child."

"Oh, be easy, dear nurse, I shall say nothing," cried Blanche, and she jumped about her room for joy because the announcement of this visit was for her an extraordinary event. The least thing new is a great pleasure for those who pa.s.s their lives deprived of all gayety. It is thus that a storm or even a shower will distract and occupy a poor prisoner; that a bottle of wine will make a feast for a man of small means habituated to drinking nothing but water; that the sound of a Barbary organ appears delightful to the country people; that a ticket for the play crowns the wishes of the poor workwoman of ten sous a day; that a little muslin dress makes an honest grisette happy; and that Sunday is awaited with impatience by those who work all the week; while for many people fetes, the theatre, music, diamonds, cannot rejoice their hearts. After all, should not the poor be happier than the rich?

At last seven sounded from Saint Eustache's clock. The barber had long since sent Blanche and Marguerite to shut themselves into their rooms.

The old servant went softly downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible with her heels, and shielding the light of her lamp with her hand. She opened the street door and saw the country girl, who had been waiting for a quarter of an hour.

"That's well," said Marguerite, "you are here; but hush! don't speak, don't make any noise; let me lead you."

Urbain nodded his head and entered the alleyway, while Marguerite softly closed the door. Then our lover was at the height of his joy. It seemed to him that he breathed a purer air in the house of the one he loved. He believed himself in the abode of highest bliss while going up the little crooked staircase; and the black and crumbling walls that surrounded him had more charm for his eyes than the marbles or the sculptures of the Louvre.

"You are going to see my mistress," said Marguerite, "I have warned her, but fear nothing, she is as amiable as she is good; you can speak without danger before her, she is discretion itself,--besides, she never sees anybody, and never goes out. My master wishes to shield her against the enterprises of these dandies, of these worthless fellows who seek to cajole the poor girls. It is true that my little Blanche is very pretty; she would turn the heads of all our n.o.blemen, you are going to see her, and you can judge for yourself; here we are at her room. Come in, come, don't tremble so; how childish you are."

Urbain was trembling, in fact, and his heart beat so hard that he was obliged to support himself for a moment against the wall. During this time Marguerite opened the door and said to Blanche,--

"Here she is."

Blanche rose and came to meet the young girl whom her nurse had brought, smiling pleasantly at her. Urbain raised his eyes, saw Blanche, and his emotion increased. He had only been able through the panes of the cas.e.m.e.nt to perceive her features very imperfectly, and the charming object which now met his gaze was a hundred times more beautiful than the image which his memory and his imagination had created. He remained for a moment stunned, motionless, not daring to take a step, doubting still whether he could believe his happiness, and looking with delight at the lovely girl, who smiled at him and took him by the hand, saying to him,--

"Won't you come in? Come in and sit down and warm yourself. Why, you're not afraid of me, are you?"

"This is the girl I told you about," announced Marguerite, "but she is a little timid, though she will soon lose that; may she always preserve her modesty in Paris."

Blanche's soft hand slipped into that of the young bachelor and she led him to the fireplace. On feeling the pretty fingers imprinted on his own, Urbain scarcely breathed, and murmured in a feeble voice,--