"But why did you wish to go to the Pont-aux-Choux so late?"

"Why! Because I want to save you; because you are in danger; because, guilty as you are, I do not want you to be arrested and put to death!"

"_Que diavolo e questo?_ What is the source of this dread, of these new alarms?"

"Ah! because I heard a young man say: 'I know where Giovanni's usual lurking place is; it is near the Pont-aux-Choux that he ordinarily lies in hiding; if they would surround that place with archers, it would be very easy to capture the famous brigand.'"

"Ah! indeed!"

"'It is in that neighborhood,' he added, 'that he usually attacks people; not long ago he stole an a.s.s from my cousin, and murdered an old peasant woman of Vincennes!'--Oh! those words made me shudder; I said that it was not true, that Giovanni never shed blood.--Was I right in saying that?"

"You did right to think it, but you did wrong to say it. Do you wish people to suspect that you know me? You are an imprudent child, Miretta; you forget what I have told you.--Never a word about me, never a comment that may lead anyone to infer that we are not strangers to each other!

Listen, but do not seem to pay any attention to what people say about me."

"Oh! do you think that it is possible for me to remain unmoved when I hear someone say that he knows where you hide, that you will be arrested, that you will be---- Oh! I will not utter that horrible word!"

"In the first place, my dear love, why are you so silly as to place any faith in these fables, invented by one person to give himself importance, and repeated by others because lies always find fools enough who are ready to spread them? I, kill a peasant! to take her vegetables, I presume? I, steal an a.s.s! Why, what on earth should I do with it?--And you could believe that, Miretta! you, who have seen my wealth, and who know of the thirst for gold that possesses me now!"

"Mon Dieu! will it never be satisfied, this pa.s.sion which drives you to crime? Giovanni, do you mean to pa.s.s your whole life in this way?"

"No; a few months more.--Hark ye, next spring I mean to return to my lovely Italy."

"You will take me, will you not?"

"Yes, I will take you. I will buy a palace, a superb villa. I will have splendid equipages. You shall be covered with diamonds! I propose that Milan and Florence shall be dazzled by my magnificence and my luxurious mode of life."

"Why do you not carry out your plan now?"

"No; this will be a good winter in Paris; we will go in the spring."

"Giovanni, no one can defy danger forever with impunity! No one can be always stronger than the laws and his fellow men! The moment of retribution arrives when he believes that he is safe from all danger."

"Enough, Miretta, enough! I have told you before that your arguments are of no avail.--Let us take this street--we shall soon be at the Hotel de Mongarcin."

"Then let us take another, for I do not want to leave you so soon, Giovanni. I do not know why, but it seems to me that I shall not see you again for a long while. I have a heavy weight on my heart; do not leave me yet, I implore you, unless your safety requires it!"

"My safety has nothing to fear. But it is very late, and I thought that it was necessary for you to return."

"Oh! I am in no hurry now; I may remain as long as I please; my mistress herself gave me permission, for she thinks that I am employing my time in her service."

"What does that mean?"

"That Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin, furious with rage because she is disdained by the young Comte Leodgard de Marvejols, who was to marry her, wishes to know if he is really in love with the daughter of a bath keeper on Rue Dauphine, and if it is really he who obtains access to her at night by scaling the balcony of a window on the first floor.

Mademoiselle instructed me to investigate, to resort to every possible means of ascertaining the truth."

"Your investigation is all made, the truth is ascertained for you.--I know better than anyone what takes place in Paris at night. I know Comte Leodgard; on a certain night last winter I had quite a long conversation with him; and for some time past I have, in fact, noticed him several times scaling the bath keeper Landry's balcony. It would never have occurred to me to interfere with him; I should have been more inclined to a.s.sist him, if he had needed a.s.sistance."

"In that case, my errand is done. Mademoiselle Valentine is not happy in her love; for, although she will not admit it, I am very certain that she loves this young seigneur; but not so much, surely, as I love my Giovanni! O Giovanni! why must I leave you again? If you would----"

"The day will soon break," said Giovanni, interrupting her, "and I must not wait for it. Let us go this way and walk faster; I am going to take you home."

Miretta dared not remonstrate; but she sighed as she quickened her pace, and they walked along in silence.

They were soon within a few yards of the Hotel de Mongarcin. Giovanni released his companion's arm, saying:

"Here you are at home; adieu!"

"Already! what! must I leave you so soon? Just a moment more!"

"Really, Miretta, you are not reasonable to-night; do you not see that point of light in the sky, which announces the dawn? The stars are growing dim, the darkness is beginning to fade away. Do not keep me longer; adieu!"

Giovanni dropped the hand which tried to press his once more; he hurried away and disappeared.

Miretta stood like a statue when he had left her; she was conscious of a sharp pain at her heart, as if she had been stabbed.

XXVI

THE PONT-AUX-CHOUX

Historians are not agreed as to the first two encircling walls which were built around Paris; but there is no doubt as to the location of the third, which we owe to Philippe-Auguste, and which was begun in 1190.

This wall, starting from the right bank of the Seine, where the Pont des Arts now is, traversed the site of the Louvre in the direction of the Oratoire Saint-Honore, where Porte Saint-Honore stood; it then described a curve to the _carrefour_ now formed by Rues Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Coquilliere, and de Grenelle. When it reached Rue Montmartre, the wall was broken by Porte Montmartre. It continued along the northern side of Rue Mauconseil to Rue Saint-Martin, where there was a gate called Porte de Nicolas Huidelon. Crossing the sites of Rues Michel-le-Comte, Geoffroy-Langevin, du Chaume, de Paradis, where Porte de Braque stood, to Vieille Rue du Temple, it went on to Porte Beaudoyer, crossed the enclosure of the Convent of the Ave Maria and Rue des Barres, and ended at the right bank of the Seine.

The work on the wall south of the river began in 1208. This wall, built through gardens and vineyards as far as Porte Saint-Marcel, skirted the enclosure of Sainte-Genevieve to the Chateau de Hautefeuille, cut across Clos Bruneau to Porte de Bussy, and, following the outer wall of the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Pres and the smaller Pre-aux-Clercs, came to an end at the Tour de Nesle.

This third wall had round towers at intervals to protect it. But the most formidable ones were at the extremities, on the banks of the Seine.

Under the reign of Francois I, the wall had been considerably enlarged.

But, in the year 1536, the Cardinal du Bellai, lieutenant-general of the armies of King Francois, being informed of the approach of the English, who were already devastating Normandie and Picardie, and dreading the result of an attack upon Paris, ordered trenches and moats to be dug from Porte Saint-Antoine to Porte Saint-Honore. These were afterward called the Fosses Jaunes [yellow moats].

This little digression into the domain of history is necessary to recall old Paris to the minds of our readers, especially so that they may be able to form an accurate idea of the localities where the events took place which we are about to describe.

Pont Saint-Louis, otherwise called the Pont-aux-Choux, because of the proximity of Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and because it was princ.i.p.ally used by the market gardeners, who crossed it to carry their vegetables into the heart of the city, was situated between Porte du Temple and Porte Saint-Antoine, and was built over the moats of which we have just described the origin. Over this bridge, which was a dismal and often deserted structure, there was a gate of a commonplace type of architecture, called Porte Saint-Louis. But as it had not been closed for many years, there was no keeper; it was very dilapidated, and on the point of falling in ruins.

All about the Pont-aux-Choux were swamps, a large portion of which was uncultivated. Tall gra.s.s grew along the edges of the moat, which contained nothing but a little slimy water, through which it would have been difficult to force a boat. Thus the whole locality had a sort of wild and forbidding aspect, well calculated to inspire terror in the solitary traveller whom the darkness surprised on that road.

However, on a certain lovely night in summer, several young gentlemen, some of whom were acquaintances of ours, having crossed the Pont-aux-Choux on their way back to Paris, halted about three hundred yards beyond it, and one of them threw himself on the turf, crying:

"Faith, I don't care! go on if you choose, my masters; but I am going to rest here; it is very comfortable on the gra.s.s. Besides, I feel that I am drunk; I cannot stand on my legs."

"How now, my poor Monclair! Can you carry your wine no better than this?

What a pity!"

"Don't put on airs, Senange! You are at least as drunk as I am, if not more so."