The Bath Keepers.

VOL.2.

by Charles Paul de k.o.c.k.

XXIX

AN UNFORTUNATE GIRL

The storm which Plumard feared for the next day burst that same evening, very shortly after the solicitor's clerk delivered the plume. At the bath keeper's house on Rue Saint-Jacques, Ambroisine was alone, listening to the roar of the thunder and the rain as she awaited her father's return.

Master Hugonnet had gone to visit his neighbor the keeper of the wine shop; but he had prolonged his stay there beyond his usual hour, and his daughter was beginning to be anxious, when she heard at last a knock at the street door; by the sound of the knocker, she recognized her father's hand, which was more or less heavy according as his libations had been more or less frequent during the evening.

This time, Ambroisine knew by the sound that her father was drunk.

She made haste to open the door. Master Hugonnet was leaning on the arm of the keeper of the wine shop, his neighbor, who had deemed it prudent to escort his customer to his home.

While the bath keeper stumbled into the house, urging his neighbor to come in, the latter said in Ambroisine's ear:

"Your father has thrashed, beaten, half killed a little solicitor's clerk, who was regaling himself at my place. He is a regular hothead when he is sober; but now he's a perfect lamb; and he embraced his victim! He ought to be drunk all the time, mademoiselle, for he is much more agreeable in company then."

The cabaretier took his leave, and Ambroisine returned to her father, who had seated himself at a table and was striking it with his hand, crying:

"Ambroisine, give us some wine and goblets; our neighbor is going to take a gla.s.s with me.--Well! where is our neighbor?"

"He has gone back, father; for it is very late. It is time for everyone to be getting to bed, and you will do well to go; you are not thirsty now--you have drunk enough."

Hugonnet seemed not to have heard his daughter; he pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes, sighed profoundly, and stammered:

"Poor little solicitor--for I think he was a solicitor--the idea of beating him like that! A boy no taller than my cane! It's a shame! it's disgusting! there are people who abuse their strength over feeble creatures!"

"But, father, I understand that it was you who beat this little clerk!

What had he done to you, pray? for you certainly don't pick quarrels with people without some reason!"

"I! it is impossible! He is my friend, that little dwarf; I would like to embrace him. Poor boy! he wanted pomade; I told him I hadn't any. He insisted on having some, and declared that a barber ought to make pomade. Poor fellow!"

"And you beat him because he asked you for some pomade! A pretty subject for a quarrel that!"

"I, beat him! Who says that?--He said to me: 'Do you know how to make hair grow? give me a receipt. Do you think that by mixing soot with horse droppings one would obtain a good result?'--Ha! ha! stupid nonsense that!--Where's our neighbor?"

"I tell you again that he has gone home to bed, father, and that you would do well to do the same, instead of staying in this room."

"Poor little solicitor! Mon Dieu! such a little fellow!--Think of beating a mere piece of a man! It's outrageous! And if I knew the villain who did it!--To be sure, you can't make pomade with horse droppings and soot--nonsense! It's making fun of a barber to ask him such questions!--The idea of putting pomade made like that on your customers' heads! Never! What do you take me for?--Embrace me! Someone has made a b.u.mp on your forehead, let me shed tears on it."

"For heaven's sake, father, go to your room! Listen; the thunder is very loud! Everybody in the house has gone to bed, and I would like to do the same. You will be much more comfortable in bed."

"Isn't our neighbor coming back?"

"In such weather as this, when the rain is falling in torrents! when the sky is so black!--Ah! what a flash! it is frightful!--Who on earth do you suppose would go out in such horrible weather?--If my deadliest enemy were in my house, I would not turn him out of doors!"

At that moment, someone knocked at the barber's door. Ambroisine was thunderstruck, and Master Hugonnet hiccoughed:

"There--you hear--someone knocked; it's our neighbor come back."

"Oh, no! it is impossible," said Ambroisine; "it cannot be he. We must have been mistaken; it was the roar of the storm that we heard."

Two more blows, struck with a feeble hand, but very near together, removed all doubt from the girl's mind. She shuddered, unable to a.s.sign a cause for her emotion; but she hastily seized a lamp and darted into the hall that led to the street door, exclaiming:

"Somebody out of doors in this terrible storm! I must not keep him waiting."

She drew the bolts and opened the heavy door. A woman stood before her, pale, dishevelled, trembling, and with water dripping from all her garments.

Ambroisine uttered a cry and stood for a moment without moving; she could not believe her eyes, she was suffocated with emotion.

"Bathilde!" she whispered; "you--in this condition! No, no! it is impossible!"

"Yes, it is I," replied a faint voice. "It is really Bathilde, driven from her father's house, cursed by her father and mother, who comes to you to beg for shelter! For I have no home, they have turned me out of doors. If you spurn me, Ambroisine; if you too turn me away--then I shall remain in the street; but it will soon be over!"

"I, turn you away! I, refuse you shelter, my friend, my sister!--Oh! mon Dieu! I cannot speak!"

Tears choked Ambroisine, and deprived her of the use of her voice. But she led Bathilde into the house. She embraced her, strained her to her heart; she strove to warm her by her caresses; and the poor girl, reanimated by such a welcome, tried to calm her sobs, saying:

"You do not turn me away--you still love me, do you not?--Ah! I am less unhappy than I was!"

"Poor child! Come with me--we must dry you first of all, change your clothes. You cannot stay like this. Ah! if my father should see you in this state!"

"Your father! Perhaps he would not receive me in his house; for I am very guilty, and if you knew----"

"Hush! you must not talk about that now.--Wait a moment; I have an idea that he is asleep; I will just go to make sure."

Ambroisine returned to the room where she had left her father. Master Hugonnet was sound asleep, with his head resting on the table.

"Come to my room," said Ambroisine, returning to Bathilde and taking her hand; "father is asleep, and I did not wake him."

Having reached the bedroom, the two girls threw themselves into each other's arms once more, Bathilde finding relief in weeping on her friend's breast, and Ambroisine already trying to devise a method of diminishing her companion's distress in some measure.

Ambroisine first disengaged herself from that loving embrace, saying:

"Mon Dieu! I forget that you are all wet, drenched! Take off all your clothes in the first place, and get into my bed; I will cover you up carefully, and you will get warm sooner."

"And you, Ambroisine?"

"I? oh! I will lie beside you; the bed is wide enough for us two. But first--here is some wine; you must drink some to put your blood in circulation.--Poor sister! you were out of doors in this storm!"

"Oh! it had begun when my mother drove me from the house, despite my prayers and supplications. I knelt to her; she pushed me away. I threw myself at her feet--she was inexorable!"

"Don't tell me that.--O my G.o.d! I do not know if Thou wilt ever grant me the happiness of being a mother; but if I do have children some day, I swear to Thee, O my G.o.d, that, whatever fault they may have committed, whatever their crimes, I will never curse them, I will never close my arms to them!"