But Leodgard said to himself that Valentine was not the woman to allow herself to be sequestered, to live without the pleasures suited to her years. In that case, it must be she herself who did not choose to be thrown with him again. Was it because she detested him? Was it not rather because she was afraid that she might love him?

"Her efforts will be vain; I will see her!" thought Leodgard; "I will find a way to approach her; indeed, her soft glances seemed to say that that would not displease her."

Several more weeks pa.s.sed. At last Leodgard, who continued to go into society, found himself one evening in the same room with the Marquis de Santoval and his wife. There was a melancholy, melting expression on Valentine's features, which was not habitual to them; but her beauty was far from being diminished by the soft languor that dimmed the brilliancy of her eyes; on the contrary, their power was increased thereby.

Leodgard did not dissemble his sensations when he saw the marchioness again. She looked at him only an instant, but in the glance that she gave him there was the wherewithal to overturn the reason of the most virtuous man; and Leodgard was mad with love already.

But the Marquis de Santoval did not leave his wife for an instant; it was impossible for the most enterprising lover to say a word to her in secret, for there was no crowd there to facilitate a private interview.

The Comte de Marvejols was obliged, therefore, to allow the marchioness to go away without exchanging a single word with her. But he no longer doubted that she was alive to his pa.s.sion, and he determined to resort to other methods of seeing her.

The Hotel de Santoval was situated on Rue Sainte-Avoie. During the next few days, Leodgard pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed that hotel, the great gate of which was always closed. He renewed the occupation of seducer, which he had abandoned of late; but the servants who went in and out had one and all a surly air of the sort that does not inspire confidence; they either answered by monosyllables the questions that were put to them, or walked away without answering at all. The concierge, too, who sometimes appeared for a moment in the gateway, had a crabbed look far from encouraging to lovers.

"By h.e.l.l! I must find a way to send the lovely Valentine a note!" said Leodgard to himself, stamping the ground in vexation.

Then as his eye happened to fall on a wretched little wine shop, within a gunshot of the Hotel de Santoval, he decided to enter.

Although enveloped in an immense brown cloak, it was easy to recognize a _grand seigneur_ in the individual who entered the dark and smoky common room of the wine shop; so that the proprietor, who was not in the habit of receiving such guests, outdid himself in salutations, and invited Leodgard to walk into a small room behind his shop, where he could be alone, if such were his pleasure.

But Leodgard, preferring not to lose sight of the street and of Valentine's abode, took his seat at a table near the window, saying:

"I am very comfortable here; I will not move."

"What shall I serve monsieur?"

"A bottle of your best wine."

The host bowed again; for in those days wine served in bottles was not common, and was correspondingly dear. Only n.o.blemen or rich merchants indulged in that luxury at wine shops.

The room in which Leodgard was seated contained but few drinkers at that moment. At the rear, two old soldiers were discussing their campaigns over their wine; there were also three workmen, who were breakfasting very frugally and singing s.n.a.t.c.hes of ballads.

The latter soon left the wine shop, to return to their work. A few moments later, two young men arrived; their attire was very modest, but they talked very loudly.

As they made their entrance into the room, the shorter one exclaimed:

"Ah! ten thousand names of devils! It isn't so brilliant here as at the famous tavern of the Loup de Mer--eh, Plumard? This place is a regular hole!"

"It's large enough for what we have to spend!" muttered the second clerk, removing his cap to scratch the bit of plaster which was still attached to his scalp, and which, by dint of patience and by working with his nails, he had succeeded in reducing to about the size of a crown piece.

Bahuchet--the reader will ere this have recognized the two Basochians--approached the table next to Leodgard's, saying:

"Let us sit here, my dear boy; we shall be very comfortable here; we shall be able to see a little something--that is, if our proximity does not annoy his lordship?"

These last words were addressed to the count, who, having pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes, simply moved his head; whereupon the two clerks took their seats at the next table.

"What shall I serve you, gentlemen?" the host asked the new-comers.

"He calls us _gentlemen_!" muttered Plumard.

"The shrewd knave flatters us, hoping to induce us to spend more; but he will have nothing to show for his compliments and his reverences!--We have no choice--eleven sous between us; that is rather meagre, but we can't go beyond it!"

The host was still waiting. Bahuchet beckoned to him to come nearer.

"Listen carefully, good host, and do not exceed our order; we came here simply to eat a morsel--between our meals. Serve us three sous' worth of bread, six of wine, and two of good meat."

The host made a wry face and replaced his cap on his head.

"What kind of good meat do you expect me to serve for two sous?" he retorted.--"Make it six at least, messieurs, and you shall have a dish."

"We will not add a single denier--we have our reasons for it. Go, cabaretier, and serve it hot."

"Hot! you will have cheese!--I am not in the habit of serving it hot!"

"Ah! poor Bahuchet! where are your days of bl.u.s.ter?" muttered Plumard, digging his nails into his plaster.

"What would you have, Plumard? The days follow, but do not resemble one another!--Your skull is the only thing that persists in not changing; it is infernally obstinate about it."

"Do you remember, Bahuchet, when we regaled ourselves on the costume of my uncle the clothes dealer?--Ha! ha! thirty pistoles--no less; and what a spree we had at Le Roule, for two or three days!"

"I should say so; they had to take you to the hospital; you nearly died of indigestion.--Those were the good times!"

"To be sure, that great idiot of a Gascon chevalier was the cause of our having a scene with my uncle afterward!"

"Yes, but your uncle could never make us give back the money.--Ah! here comes our banquet. Fichtre! the good meat they are bringing can be smelt a long way off!"

"It's cheese--very well done."

The two clerks concluded to attack their breakfast. They stuffed themselves with bread and cheese. But after a moment Bahuchet observed, with a sigh:

"Ah! what a pity that Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin is married!

She used to give me famous commissions! and she paid handsomely."

Leodgard, who up to this time had heard the lamentations of his two neighbors, but had paid no heed to them, suddenly became very attentive and did not lose a word of what followed; for Valentine's name had reached his ears, and nothing more was needed to arouse his curiosity.

"Oh, yes!" replied Plumard, making a wry face as he tasted the wine that had been brought them; "you used to receive well-filled purses in those days; and you used to treat me. I remember the commission about the white plume; I came near receiving a cudgelling."

"I would run the risk often now, to obtain the wherewithal to pay for a sumptuous repast."

"Why do you not go to the Hotel de Mongarcin any more?"

"I do go there sometimes, as Maitre Bourdinard, our employer, is still Madame de Ravenelle's solicitor and has charge of her affairs. But Mademoiselle Valentine doesn't live with her aunt since she married the Marquis de Santoval."

"The result being that you never see her."

"Faith! the other day the old aunt came within an ace of sending me to her niece to obtain her signature to a doc.u.ment concerning the sale of a piece of real estate; but some formalities had been omitted, and I had to carry the doc.u.ment back to the office, where they prepared another.--Sacrebleu! what beastly wine!"

"Messieurs," said Leodgard, turning to his neighbors, but without removing his hat, which partly concealed his face, "would you like to taste this? you may not think it bad."

And the count raised the bottle to fill the two clerks' goblets. They both made a gesture of surprise, which ended in the most gracious of smiles. They did not wait to be asked twice to hold their goblets.