A week after the memorable night on which the Fire of Saint-Jean attracted so many people to Place de Grève and gave rise to so many adventures, one evening, just at nightfall, a young man enveloped in a brown cloak was walking on Rue Dauphine in front of Landry the bath keeper's house, toward which he glanced every minute, scrutinizing with especial care a window on the first floor, with a jutting balcony, on which could be seen a superb rosebush covered with flowers and buds. And as, when one is looking in the air, one does not see before one's face, the young man suddenly collided with a person who was walking along the street at a rapid pace.
"Ten thousand devils! be careful! can you not see where you are going?"
"Par le mordieu! you had only to look, yourself!"
"That voice! why, it is the young Comte de Marvejols!"
"Ah! it is the Sire de Jarnonville. Pray excuse me; but I was too distraught to see you. I am waiting—I am watching."
"Very good; I understand; you are en bonne fortune—there is some new intrigue on the carpet?"
"A new intrigue, yes; but en bonne fortune—not yet. Oh! it will be a hard task; there are great obstacles; but I must come out of it with credit to myself!"
"Are there blows to be dealt, sword thrusts to be exchanged? Do you need me to cudgel someone? to break down a door or to scale a wall?"
"Thanks, Jarnonville, thanks; but my intrigue must be carried on quietly and without fighting.—It has to do with a young and pretty girl! Oh! the word pretty falls far short of describing her! She is an enchanting creature, an angel of innocence and beauty, whom I met by chance, a week ago, at the Fire of Saint-Jean. She was with Ambroisine and her father—you know whom I mean, the bath keeper on Rue Saint-Jacques?"
"Yes, Master Hugonnet.—Well?"