"It was impossible to talk with the girl, for Ambroisine watched her like a duenna! But I saw that my aspect did not displease her; she blushed, and lowered her eyes. Her head is worthy of Titian's brush. Ah! I am mad over her!—You will understand that I did not lose sight of that adorable girl! After the fire, they left the square; I followed them and found that they brought that angel to this house. She is the daughter of Landry, the bath keeper; I tell you this in confidence, Jarnonville, because I know that you will not try to rob me of my conquest."
"I! oh, no! My heart is closed henceforth to all such tender sentiments; it no longer knows aught but regret and grief!"
As he spoke, the Black Chevalier let his head sink on his breast.
"Come, come, Jarnonville! do not abandon yourself constantly to your sad memories; you are still young; my word for it, you may again see happy days!—But let me finish my story:
"The next day I went boldly to Master Hugonnet's shop. Ambroisine had surprised me with my eyes fixed on her friend; I did not choose to feign with her, so I asked her about her pretty companion of the preceding night. She received me very harshly, as I expected; she told me that I would have nothing to show for my sighs, my amorous enterprises; that Bathilde—that is the divine creature's name—that Bathilde never went out; that it was an exceptional event, her going to see the fire the night before; but that her father and mother kept watch over her day and night as their most precious treasure—in fact, the haughty baigneuse went so far as to read me a lecture. She told me that it would be frightful in me to think of seducing so much innocence and simplicity.—Poor Ambroisine! she did not realize that the more she expatiated on Bathilde's virtue, the more she increased my desire to possess her.—But I think that you are not listening, Jarnonville."
"I beg pardon; go on."
"I left Ambroisine, swearing that I would respect her friend, and I came at once to this street and began to do sentry duty here. For two days I saw no sign of the girl. I entered the baths—nothing. I was shaved in the shop—still nothing—no Bathilde. At last, three days ago, the window looking on yonder balcony opened, and a young woman appeared carrying a pot of flowers. She placed it carefully where it is now.—It was she, it was Bathilde. But had she seen me pacing the street? had she recognized me? That was something that I could not know; but the sight of her gave me hope. That beautiful rosebush had never been at that window; to place it on the balcony was to afford herself an excuse for coming there again. And, in fact, a few hours after the rosebush was placed there, the sweet girl appeared again and examined her flowers with much care. Never was a rosebush more scrupulously cleaned. She did not look at me while she was thus engaged, but I was certain that she saw me. Now and then a furtive glance was cast in my direction; but as it always met mine, she hastened to turn her head away.—However, since that day Bathilde continues to tend her flowers, to water them, to come several times a day to look at them. At first, I sent her kisses; yesterday, I did better—I wrote a few words, rolled the note around a stone, and, after dark, seizing a moment when no one was passing through the street, I tossed it on the balcony. I am certain that she picked it up, for the stone is no longer there. But to-day she has not once appeared at the window; the rosebush has been pitilessly neglected! Is it to punish me for writing to her? Is it to make me understand that she does not share my love, that I must renounce all hope? Oh, no! that is impossible! I read that charming girl's eyes, her whole expression; she has not yet learned the art of concealing what she feels. I noticed her cheeks flush when she saw me, her lovely eyes kindle with a brighter light, a gleam of joy illumine her face!—Oh! she loves me! she loves me, Jarnonville! And she will be mine!"
The Black Chevalier had listened to Léodgard with a gloomy expression; when the young man had finished his story, he shook his head, saying:
"I do not like this business of seducing young girls! There is at the root of the whole matter something that offends and oppresses the heart. Tell me of a deceived husband, of a jealous rival, of a cruel guardian, if you please. In such cases there is some danger, some risk to be run; there are often sword thrusts or dagger thrusts to be received or exchanged.—You fight, and that occupies, distracts, the mind. But in this instance! seduction! desertion! To make a poor creature weep who has not had the power to defend herself!"
"Ha! ha! ha! On my word, my dear Jarnonville, I cannot help laughing to listen to you! What! is it really you, the bully, the miscreant, the man who believes in nothing—for that is what you are called—who shed tears over the fate of a girl, because I propose to make love to her, and she is likely to hear me? A terrible catastrophe, truly!—How does it happen that you, whose heart, as you have just told me, is closed henceforth to all tender sentiments; that you who have taken the world in hatred and who look upon existence as a burden; who seek, in short, by doing ill to others, to avenge yourself for the ill that destiny has done to you—that you blame me for gratifying my passions at the risk of causing a few tears to flow?"