Moreover, a secret sympathy drew the girl on; she too loved Léodgard. Only an instant, a single glance, was necessary for that.
Bathilde read and reread and read again the young count's letter; she held it in her hand when she went to bed, she kept it against her heart all night. Ah! a first love letter is such a priceless treasure! A woman may receive many of them in the course of her life, but the others are never worth so much as that one.
The next morning Bathilde knew the letter by heart, and she said to herself every instant:
"He loves me! he will always love me! I am the first woman whom he has ever really loved! My birth is no obstacle, he says; in that case, he will ask my parents for my hand, and will marry me. What joy! how happy I shall be! Not because I shall be a countess; what do I care for that? But I shall be his wife! and I shall be able, in my turn, to tell him that I love him!—But then, I must go out on the balcony to-night and speak to him. Suppose I consult my father first, and show him this letter? But perhaps he would scold me for receiving it and reading it without his permission!"
Bathilde was in dire perplexity, not knowing what she ought to do. But her heart was bursting with joy and happiness because she knew that Léodgard loved her.
She was still hesitating about going to her window, when Ambroisine suddenly appeared.
The belle baigneuse had not had time to visit her friend since the Fire of Saint-Jean; and yet a secret presentiment told her that her friendship was more than ever necessary to Bathilde. At last, she stole a moment during the morning and hastened to Rue Dauphine; she ran up to her friend's room and did not find her there; a servant told her that her master's daughter passed almost all her time now in the linen closet, and pointed it out to her.
This change of habit surprised Ambroisine. However, she went to the small room where Bathilde was. The latter, when she saw her friend, was confused for a moment, and hastily thrust into her bosom the letter which she was reading for the hundredth time.
Ambroisine ran to Bathilde and kissed her, saying:
"Well! here I am at last! I succeeded in making my escape to-day.—We have so many people at our baths, and so many young men come to be shaved by father! But I found a moment this morning, and I ran away. I was so anxious to see you! And you—have you no desire to talk over our evening on the Place de Grève? We have so many things to say to each other! haven't we?"