As she said these words, Bathilde, despite all her efforts, could no longer restrain her tears; she let her head fall on Ambroisine's shoulder and gave free vent to her sobs.
Hugonnet's daughter mingled her tears with her friend's, for at that moment she could think of no better way to comfort her. A grief which is able to find a vent always loses its force; it is a torrent changed into a brook.
Bathilde recovered her courage to some degree, and wiped her tears away, saying:
"I will be sensible; I will forget him, too; I will imitate him!—Ah! you were right, Ambroisine, his letter contained nothing but falsehoods; for he told me that he would die rather than cease to love me. Yes, it was nothing but lies, false oaths—so I never want to read it again; you may burn that letter, which deceived me so, you may destroy it; I must not keep anything to remind me of that—that fatal meeting."
"What you say is very wise, my dear child; yes, I will burn his letter this very day—as soon as I go home.—Ah! he well deserves to be roasted, too, the villain! who has caused my poor Bathilde so much misery!"
"Oh, no! you must not wish him ill, Ambroisine! On the contrary, I wish that he may be happy! And when I pray, I will beseech God to watch over him too, and to give him every felicity!"
"Upon my word! you are too kind! But heaven will take pity on you; and before long, I am sure, it will have banished from your memory, from your heart, everything that can possibly recall that seducer! If you could come to see me—if you could go out a little to divert your thoughts.—But, no! no! that would be dangerous; he might be on the watch for you and follow you again! I will come here; I will come whenever I have a moment to myself. I would have liked to bring my other friend with me,—Miretta, the girl I have spoken to you about; she is very agreeable, and she has so many interesting things to tell about Italy! But she never comes to see me, except in the evening; and father will not let me go out after dark, because there is a very dangerous brigand in Paris who attacks everybody, and whom they cannot succeed in arresting. So that many people declare that he is not a natural person at all, that he has dealings with the devil! Indeed, there are some who say that this Giovanni is the devil in person! As if that was not absurd! Why should the devil amuse himself robbing and stripping people in the streets?—But my friend Miretta is no coward, I tell you. She isn't afraid of the brigand, for she sometimes stays at our house quite late; and when father hasn't gone out to drink with the neighbors, he always offers to take Miretta home to the Hôtel de Mongarcin, but she will never accept anybody's escort. Several times father has said to her: 'Beware! you will fall in with Giovanni, and he will attack you!'—But she simply shakes her head and replies: 'I am not afraid of robbers.'—I am not very timid myself; but I confess that I haven't as much courage as Miretta, that I would not dare to go out alone so late, especially as they say that this Giovanni is horrible to look at. It seems that his head is all covered with bristling black hair like a wild beast, and that he has a beard that reaches to his breast.—He must be a frightful creature, mustn't he?"
Bathilde, who had ceased to listen when her friend no longer spoke of Léodgard, answered with a sigh:
"Look you, Ambroisine, I have been reflecting. You must not burn his letter; I prefer to keep it, because it is a proof—because it shows that men tell us things that they don't mean! Oh, no! you must not burn it, but you must give it back to me, after a while, when I can read it without danger, you know!"
Ambroisine shrugged her shoulders; and finding that it was useless to try to divert Bathilde's thoughts, she decided to leave her.