But although he was in the linen closet, he must still find the girl's bedroom. He opened the door, stepped into the hall, and cautiously felt his way along, stopping frequently to listen. Something told him that Bathilde herself would point out the direction he must follow.
And so it proved; he heard a sweet voice singing an old villanelle with a slow and melancholy refrain.
Léodgard walked in the direction from which the sound came, and soon spied a light shining through the crack of a door not entirely closed.
It was Bathilde's bedroom.
Suddenly she saw the door open and Léodgard appear before her; she screamed, but her lover fell at her feet; she tried to fly from him, but he already held her in his arms.
Poor Bathilde! she loved him too dearly to be capable of defending herself.
The next morning her rosebush was dead.
Let us allow two months to elapse, during which the lovers rarely passed a night without meeting. The silk ladder remained in Bathilde's room, and she herself fastened it to the balcony at the hour agreed upon with Léodgard, who no longer appeared in the morning in front of Master Landry's abode.
Thus the lovers were able to enjoy their happiness in peace; no one was in their confidence, therefore they feared no treachery.
Ambroisine had come more than once to see her friend, and had asked her if she was beginning to be consoled, to forget Comte Léodgard. And Bathilde had lied; for her lover had told her that their liaison must be kept a profound secret until the time when he could mention it to her father; and to obey Léodgard, Bathilde had pretended, in answer to her friend, to be cured of her love.