Two days after this conversation, the daughter of Léodgard and Bathilde was presented for baptism by the Sire de Jarnonville and Ambroisine.
An old gentleman who was a friend of the chevalier, Master Hugonnet, and a few faithful old retainers of the marquis, were the only witnesses of the ceremony, which Bathilde was too weak to attend.
When he carried little Blanche back to her mother and placed her in her arms, Jarnonville kissed the child's forehead. His emotion was most intense, for the little girl's features recalled the cherished darling whom he had lost. He could hardly articulate the words:
"Will you allow me, madame, to come occasionally to present my respects to you and to embrace this child?"
"Henceforth this house is open to you, seigneur," Bathilde replied. "You will honor me by coming here; you will make me happy by taking an interest in my daughter."
At first the Black Chevalier availed himself sparingly of the permission accorded him by the young mother. But as little Blanche developed, as her features became more individualized, as her eyes began to beam with something different from the vague expression of infancy, she became so lovely, there was so much sweetness and charm in her glance, that it was impossible not to feel the keenest interest in her, or to leave her without a secret determination to see her soon again.
As he gazed at little Blanche, Jarnonville tried to discover in her features some likeness to the child he had lost, and it rarely happened that he did not succeed; for in early childhood the little creatures almost always make use of the same cries, the same language, to express joy, grief, and pain.
Thus the chevalier's visits gradually became increasingly frequent, for with every day that passed his affection for little Blanche strengthened.
And then Ambroisine, who loved the little girl almost as dearly as her mother did, rarely let a day pass without coming to see Bathilde's child; so that, when he went to the Hôtel de Marvejols, Jarnonville was almost certain to meet the fair godmother there; which was an additional motive for him to go thither often.
Bathilde saw with pride and rapture that her daughter became every day lovelier and sweeter; she was happy in the affection which everyone manifested for the child; but in the midst of her joy, surrounded by her faithful friends, with her child in her arms, she sometimes raised her eyes toward heaven and sighed, saying: