But Léodgard said to himself that Valentine was not the woman to allow herself to be sequestered, to live without the pleasures suited to her years. In that case, it must be she herself who did not choose to be thrown with him again. Was it because she detested him? Was it not rather because she was afraid that she might love him?
"Her efforts will be vain; I will see her!" thought Léodgard; "I will find a way to approach her; indeed, her soft glances seemed to say that that would not displease her."
Several more weeks passed. At last Léodgard, who continued to go into society, found himself one evening in the same room with the Marquis de Santoval and his wife. There was a melancholy, melting expression on Valentine's features, which was not habitual to them; but her beauty was far from being diminished by the soft languor that dimmed the brilliancy of her eyes; on the contrary, their power was increased thereby.
Léodgard did not dissemble his sensations when he saw the marchioness again. She looked at him only an instant, but in the glance that she gave him there was the wherewithal to overturn the reason of the most virtuous man; and Léodgard was mad with love already.
But the Marquis de Santoval did not leave his wife for an instant; it was impossible for the most enterprising lover to say a word to her in secret, for there was no crowd there to facilitate a private interview.
The Comte de Marvejols was obliged, therefore, to allow the marchioness to go away without exchanging a single word with her. But he no longer doubted that she was alive to his passion, and he determined to resort to other methods of seeing her.
The Hôtel de Santoval was situated on Rue Sainte-Avoie. During the next few days, Léodgard passed and repassed that hôtel, the great gate of which was always closed. He renewed the occupation of seducer, which he had abandoned of late; but the servants who went in and out had one and all a surly air of the sort that does not inspire confidence; they either answered by monosyllables the questions that were put to them, or walked away without answering at all. The concierge, too, who sometimes appeared for a moment in the gateway, had a crabbed look far from encouraging to lovers.
"By hell! I must find a way to send the lovely Valentine a note!" said Léodgard to himself, stamping the ground in vexation.
Then as his eye happened to fall on a wretched little wine shop, within a gunshot of the Hôtel de Santoval, he decided to enter.
Although enveloped in an immense brown cloak, it was easy to recognize a grand seigneur in the individual who entered the dark and smoky common room of the wine shop; so that the proprietor, who was not in the habit of receiving such guests, outdid himself in salutations, and invited Léodgard to walk into a small room behind his shop, where he could be alone, if such were his pleasure.