XLVII
THE WOUNDED MAN
Let us return now to Bathilde, the sweet and charming countess, the loving mother, whom events have compelled us to neglect for some time, but whom it would be impossible to forget; for sweetness of disposition, when combined with beauty, is a talisman which never loses its power.
When Ambroisine, on returning from Place Royale, where she had seen Léodgard embrace his daughter, entered Bathilde's room with the child, her friend divined from her radiant face that some fortunate event had occurred; and rising from the reclining chair on which she was stretched, she held out her arms to Blanche and cried:
"What has happened? What brings you back so soon?—Ambroisine, I see in your eyes that you are happy. May I not share your happiness?"
"Oh! yes, indeed! Our reason for returning so soon was that you might enjoy it the sooner. But first of all take your child on your knees, and kiss her; the dear little angel—it is she who is the cause—it is she who—— Mon Dieu! I am so glad—so glad, that I can't speak—it suffocates me!"
Bathilde took the child on her knees; Blanche put her little arms about her mother's neck and returned her kisses, lisping:
"The gentleman—he kiss Blanche again; he said—I am pretty!"
"What does she say?" asked Bathilde, looking from Ambroisine to the nurse.
"She says," replied Ambroisine,—"what she says is true; yesterday there was a fine gentleman on the square; he saw Blanche playing; he thought her so pretty that he kissed her, and then he asked Marie the dear child's name, and then her mother's; and when she told him, he kissed Blanche once more; and that same gentleman came to-day again and sat on the same bench; and I am perfectly sure that it was to see Blanche again!"
"When mademoiselle saw him this morning," said the nurse, "she recognized him at once, and began to run toward him."