"You have showered the most terrible epithets upon me, doubtless; I deserve them; I made a mock of you, it is true; but do you, in your turn, recall your conduct: I was to have been your wife, you preferred a bath keeper's daughter to me! I determined to be revenged, because I loved you in secret, because that love made even deeper the wound you had inflicted on me. I married the Marquis de Santoval, whom I did not love; but I knew his temperament, and I desired an avenger. Since that duel, in which he narrowly missed killing you, I have been unable to endure the marquis's presence; I can live with that man no longer—he is hateful to me.—Léodgard, you know every part of my conduct; if you had died of your wound, I should have killed myself in order not to survive you; for I love you still. Tell me that you forgive me, tell me that you will take me away from the Marquis de Santoval. I wish to see you, to speak with you. In pity's name, write me a few words in reply, and appoint a rendezvous for to-morrow, though it be but for a few minutes; do not refuse me!
"VALENTINE."
The perusal of this letter threw Léodgard's mind into confusion; dark clouds gathered on his brow, where something like tranquillity had reigned of late. He rose and paced the floor, in the most intense agitation; it was evident that a battle was raging in the depths of his heart. He read Valentine's letter once more, then seemed to be lost in thought.
"I was led to hope," murmured Bahuchet at last, in a wheedling tone, "that monsieur le comte would give me a word in reply. The lady even went so far as to make me promise not to return without one.—Poor lady! she was so pale, so agitated, so interesting!"
"So you saw her, did you?"
"Yes, monsieur le comte. Her maid, Miretta, had been searching Paris for me for a long time; after asking for me in vain at that miserly solicitor's, who turned me out of doors, with Plumard, for a mere nothing! a trifle!"
"Where did you see the marchioness?"
"On Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, in a little nook I selected. Oh! the lady didn't keep me waiting.—Will monsieur le comte refuse to give me a few words, in his hand? Poor lady! she will do some insane thing, if I do not take her an answer."
"Yes, I am going to write to her.—Ah! so this lady loves me!—Pardieu! I must make sure of that. But woe to her if she deceives me again!"
"I venture to assure monsieur le comte——"