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Read Ebook: The Bath Keepers; Or Paris in Those Days v.2 (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume VIII) by Kock Paul De
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Ebook has 2741 lines and 96464 words, and 55 pages
That thought weighed heavily on Ambroisine's heart; she had never had any confidence in the oaths which the count had sworn to her friend; but it shook neither her resolution nor her courage.
Something told Ambroisine that that was L?odgard's residence, and she did not hesitate to knock there.
"Monsieur le Comte de Marvejols?" she inquired of an old woman whom she saw in the courtyard. The old woman nodded, then took a trumpet from her pocket and put it to her ear.
Ambroisine repeated her question, speaking very loud.
"Monsieur le comte is not in!" replied the deaf old concierge; "what do you want of him?"
"I have a letter for him."
"Give it to me."
"But I would like an answer."
"You can come again."
"When must I come to find the count?"
"No one ever knows; he doesn't say."
"But you will hand him this letter to-day?"
"Yes, if I see him."
"Do you not see him every day?"
"No; he is at liberty not to come home!"
"What sort of a life is he leading?" thought Ambroisine.--"At all events, you will give him this letter as soon as he returns?"
"Yes, if I see him."
"What! you do not see him when he returns?--you, the concierge?"
"Bless me! he has his own key; and he doesn't always knock."
"Well! try to see him as soon as possible!"
Ambroisine went home, far from satisfied with what she had learned.
Bathilde was impatiently awaiting her; she told her all that she had done, all that the marquis's old valet had told her concerning the young count. But Bathilde, far from being dismayed, was persuaded that her lover had left his father's house only to be more free to offer a home to his future wife.
"He will have my letter soon!" she cried, taking her friend's hand; "he will know my plight, all that I have had to suffer for him; in a word, he will know that I am a mother.--Ah! you will see, Ambroisine, that he will come at once to comfort me."
Ambroisine made no reply; but she did not share her friend's hope.
Master Hugonnet came again in the evening to see the poor girl, and said to her with a disappointed air:
"I went to Master Landry's to-day."
"You have seen my father!" cried Bathilde; "well?"
"He received me very coolly, very shortly, in fact; he answered only a few curt words to what I said. His face was dark and careworn."
"Oh! my poor father! it is I who am the cause of his unhappiness!"
"But he did not say a word about you.--As for your mother, when she saw me, she turned her back and disappeared; perhaps she was afraid that I should read her grief in her eyes."
"Oh, no! monsieur, she was afraid that you would mention her daughter's name."
And Bathilde turned away to weep, thinking how sad it was to be an object of shame and misery to those whose existence it was her duty to make glad.
Two days passed, and Bathilde received no news of L?odgard. Each hour, each minute that went seemed a century to the poor girl, whose eyes expressed the anxiety and suffering that were devouring her heart.
When the second day had gone, Ambroisine, realizing her friend's tortures, said to her in the morning, after kissing her:
"While my father is busy with his customers, I will run to Rue de Bretonvilliers."
"Oh, yes! do go, Ambroisine; it is not possible that L?odgard has received my letter and has not taken the slightest step toward consoling me. If he will simply come and tell me that he still loves me, that will give me strength to endure my suffering. Either the concierge has not seen him or she has forgotten to hand him my note."
"That is what I propose to find out."
"If he is at home, try to see him, to speak to him, to obtain an answer from him, so that I may at least know what my child's fate will be!"
"I know all that I am to say to him."
"But do not reproach him. You know how impatient, how quick-tempered he is! Avoid irritating him."
"I shall think of you, and, like you, I will be indulgent."
Ambroisine left the house. Bathilde hardly breathed all the time that she was absent. At last her friend returned, but her face did not announce cheerful news, and her voice trembled as she said to Bathilde:
"The concierge swore that she gave the letter to her master the day before yesterday, before night; she knows nothing more."
"And you did not see him?"
"'Monsieur le comte is absent,'--that is what she told me.
"'But at what time must I return in order to see him?' I asked the woman.
"'I don't know, myself; monsieur le comte goes in and out without saying anything to me, and he won't even allow me to ask him if he will return at night. "That does not concern you!" he told me once, and with such an angry, threatening look, that I vowed I would never ask him another question.'
"That, my poor girl, is what that woman told me."
"He received my letter two days ago!" murmured Bathilde, weeping; "and he has not been here, he has sent me no answer!--Mon Dieu! can it be that what you told me of Comte L?odgard is the truth? Was I simply one of those victims to whom a man does not become attached, only a caprice, only one seduction more?--Oh! if that is true, if I am no longer loved by the man for whom I ruined myself, if he has abandoned me forever--Ambroisine, I shall not have the courage to endure my misery!"
"Yes, you will have that courage," said Ambroisine; "heaven will give it to you; indeed, you will derive it from your very situation. When you think that you are a mother, you will remember what you owe your child--that child whom you love already, although you do not know it yet; but who will make you forget all your troubles, when its little arms try to embrace you, when its mouth calls you by the sweet name of mother, when the sounds of its voice reach your heart."
Bathilde wiped her tears away and looked up at her friend, saying:
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