• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 716 0

an embarrassing conversation, returned to the farther end of the room with the satisfied air of a soldier released from duty. Yet it was a delightful and an easy duty to wait upon the fair Fleur-de-Lys, and so it had once seemed to him; but the captain had gradually wearied of it; the prospect of a speedy marriage grew less and less attractive day by day. Besides, he was of an inconstant humor, and—we must confess—his taste was somewhat vulgar. Although of very noble birth, he had contracted while in harness more than one of the habits of the common soldier. He loved the tavern and all its accompaniments. He was never at his ease except among coarse witticisms, military gallantries, easy-going beauties, and easy conquests. He had received some education and some polish from his family; but he had roamed the country too young, joined the garrison too young, and every day the veneer of the gentleman was worn away a little more by the hard friction of his military baldric. Although he still visited her occasionally, from a lingering spark of common respect, he felt doubly embarrassed in Fleur-de-Lys’ presence: first, because by dint of distributing his love in all sorts of places he had very little left for her; and next, because amid so many stately, starched, and modest dames he trembled continually lest his lips, accustomed to oaths, should suddenly lose all restraint and break out into the language of the tavern. Fancy what the effect would be!

However, with all this were mingled great pretensions to elegance in dress and to a fine appearance. Let those who can reconcile these things. I am only the historian.12

He had been standing for some moments, thinking or not thinking, leaning silently against the carved chimney-piece, when Fleur-de-Lys, turning suddenly, spoke to him. After all, the poor girl only looked back at him in self-defense.

“Fair cousin, didn’t you tell us of a little gipsy girl whom you rescued from a dozen robbers some two months since, while you were on the night patrol?”

“I think I did, fair cousin,” said the captain.

“Well,” she continued, “it may be that same gipsy girl who is dancing in the square below. Come and see if you recognize her, fair Cousin Phœbus!”

He perceived a secret desire for reconciliation in this gentle invitation to return to her side, and in the pains she took to call him by his Christian name. Captain Phœbus de Châteaupers (for it is he whom the reader has had before him from the beginning of this chapter) slowly approached the balcony. “There,” said Fleur-de-Lys, tenderly, laying her hand upon Phœbus’s arm, “look at that little thing dancing in the ring. Is that your gipsy girl?”

Phœbus looked, and said,—

“Yes; I know her by her goat.”

“Oh, yes! what a pretty little goat!” said Amelotte, clasping her hands in admiration.

“Are its horns really, truly gold?” asked Bérangère.

Without moving from her easy-chair, Dame Aloïse took up the word: “Isn’t it one of those gipsies who came here last year through the Porte Gibard?”

“Mother,” said Fleur-de-Lys, gently, “that gate is now called Porte d‘Enfer.”

Mademoiselle de Gondelaurier knew how much her mother’s superannuated modes of speech shocked the captain. In fact, he began to sneer, and muttered between his teeth: “Porte Gibard! Porte Gibard! That’s to admit King Charles VI.”

“Godmother,” cried Bérangère, whose restless eyes were suddenly raised to the top of the towers of Notre-Dame, “what is that black man doing up there?”

All the girls looked up. A man was indeed leaning on his elbows on the topmost balustrade of the northern tower, overlooking the Place de Grève. He was a priest. His dress was distinctly visible, and his face rested on his hands. He was as motionless as a statue. His eye was fixed intently on the square.

There was something in his immobility like a kite which has just discovered a nest of sparrows, and gazes at it.

“It is the archdeacon of Josas,” said Fleur-de-Lys.

“You have good eyes if you can recognize him from this distance!” remarked Mademoiselle Gaillefontaine.

“How he watches the little