AS everything coheres, everything is connected in this lower world, there is no chance; but there are many rebounds which transmit from one to another events, effects, for which we bless or curse fate,—as they are fortunate or unfortunate,—instead of tracing them to their original causes, from which, in truth, we are sometimes removed so far as to have no cognizance of them.

Thus it came to pass that our young Urbain had blessed chance on perceiving that the light was still burning in Blanche's room; but if the young girl had not gone to rest it was not by chance, but because Marguerite could not decide to go up to bed in her new room before knowing where the little door in the back of her alcove led.

Now if the garrulous old maidservant had not confessed to her master that she had witnessed his nightly vigils, the latter would not have made her change her lodging; and the fear which induced him to do so was due to other causes still more remote; thus, by a series of events, Marguerite's gossip had led to Blanche's hearing Urbain's sweet and tender voice sing the romance which had so enchanted her in the morning.

"Yes, mademoiselle," said the old woman, some moments before the young lover began to sing, "I know I should die of fright if I should have to sleep alone in that horrid room, formerly inhabited by a magician, without knowing where that little door leads to—perhaps into that Odoard's laboratory. Who knows whether he isn't still there? These sorcerers are sometimes shut up by themselves for half a century, searching for secrets which will enable them to give human kind into the hands of the devil. I am sure that M. Touquet, who is very indifferent in regard to everything pertaining to sorcerers, has not once been into that room. Let me pass the night in your room, my child; tomorrow, when it's daylight, we'll go together and open that door, since the Chevalier Chaudoreille wasn't polite enough to do so. I can pass the night in this easy chair; I shall be much better here than upstairs, and I can tell you some interesting stories before you go to sleep."

Blanche could not refuse Marguerite what she asked as a favor; the old woman was relating her third story of sorcery, and the young girl, who felt that her eyes were growing heavy, was about to go to bed, when the sounds of a guitar were heard.

Blanche listened, and made a sign to Marguerite to be silent, and soon recognized with delight the air which she was desirous of learning. There is something sweeter, more seductive, in music thus heard in the middle of the night; it finds its way more quickly to the heart. Urbain's voice was flexible and melodious. Blanche, transported, remained motionless, as though she feared by a single movement to lose a sound, while Marguerite, gaping with astonishment, looked at the engaging child without appearing greatly enchanted with the music. But Marguerite was more than sixty years old, and music had not the same effect upon her as upon Blanche; the sounds reached no farther than her ears, while they vibrated deliciously in the depths of the heart of sixteen.

Very soon, however, the noise which they heard in the street put an end to Blanche's happiness; she recognized the barber's voice, and the threats which he pronounced made her tremble, as well as Marguerite, who cried immediately,—

"Go to bed! go to bed quickly, my child, and extinguish the light; if M. Touquet sees that we are still awake, if he should find me in here—O holy blessed Virgin! I shall be lost."

"But why is he so angry?" said Blanche. "Is singing in the streets in the evenings forbidden? I was so pleased to hear that romance. What harm was the young man doing?—for it was a young man who was singing—was it not, dear nurse? It was not the voice of an old man, and, oh, how well he sang! I have never heard such a pretty voice; it had a singular effect on me; it made my heart beat with pleasure—didn't it yours, Marguerite?"

Marguerite, whose heart was beating only with fear, contented herself with repeating, "Go to bed quickly, put out the lamp, and above all don't say tomorrow that you heard the singing; that would prove that you were not yet asleep, and M. Touquet wishes everyone to go to sleep as soon as they go to bed."

Since it was necessary to yield to the insistence of the old servant, Blanche went to bed, but she did not go to sleep; the young singer's voice still seemed to ring in her ears, and on hearing the least sound in the street she imagined that it was the musician again. As to Marguerite, after putting out the lamp, she extended herself in an armchair near the fire and fell asleep, murmuring a prayer to drive away evil spirits.

The morning after this night, so fertile with events, Blanche arose early. She was pensive, preoccupied, still dreaming of the young singer's voice; she felt new desires, and sighed as she glanced toward the street. Marguerite ran to her work, saying to Blanche,—

"When monsieur is most busily engaged with his customers, we'll go up together into my room; but, my child, above all don't say anything about the music."

Blanche promised her, saying, "Why should he be angry because somebody came to sing such a pretty air under our windows?"

The barber said nothing to the young girl about the adventure of the night; he contented himself with observing Blanche, and the lovely child, remembering the threats which she had overheard him utter against the singer, had no desire to chat; she hastened to return to her chamber, where Marguerite was not long in coming to rejoin her.

"Now is the time," said the old servant; "monsieur has a good many people to shave. Come, my child; come up with me, and above all don't be frightened; I have taken every precaution necessary to drive away the goblins."

"Frightened!" said Blanche, because she saw that Marguerite was trembling. "No, dear nurse, no; I assure you that I'm not thinking of your secret door at all."

Thus saying, Blanche darted lightly up the stairs, while Marguerite followed her more slowly, saying, "Happy age when one has no fear of magicians, because one does not understand all their wickedness,—it is true that she has a talisman."

When they reached the room, Blanche entered quickly, while the old woman made a genuflexion and invoked her patron saint, after which she decided also to go into her new room, throwing anxious glances about her. Blanche had run into the alcove and already drawn the bed into the middle of the room.

"Wait a moment; don't be so imprudent," cried Marguerite to her. "Is it necessary to do things so quickly?"

"But, dear nurse, the sooner we open that door, the sooner you'll be reassured."

"Reassured! that's what I wish. Have you your talisman, my darling?"

"Of course I have. Didn't you sew it yourself inside my corsets?"

"That's true."

"I don't see the door you were talking about."

"It is so well encased in the woodwork."

"Ah, here it is!"

"Wait a moment, mademoiselle, while I throw some holy water before it."

"But there's no key; how can we open it?"

"Well, we must try. I have several keys that I have picked up while cleaning the house, perhaps one of those will open it."

Marguerite advanced tremblingly towards the end of the alcove. She drew from her pocket half a dozen rusty keys of different sizes, and was about to try one of them, but her hand shook and she could not find the keyhole. Blanche seized one key and tried it unsuccessfully, then a second; but at the third the young girl uttered a cry of joy, for the key turned, and Marguerite crossed herself, murmuring,—

"O my God, the door is opening!"

In fact, the door yielded to Blanche's effort and opened, creaking and groaning on its hinges, and the two women beheld a square closet; but, as it received no light except from the little door that opened into it, and as that door led into a dark alcove, one may conceive that there was little daylight there. Blanche remained on the doorsill and Marguerite recoiled a few steps, saying,—

"See now, my child; I was right in thinking that that door led somewhere. Oh, this is as dark as a cave."

"Let us go in here, nurse."

"But not without a light, I hope. Wait; I will go and light my lamp. I don't know that it is prudent of us to enter this closet."

"But, Marguerite, you see very well that there is nobody here."

"I can see nothing except darkness. Wait; take the lamp, and you go first, my darling; you have your talisman; nothing will happen to you."

Blanche entered first; she seemed more curious than alarmed, while the old woman could scarcely persuade herself to follow. The closet was six feet square, and held nothing but two big empty chests placed on the floor, which time had covered with dust and spiders' webs.

"Well now, my dear nurse," said Blanche, smiling, "where are the sorcerers? I don't see anything frightful here."

"In fact," answered Marguerite, glancing all about her; "there's nothing but four walls, no other door, and these two chests are empty. I'm sure that no one has disturbed this place for half a century. No matter; I swear to you that I shall not come back here again. I don't know why I feel so uneasy here. How the floor creaks under our feet!"

"It's because no one has walked here for a long time; this house is old."

"Come, my dear child, let us leave this closet; I shall shut the door and double-lock it, and I shan't open it again while I stay in this room."

Thus saying, Marguerite pushed Blanche before her, then closed the little door and double-locked it, murmuring between her teeth,

"Alas! if some sorcerer should wish to open the door that lock would not resist him; but every night I shall cross my shovel and tongs before it."

This visit terminated, Blanche went down, humming to herself the romance of the evening before, and Marguerite returned to her work.

The barber had ordered dinner early; and at six o'clock in the evening he left the house, repeating to Marguerite:

"Redouble your watchfulness, do not allow any man to go near Blanche without my permission, and inform me if you hear anyone singing in the street."

The old woman promised to obey. Touquet wrapped his mantle about him and left to execute the marquis' plan. As he was accustomed to conduct similar intrigues, he knew where to procure everything that was necessary; and at a quarter to eight he was on the Pont de la Tournelle, while about a hundred feet from him two men awaited his orders near a travelling-chaise drawn by two horses.

For a long time Chaudoreille had been walking on the bridge. Fearing to miss the rendezvous, given for eight o'clock, he had arrived at six; burying his head between his shoulders and hiding his chin under his little mantle, he tried to give himself the air of a conspirator. With his left hand on Rolande's handle and the other holding his mantle, he walked sometimes slowly and sometimes with a precipitant step; and every time that anyone passed him he did not fail to murmur, in such a manner as to be heard,—

"How late she is in coming! What can keep her? I am burning! I am bursting! I shall die with impatience."

As soon as he saw Touquet he ran to him and pulled the edge of his mantle; then, looking to see if anybody was passing, he said to him in a mysterious tone,—

"Here I am."

"Well, hang it, I see you!" said the barber, shrugging his shoulders; "but I'd much rather see the little one."

"She hasn't appeared yet, I can answer for that. I've looked in every woman's face."

"It's not eight o'clock; let us wait."

"Be easy; I'll go and put myself in ambuscade and examine all the feminine visages."

"Take care they don't slap you; that would draw a crowd, and wouldn't please me."

"Slap me! They're more likely to kiss me, I should say; but I'll make a grimace, so as not to tempt them."

And Chaudoreille, drawing his hat down over his eyes, departed, taking as long steps as his little legs would permit.

In about three minutes Chaudoreille returned to say to the barber,—

"There's a woman who has just come along by the Pont Marie, and who is going to pass over this bridge."

"Indeed! Is she the one we are waiting for? You ought to know, if you've peered into her face."

"No; I wasn't able to do that this time, because she was giving her arm to a man, and he would have been frightened."

"If she's with a man it's not our young girl; one doesn't bring witnesses to a lovers' meeting."

"That's correct," said Chaudoreille, and he started off again.

Some minutes later he returned to Touquet, crying,—

"Here's another one who is coming along this way; but this one is alone, I am sure of that."

"Is it our beauty?"

"No, it is not she."

"You idiot! what did you come and tell me for?"

"So that you should not make a mistake; I thought it was my duty to avert that."

"Chaudoreille, do me the pleasure of remaining still. I know very well how to recognize her whom I came to meet without your help; although I haven't yet seen her, I am certain that I shan't make a mistake; but, hang it! if she doesn't come to this meeting, I shall send you to drink the water under the bridge, to teach you to do your errands better."

Chaudoreille had not heard the barber's last words; he was already far away, but he returned precipitately, looking scared.

"What is it now?" said Touquet.

"A patrol of the watch, which I can see coming, and which is going to pass by us."

"Well, what of that? What has the watch to do with us? It's not forbidden to walk on the bridge, and, even if they should see us abduct a young girl I can answer for it they'll hardly trouble themselves about that."

"Haven't we a rather suspicious look?"

"You make me ashamed of you."

"I shall pretend to be laughing, to allay their suspicions."

"Wait, perhaps this will give you more courage."

So saying the barber kicked Chaudoreille; but the latter received it singing, contenting himself by rubbing the part attacked while executing his trills, because at that moment the watch was passing them. When the patrol had departed he breathed more freely, and cried,—

"They have taken us for simple troubadours."

"They should have taken you for a fool. A plague on all poltroons! They are good for nothing except to spoil everything."

"I'm not going to get angry at a matter which doesn't concern me; but on great occasions it seems to me that stratagem is often better than valor."

The barber had begun to be impatient, when a young woman came on to the bridge, walking slowly and glancing from time to time about her. Chaudoreille had not perceived her, because he was in ambuscade at the side of the Rue des Deux-Ponts.

Touquet approached the unknown, looked at her and saw that this really was the young girl whom the marquis had depicted; for her part, the damsel looked attentively at the barber, and seemed to wait for him to address her in words.

"Are you not the Signora Julia?" said the barber in a bass voice, approaching the young girl.

"And you the barber Touquet?" answered she, lifting to him her animated black eyes.

The barber was surprised at hearing himself named by a person to whom he believed himself unknown, but, after having considered the young girl anew, he resumed,—

"Since you know me, you should also know that the Marquis de Villebelle has sent me to you."

"The marquis is rather ungallant," answered Julia, "in not coming himself to a first meeting."

"These great noblemen are not the masters of their time; besides, the marquis has no desire to converse with you about his love on this bridge."

"Preferring, no doubt, his little house of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine?"

"It seems to me, signora, that you are very well acquainted with everything that concerns the marquis; after that I have nothing more to tell you, except that a carriage is waiting a hundred feet from here."

"Very well, let us go."

"The deuce!" said the barber to himself, offering his arm to Julia, that he might conduct her to the coach; "here is a young girl who doesn't make a bit of fuss about allowing herself to be abducted. But I must confess that there's something in her voice and manners very decided and piquant, which astonishes as well as pleases."

They had reached the carriage when Chaudoreille's voice was heard; he ran after the barber, crying,—

"There's a woman coming by the side of the Porte de la Tournelle; it is our little one; I recognized her walk."

Saying these words, Chaudoreille perceived that the barber was conducting a person to whom he had given his arm.

"How is this? What does this mean? Must I believe my eyes?" cried the chevalier. "That's our beauty, and what the deuce way did she come? No matter; we've got her; that's the essential thing. I will protect your walk."

Chaudoreille then drew his sword, and, giving no ear to the barber, who bade him depart, ran up to the carriage, crying to the two men who were near,—

"My friends, here they are. Be adroit, be courageous. By jingo! she must enter your vehicle, willingly or by force."

Somebody opened the door, and Chaudoreille was a little surprised at seeing the young person trip first into the carriage. He was about to do the same, and seat himself near her, when Touquet, taking him by the breeches, dropped him on all-fours on the pavement, and, following Julia into the carriage, said to the coachman,—

"Go on!"

"What the deuce! he's going to abduct her without me," said Chaudoreille, picking himself up. "No, not by all the devils! It shall not be said that I did not finish this adventure; besides, they've only given me something on account, and I should like to be settled with before the marquis gets tired of the little one."

Chaudoreille immediately darted after the carriage; accustomed to running, he caught up with it, mounted behind, and allowed himself to be drawn at a great gallop, taking care to hold tightly to the tassels, which served to support him.