“I’m a little uneasy,” said the Marquise. “The foolish child has gone to sleep leaving the candle alight on the table. I’ll send Clémence up to blow it out and to shut her balcony window, which she has left wide open.”
In a few moments the maid knocked at the door and called:
“Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!”
After an interval of silence she began again: “Mademoiselle, Madame la Marquise says please will you blow out your candle and shut the window.”
Again she waited, then knocked more loudly and called:
“Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!”
As Yvette did not answer, the servant departed and told the Marquise:
“Mademoiselle has certainly gone to sleep; her door is bolted and I can’t wake her.”
“But surely she won’t go on sleeping like that?” murmured Madame Obardi.
On Servigny’s advice they all assembled under the young girl’s window and shouted in chorus:
“Hip-Hip-Hurrah—Mam’zelle Yvette!”
The cry rang out in the still night, piercing the clear moonlit air, and died away in the sleeping countryside; they heard it fade away like the noise of a train that has gone by.
As Yvette did not reply, the Marquise said:
“I hope nothing’s the matter with her; I’m beginning to be alarmed.”
Then Servigny snatched the red roses and the still unopened buds from the big rose-tree that grew up the wall, and began to hurl them through the window into her room. At the first which struck her, Yvette started and nearly cried out. Some fell on her dress, some in her hair, others flew over her head and landed on the bed, covering it with a rain of flowers.
Once more the Marquise cried in a choking voice:
“Come, Yvette, answer!”
“Really, it’s not normal,” declared Servigny. “I’ll climb up by the balcony.”
But the chevalier was indignant.
“Pardon me, pardon me, but that’s too much of a favour, I protest; it’s too good a way—and too good a time—for making a rendezvous!”
And all the others, thinking that the young girl was playing a trick on them, cried out:
“We protest. It’s a put-up affair. He shan’t go up, he shan’t go up.”
But the Marquise repeated in her agitation:
“Someone must go and see.”
“She favours the duke; we are betrayed,” declared the prince, with a dramatic gesture.
“Let’s toss for the honour,” suggested the chevalier, and took a gold hundred-franc piece from his pocket.
He began with the prince. “Tails,” he called. It was heads. The prince in his turn threw the coin, saying to Saval:
“Call, please.”
“Heads,” called Saval.
It was tails.
The prince proceeded to put the same question to all the others. All lost. Servigny, who alone remained facing him, drawled insolently:
“Damn it, he’s cheating!”
The Russian placed his hand on his heart and offered the gold coin to his rival, saying:
“Spin it yourself, my dear duke.”
Servigny took it and tossed it, calling: “Heads!”
It was tails. He bowed, and pointed to the pillar of the balcony.
“Up you go, prince,” he said.
But the prince was looking about him with a troubled air.
“What are you looking for?” asked the chevalier.
“I … I should like a … a ladder.”
There was a general roar of laughter, and Saval came forward, saying: “We’ll help you.”
He lifted the man in his Herculean arms, with the advice: “Hold on to the balcony.”
The prince promptly caught hold of it and, Saval letting go, he remained suspended, waving his legs. Servigny caught hold of the wildly struggling limbs that were groping for a foothold, and tugged at them with all his strength; the hands loosed their grip and the prince fell like a log on to the stomach of Monsieur de Belvigne, who was hurrying forward to help support him.
“Whose turn now?” asked Servigny, but no one offered.
“Come on, Belvigne, a little courage.”
“No, thank you, my boy. I’d sooner keep my bones whole.”
“Well, you, then, chevalier? You should be used to scaling fortresses.”
“I leave it to you, my dear duke.”
“Well … well … I don’t know that I’m so keen on it as all that.” And Servigny walked round the pillar with a scrutinising eye. Then he leapt, caught hold of the balcony, hauled himself up like a gymnast on the horizontal bar, and clambered over the rail.
All the spectators applauded, with uplifted faces. But he reappeared directly, crying: “Come at once! Quickly! Yvette’s unconscious!”
The Marquise screamed loudly and dashed up the stairs.
The young girl, her eyes closed, lay like one dead. Her mother rushed wildly into the room and threw herself upon her.
“What is it? Tell me, what is it?” she asked.
Servigny picked up the bottle of chloroform which had fallen on the floor. “She’s suffocated herself,” he said. He set his ear to her heart, then added: “But she’s not dead; we’ll soon bring her round. Have you any ammonia here?”
“Any what … any what … sir?” said the distracted maid.
“Any sal volatile?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fetch it at once, and leave the door open, to make a draught.”
The Marquise had fallen upon her knees and was sobbing. “Yvette! Yvette! My child, my little girl, my child, listen, answer me, Yvette! My child! Oh! my God, my God, what is the matter with her?”
The frightened men wandered aimlessly about the room, bringing water, towels, glasses, and vinegar.
Someone said: “She ought to be undressed.”
The Marquise, who was almost out of her wits, tried to undress her daughter, but she no longer knew what she was doing. Her trembling hands fumbled uselessly at the clothing, and she moaned: “I … I … I can’t, I can’t.”
The maid had returned with a medicine bottle; Servigny uncorked it and poured out half of its contents on to a handkerchief. He thrust it under Yvette’s nose, and she began to choke.
“Good; she’s breathing,” he said. “It’s nothing.”
He bathed her temples, her cheeks, and her neck with the strong-smelling liquid. Then he signed to the maid to unlace the young girl, and when nothing but a petticoat was left over her chemise, he took her in his arms and carried her to the bed; he was shaken, his senses maddened by the fragrance of her half-naked body, by the touch of her flesh, and the softness of the half-seen breasts on which
