124
The Labyrinth
Saint-Aignan, who had only been seeking for information, had met with an adventure. This was indeed a piece of good luck. Curious to learn why, and particularly what about, this man and woman were conversing at such an hour, and in such a singular position, Saint-Aignan made himself as small as he possibly could, and approached almost under the rounds of the ladder. And taking measures to make himself as comfortable as possible, he leaned his back against a tree and listened, and heard the following conversation. The woman was the first to speak.
“Really, Monsieur Manicamp,” she said, in a voice which, notwithstanding the reproaches she addressed to him, preserved a marked tone of coquetry, “really your indiscretion is of a very dangerous character. We cannot talk long in this manner without being observed.”
“That is very probable,” said the man, in the calmest and coolest of tones.
“In that case, then, what would people say? Oh! if anyone were to see me, I declare I should die of very shame.”
“Oh! that would be very silly; I do not believe you would.”
“It might have been different if there had been anything between us; but to injure myself gratuitously is really very foolish of me; so, adieu, Monsieur Manicamp.”
So far so good; I know the man, and now let me see who the woman is
, said Saint-Aignan, watching the rounds of the ladder, on which were standing two pretty little feet covered with blue satin shoes.
“Nay, nay, for pity’s sake, my dear Montalais,” cried Manicamp, “deuce take it, do not go away; I have a great many things to say to you, of the greatest importance, still.”
Montalais
, said Saint-Aignan to himself, one of the three. Each of the three gossips had her adventure, only I imagined the hero of this one’s adventure was Malicorne and not Manicamp.
At her companion’s appeal, Montalais stopped in the middle of her descent, and Saint-Aignan could observe the unfortunate Manicamp climb from one branch of the chestnut-tree to another, either to improve his situation or to overcome the fatigue consequent upon his inconvenient position.
“Now, listen to me,” said he; “you quite understand, I hope, that my intentions are perfectly innocent?”
“Of course. But why did you write me a letter stimulating my gratitude towards you? Why did you ask me for an interview at such an hour and in such a place as this?”
“I stimulated your gratitude in reminding you that it was I who had been the means of your becoming attached to Madame’s household; because most anxiously desirous of obtaining the interview you have been kind enough to grant me, I employed the means which appeared to me most certain to insure it. And my reason for soliciting it, at such an hour and in such a locality, was, that the hour seemed to me to be the most prudent, and the locality the least open to observation. Moreover, I had occasion to speak to you upon certain subjects which require both prudence and solitude.”
“Monsieur Manicamp!”
“But everything I wish to say is perfectly honorable, I assure you.”
“I think, Monsieur Manicamp, it will be more becoming in me to take my leave.”
“No, no!—listen to me, or I will jump from my perch here to yours; and be careful how you set me at defiance, for a branch of this chestnut-tree causes me a good deal of annoyance, and may provoke me to extreme measures. Do not follow the example of this branch, then, but listen to me.”
“I am listening, and I agree to do so; but be as brief as possible, for if you have a branch of the chestnut-tree which annoys you, I wish you to understand that one of the rounds of the ladder is hurting the soles of my feet, and my shoes are being cut through.”
“Do me the kindness to give me your hand.”
“Why?”
“Will you have the goodness to do so?”
“There is my hand, then; but what are you going to do?”
“To draw you towards me.”
“What for? You surely do not wish me to join you in the tree?”
“No; but I wish you to sit down upon the wall; there, that will do; there is quite room enough, and I would give a great deal to be allowed to sit down beside you.”
“No, no; you are very well where you are; we should be seen.”
“Do you really think so?” said Manicamp, in an insinuating voice.
“I am sure of it.”
“Very well, I remain in my tree, then, although I cannot be worse placed.”
“Monsieur Manicamp, we are wandering away from the subject.”
“You are right, we are so.”
“You wrote me a letter?”
“I did.”
“Why did you write?”
“Fancy, at two o’clock today, de Guiche left.”
“What then?”
“Seeing him set off, I followed him, as I usually do.”
“Of course, I see that, since you are here now.”
“Don’t be in a hurry. You are aware, I suppose, that de Guiche is up to his very neck in disgrace?”
“Alas! yes.”
“It was the very height of imprudence
