“Monsieur Manicamp, you reason like Pythagoras.”
“Moreover, de Guiche is as obstinate as a man in love can be, and he refused to listen to any of my remonstrances. I begged, I implored him, but he would not listen to anything. Oh, the deuce!”
“What’s the matter?”
“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Montalais, but this confounded branch, about which I have already had the honor of speaking to you, has just torn a certain portion of my dress.”
“It is quite dark,” replied Montalais, laughing; “so, pray continue, M. Manicamp.”
“De Guiche set off on horseback as hard as he could, I following him, at a slower pace. You quite understand that to throw one’s self into the water, for instance, with a friend, at the same headlong rate as he himself would do it, would be the act either of a fool or a madman. I therefore allowed de Guiche to get in advance, and I proceeded on my way with a commendable slowness of pace, feeling quite sure that my unfortunate friend would not be received, or, if he had been, that he would ride off again at the very first cross, disagreeable answer; and that I should see him returning much faster than he went, without having, myself, gone much farther than Ris or Melun—and that even was a good distance you will admit, for it is eleven leagues to get there and as many to return.”
Montalais shrugged her shoulders.
“Laugh as much as you like; but if, instead of being comfortably seated on the top of the wall as you are, you were sitting on this branch as if you were on horseback, you would, like Augustus, aspire to descend.”
“Be patient, my dear M. Manicamp; a few minutes will soon pass away; you were saying, I think, that you had gone beyond Ris and Melun.”
“Yes, I went through Ris and Melun, and I continued to go on, more and more surprised that I did not see him returning; and here I am at Fontainebleau; I look for and inquire after de Guiche everywhere, but no one has seen him, no one in the town has spoken to him; he arrived riding at full gallop, he entered the château; and there he has disappeared. I have been here at Fontainebleau since eight o’clock this evening inquiring for de Guiche in every direction, but no de Guiche can be found. I am dying with uneasiness. You understand that I have not been running my head into the lion’s den, in entering the château, as my imprudent friend has done; I came at once to the servants’ offices, and I succeeded in getting a letter conveyed to you; and now, for Heaven’s sake, my dear young lady, relieve me from my anxiety.”
“There will be no difficulty in that, my dear M. Manicamp; your friend de Guiche has been admirably received.”
“Bah!”
“The king made quite a fuss over him.”
“The king, who exiled him!”
“Madame smiled upon him, and Monsieur appears to like him better than ever.”
“Ah! ah!” said Manicamp, “that explains to me, then, why and how he has remained. And did he not say anything about me?”
“Not a word.”
“That is very unkind. What is he doing now?”
“In all probability he is asleep, or, if not asleep, dreaming.”
“And what have they been doing all the evening?”
“Dancing.”
“The famous ballet? How did de Guiche look?”
“Superb!”
“Dear fellow! And now, pray forgive me, Mademoiselle Montalais; but all I now have to do is pass from where I now am to your apartment.”
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot suppose that the door of the château will be opened for me at this hour; and as for spending the night upon this branch, I possibly might not object to do so, but I declare it is impossible for any other animal than a boa-constrictor to do it.”
“But, M. Manicamp, I cannot introduce a man over the wall in that manner.”
“Two, if you please,” said a second voice, but in so timid a tone that it seemed as if its owner felt the utter impropriety of such a request.
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Montalais, “who is that speaking to me?”
“Malicorne, Mademoiselle Montalais.”
And as Malicorne spoke, he raised himself from the ground to the lowest branches, and thence to the height of the wall.
“Monsieur Malicorne! why, you are both mad!”
“How do you do, Mademoiselle Montalais?” inquired Malicorne.
“I needed but this!” said Montalais, in despair.
“Oh! Mademoiselle Montalais,” murmured Malicorne; “do not be so severe, I beseech you.”
“In fact,” said Manicamp, “we are your friends, and you cannot possibly wish your friends to lose their lives; and to leave us to pass the night on these branches is in fact condemning us to death.”
“Oh!” said Montalais, “Monsieur Malicorne is so robust that a night passed in the open air with the beautiful stars above him will not do him any harm, and it will be a just punishment for the trick he has played me.”
“Be it so, then; let Malicorne arrange matters with you in the best way he can; I pass over,” said Manicamp. And bending down the famous branch against which he had directed such bitter complaints, he succeeded, by the assistance of his hands and feet, in seating himself side by side with Montalais, who tried to push him back, while he endeavored to maintain his position, and, moreover, he succeeded. Having taken possession of the ladder, he stepped on it, and then gallantly offered his hand to his fair antagonist. While this was going on, Malicorne had installed himself in the chestnut-tree, in the very place Manicamp had just left, determining within himself to succeed him in the one he now occupied. Manicamp and Montalais descended a few rounds of the ladder, Manicamp insisting, and Montalais laughing and objecting.
Suddenly Malicorne’s voice was heard in tones of entreaty:
“I entreat you, Mademoiselle Montalais, not to leave me here. My position is very insecure, and some
