Suddenly she remembered that she had a rosebush in her chamber, where, by the way, it rarely received a ray of sunlight. She ran instantly to Master Landry and said: "Father, you know I have a lovely rosebush, which Ambroisine gave me two years ago, on my birthday." "Very likely; what then?" "It is in my room, on the window sill, but I have just noticed that it's dying, the leaves are turning yellow. It's because it doesn't get enough air. The yard is so small, and then the steam from the baths is bad for it, perhaps. I should be awfully sorry if it should die. Will you let me put it on the balcony outside the window of the linen closet? There is nothing there, so it won't be in the way; it will have the sun, and I am sure that it will do better there." "Put your rosebush where you please, my child; what hinders you?" "Oh! thank you, father!" And Bathilde went away, pleased beyond words. Dame Ragonde would never have allowed her to put a rosebush at a window on the front of the house. A woman would have felt, divined, an intrigue therein. But the old soldier saw nothing but a rosebush. XXI LOVE TRAVELS FAST Bathilde made haste to take advantage of the permission her father had given her. Before carrying the rosebush to the balcony, she cast a glance at her mirror. Was it coquetry? No. But the daughter of a master bath keeper did not wish to show herself to the eyes of chance passers-by without being quite sure that nothing was lacking in her dress. We know already that for three days the girl did not forget to visit the balcony several times during the day, and even after dark, to make sure that her beautiful rosebush needed nothing. Never was flower more sedulously tended, never were rosebuds examined with such care; and certainly no insect could have found a resting place on their stems, unless it had shown the most determined obstinacy in returning thither. On the third day, or rather the third evening, Bathilde heard the stone fall on the balcony, where she did not happen to be at the time, although she was always close at hand. She instantly detected the paper wrapped about the stone. Her first impulse was to rush out and pick it up; but she reflected that he who had thrown it must still be in the street, and that, if she picked up his note at once, she would show him that she was there, watching behind the curtain. See how slyly even the most innocent can act sometimes! La Fontaine tells us _how wit comes to young maids_; for my part, I believe that it is all there as soon as they feel love for a man. Bathilde waited, therefore, until the evening was well advanced before she stole noiselessly out and picked up the stone and the paper. Then she hastened to her room and locked herself in, to read at her ease that first love letter, which was destined to put the finishing touch to this turmoil in her heart, and perhaps to cause her much suffering, and which it would have been wiser for her not to read.