"Oh! it is useless for you to conceal yourself, Bathilde; it is useless for you to try to escape from my love; you shall be mine, for I have sworn it--for you are the loveliest, the most fascinating girl whom I know in Paris to-day!" Early the next morning Léodgard entered the barber's shop; he ordered a bath, and while it was being prepared he looked at all the windows on the yard, and entered into conversation with the attendant who waited on him. "Is Master Landry married?" "Yes, seigneur." "Where is his wife?" "Travelling at present; she has gone to Normandie to secure an inheritance." "Master Landry has a daughter?" "Yes, seigneur." "Very pretty, I am told?" "That is true, seigneur." "Why do we never see her in the shop or about the baths?" "For the very reason, seigneur, that she is so pretty." "Is she watched so closely, pray?" "When Dame Ragonde, her mother, is here, she doesn't leave her daughter for an instant." "But now that she is away, is there no way of obtaining a word with the girl--a single word? Here--take this piece of gold and just tell me where Bathilde's room is." But Léodgard had applied in the wrong quarter. Landry was an old soldier who had a keen eye for an honest man; he had selected his attendants with care, and they esteemed him too highly to betray him. The gold piece was declined; Léodgard insisted to no purpose, for the attendant merely replied: "I don't work on the women's side, seigneur; I don't know where their rooms are. I am too well treated in Master Landry's service to do anything that would cause my discharge." "Pardieu! I have bad luck!" said Léodgard to himself. "All our valets and esquires are ready to be bribed; and I must come to a bath keeper's to find an incorruptible servant. And people calumniate these houses! They say that they serve to cloak clandestine love affairs, that the most delicious intrigues are formed and consummated in them.--Gad! that surely is not true of Master Landry's!" And Léodgard cast his eye over all the windows looking on the yard; but they were closed and supplied with very heavy curtains; it was impossible to discover anything, to guess where Bathilde's room was; for the young man was confident that she did not occupy the front room with the balcony, as there had been no light there throughout the preceding evening. The young count left the establishment without taking the bath he had ordered; once more he marched up and down the street, but with no better fortune; and at last, weary of the struggle, he left the place, saying to himself: "I am very sure, none the less, that I did not displease her." The two following days, Léodgard played sentinel again to no purpose. Bathilde did not appear. The windows on the balcony remained closed, and she did not even come to tend the poor rosebush, which, however, was sorely in need of being watered, for the buds were beginning to droop on their stems.