The girl could see nothing in the dark street; there was no moon to dissipate the gloom; and yet, she could not make up her mind to leave the balcony. She felt better there; it seemed to her almost as if she were with him of whom she thought constantly. Suddenly she heard her name; the voice came from beneath the balcony. She shuddered, but not with fear; she listened--her name was called again. The voice was soft and supplicating. "Who is there?" faltered Bathilde. "He who thinks only of you, who cannot exist without you!" "Oh! that is not true, monsieur; for you have not been here for four days, you have not even tried to see me; therefore, you no longer think of me!" "Oh! you were so cruel, Bathilde! Not a word in reply to my letter; but, instead of that, you ceased to come out, you no longer appeared on the balcony!--Yes, I tried to forget you, to return here no more! But that was impossible; my love is stronger than your disdain!" "Ah! if that were true! But, no, I must not believe you! You seduce all the women--Ambroisine told me so." "Ambroisine simply repeats what she hears. Ought you to give credit to the assertions of people who do not know me? Dear Bathilde, you should believe your heart alone, for the heart never deceives." "But I must not listen to you, for you are a great noble and I am only a poor girl." "You are an angel! and angels so rarely appear on earth!" "Ambroisine told me that you were making sport of me when you swore that I should be your wife!" "Why have you more confidence in another person's word than in my oaths, Bathilde?" "Ah! I should be very happy if I could believe you!" "You restore my hope, my life!" "O mon Dieu! I think I hear my father coughing! adieu! fly!" Bathilde hurriedly left the balcony, closed the window, took her lamp, and returned to her room, without giving a thought to the poor rosebush, which was the pretext of her nocturnal venture. We are ungrateful creatures; in our happiness, we forget all those to whom we owe it. And Bathilde was so happy now! he still loved her, he had not for one instant ceased to think of her! His tender oaths intoxicated her heart with joy and love. The love that possessed her was so true, so pure, so sincere, that she no longer felt strong enough to contend against it. Léodgard went his way no less happy than she; being perfectly certain now of her love, he had but one thought: to possess her person whose heart was already his; and with the young count it was a short interval between the desire and its gratification. The next night, about half-past eleven, Léodgard was in front of Landry's house. He listened attentively; everything was quiet; not a light was to be seen, and the night was as dark as the preceding one.