But the young count was well acquainted with the position of the balcony, and he had measured its height from the ground beforehand. Taking from beneath his cloak a short silk ladder to which a strong iron hook was attached, he dexterously threw the hook over the balcony rail, satisfied himself that it was firm, then climbed the ladder with the agility of a squirrel, stepped onto the balcony, drew up the ladder, and softly opened the window. On the preceding night, Bathilde in her haste had closed the window without fastening it, so that everything favored Léodgard's audacious enterprise. But although he was in the linen closet, he must still find the girl's bedroom. He opened the door, stepped into the hall, and cautiously felt his way along, stopping frequently to listen. Something told him that Bathilde herself would point out the direction he must follow. And so it proved; he heard a sweet voice singing an old villanelle with a slow and melancholy refrain. Léodgard walked in the direction from which the sound came, and soon spied a light shining through the crack of a door not entirely closed. It was Bathilde's bedroom. Suddenly she saw the door open and Léodgard appear before her; she screamed, but her lover fell at her feet; she tried to fly from him, but he already held her in his arms. Poor Bathilde! she loved him too dearly to be capable of defending herself. The next morning her rosebush was dead. * * * * * Let us allow two months to elapse, during which the lovers rarely passed a night without meeting. The silk ladder remained in Bathilde's room, and she herself fastened it to the balcony at the hour agreed upon with Léodgard, who no longer appeared in the morning in front of Master Landry's abode. Thus the lovers were able to enjoy their happiness in peace; no one was in their confidence, therefore they feared no treachery. Ambroisine had come more than once to see her friend, and had asked her if she was beginning to be consoled, to forget Comte Léodgard. And Bathilde had lied; for her lover had told her that their liaison must be kept a profound secret until the time when he could mention it to her father; and to obey Léodgard, Bathilde had pretended, in answer to her friend, to be cured of her love. But at the end of the two months which had passed so swiftly for Bathilde, a message arrived for Landry: he learned that his wife, having finished her litigation at last and received the amount of her inheritance, was returning to Paris, and that she would arrive in two days. The thought that she was about to stand once more in her mother's presence made the guilty girl tremble; it seemed to her that her mother would read her shame on her forehead; and on the night following the receipt of the news, being with her lover, she looked up at him with her eyes full of tears, and said: