"Pardon me, mademoiselle; I allow myself to be led astray by my schoolboy reminiscences. I return to the question which you did me the honor to ask me. I did say, it is true, that I believed Monsieur le Comte Léodgard to be too much engrossed by new intrigues at this moment to have time to come to your fête. My reason for saying that was that I have a friend--that is to say, a confrère--or a friend, no matter which!--one Plumard, who is bald already, at twenty-six! That is rather early to be bald!--Now, Plumard lives on Rue Dauphine--a small room under the eaves. And a few days ago we were leaning out of his window, looking into the street, and I recognized the young Comte de Marvejols walking back and forth and watching, out of the corner of his eye, the house of a bath keeper, who it seems has a charming daughter, a model of grace, beauty, and innocence. The parents never allow this enchanting creature to go out; the mother especially watches her with the greatest care. But Plumard said to me, laughingly: 'That young gentleman comes prowling about the house every day--he even comes in the evening! and it is probable that he comes late at night! He surely must have seen the bath keeper's daughter, and it is on her account that he passes his time in this quarter.'" "A bath keeper's daughter!" exclaimed Valentine, with a disdainful air. "Is it possible that the son of the Marquis de Marvejols forgets himself to such a degree as to address his sighs to one so far beneath him!" "But if the little one is a model of beauty, as they say," murmured the undersized clerk, "that causes much to be overlooked!" "You know a bath keeper's daughter, Miretta; you go to see her sometimes, do you not? Can it be the same one?" "No, mademoiselle; the one I know is very good-looking too, but she lives on Rue Saint-Jacques; she lost her mother long ago." "I know whom you mean!" cried Bahuchet; "you mean Ambroisine, whom they call La Belle Baigneuse. Ah! she's a very handsome girl--tall and well built! She is Master Hugonnet's daughter, whose baths are very popular.--Oh! I know her; I know all Paris, I do! But she isn't the one in question, for my friend Plumard--his name ought to be _Plumé_ [plucked], for before long he will not have three hairs on his scalp---- But, no matter; Plumard told me about the daughter of his neighbor, the bath keeper on Rue Dauphine. His name is Landry; he is an old soldier, who will not look on it as a joke if he learns that a gallant is making love to his daughter, whatever the gallant's name and rank may be!" "And--was it long ago, monsieur, that you had this conversation at your friend's window on Rue Dauphine?" "About six weeks, mademoiselle." "Have you seen your friend again since? Has he told you anything more concerning Monsieur Léodgard de Marvejols's love affairs?"