He performed his duties as bath keeper and barber with the scrupulous exactness which old soldiers retain in civil life with respect to everything that they consider a duty. But it was not wise to speak ill of Henri IV or of his minister Sully in the old soldier's presence. When such a thing occurred, a sudden change would take place in the whole aspect of the man; usually calm and cold, he would become as quick to explode as powder; his blood would boil anew with all the fervor of his younger days; and the unhappy wight who had presumed to utter a word derogatory to his idols would be chastised before he had time to apologize. But such episodes were likely to be very infrequent, for the memory of good King Henri was held in too great veneration by Frenchmen for anyone to venture to impugn it. Dame Ragonde, the bath keeper's wife, was fifteen years younger than her husband, but she seemed almost as old as he. She was a tall, thin, yellow-skinned woman. Had she ever been pretty? That she had been seemed more than doubtful. Her small, pale-green eyes were very bright, but they had an arrogant--yes, evil expression; they were eyes of the sort that seem never to look in any direction with any other purpose than that of finding something to blame, to reprove, or to forbid. Her long nose, hooked at the end like a parrot's, made her resemble in some degree a bird of prey. And her thin, bloodless, tightly closed lips seemed destined to open only to emit harsh or bitter words. Since the day of her marriage to Landry, her second husband, nobody remembered having seen Dame Ragonde smile; indeed, it was not certain that she smiled on that day. Her voice was shrill and piercing, her words always short and sharp; this fact, by the way, was creditable to the lady; she was no gossip and never said a word more than she had to say. Who would have guessed that of that union between a man who was not handsome and a woman who was downright ugly a daughter would be born who would prove to be a veritable model of beauty, grace, and charm? Such, nevertheless, was Bathilde, the only child of Landry and Ragonde. At eighteen, her beauty had reached its perfect development: she was one of those types which painters delight to find, when they wish to paint a virgin, an angel, or a demon of temptation.