eighbor, the
sight of whom had sufficed to produce such a strange reaction on the
growing love of the chevalier. If she was neither the one nor the other,
there was a mystery about her birth; and if so, Bathilde was not what
she appeared to be. All was explained, her aristocratic beauty, her
finished education. Bathilde was above the position which she was
temporarily forced to occupy: there had been in the destiny of this
young girl one of those overthrows of fortune, which are for individuals
what earthquakes are for towns, and she had been forced to descend to
the inferior sphere where he found her.

The result of all this was, that the chevalier might, without losing
rank in his own estimation, allow himself to love Bathilde. When a man's
heart is at war with his pride, he seldom wants excuses to defeat his
haughty enemy. Bathilde had now neither name nor family, and nothing
prevented the imagination of the man who loved her from raising her to a
height even above his own; consequently, instead of following the
friendly advice of M. Boniface, the first thing D'Harmental did was to
go to his window and inspect that of his neighbor. It was wide open. If,
a week ago, any one had told the chevalier that such a simple thing as
an open window would have made his heart beat, he would have laughed at
the idea. However, so it was; and after drawing a long breath, he
settled himself in a corner, to watch at his ease the young girl in the
opposite room, without being seen by her, for he was afraid of
frightening her by that attention which she could only attribute to
curiosity, but he soon perceived that the room was deserted.

D'Harmental then opened his window, and at the noise he made in doing
so, he saw the elegant head of the greyhound, which, with his ears
always on the watch, and well worthy of the trust that her mistress had
reposed in her, in making her guardian of the house, was awake, and
looking to see who it was that thus disturbed her sleep.

Thanks to the indiscreet counter-tenor of the good man of the terrace
and the malice of M. Boniface, the chevalier already knew two things
very important to know--namely, that his neighbor was called Bathilde, a
sweet and euphonious appellation, suitable to a young, beautiful, and
graceful girl; and that the greyhound was called Mirza, a name which
seemed to indicate a no less distinguished rank in the canine
aristocracy. Now as nothing is to be disdained when we wish to c