Annette's death and Mignonne's unjust suspicions of me left me in a melancholy mood; and when, as sometimes happened, Madame Sordeville's conduct came to my mind, it did not tend to restore my self-contentment. I was not precisely unhappy, but I was disgusted to think that I had so misplaced my affections; and, more than all, I craved other affection. Can a man live without love, at thirty years? Indeed, I believe, with Voltaire, that love is necessary at every age, and that it is love that sustains us.

I was in this frame of mind when Madame Potrelle appeared. The good woman began with her usual profusion of reverences, and with an abundance of apologies for the abrupt manner of her departure on the occasion of her last visit; but she hoped that I bore her no ill will therefor.

I reassured her, and asked if she was sent by Madame Landernoy.

"Oh, no, monsieur! she didn't send me—that is to say, not exactly; but she knows I've come. I'll bet she's waiting impatiently for my return; and yet, worse luck! she won't listen to a word about you; she won't work for you; she wouldn't put her foot inside your door for—I don't know what! She's wrong; I'm perfectly sure she's doing wrong, and that she's mistaken in what she thinks about you. So I came to tell you what it was that frightened her, what turned her head."

"I suspect what it was, Madame Potrelle. But, no matter, tell me what you know."

"In the first place, monsieur, as I told you, when she came back from buying provisions a week or two ago, my young tenant rushed into my place, frightened to death, and singing out: 'Protect me! don't let him come in!'"

"Yes; and afterward a middle-aged man offered you ten francs to let him go up to Madame Landernoy's room."

"Yes, monsieur; but that last one was just one of the men who are always following women. But, for all that, it seems he was in earnest, and he watched her a long while after, poor child. When men are—on my word, they're worse'n tomcats. Excuse the comparison, monsieur; I don't mean that for you."

"Let us come to what you had to tell me, Madame Potrelle."

"You see, a woman ends by getting confused with all these blackguards. Dame! she's got to be so pretty again! I didn't lie to you about that, did I, monsieur?"

"Your tenant is very good-looking. Above all, she has an interesting, respectable look, which ought to protect her from the schemes of seekers after adventures."

"Oh, no! not at all, monsieur; just the opposite! Libertines run after virtuous women most of all. They want 'em! they must have 'em! 'Ah!' they'll say; 'there's one that's never gone wrong; I'll just push her down into perdition.'—Excuse me; I'll come back to the point. The other day, when Madame Landernoy went out of here like a rocket, I ran after her, and, dame! as I didn't think she'd done right, I asked her to explain herself; and this is what she said, word for word: 'I was right in not having confidence in Monsieur Rochebrune; I recognized that young man who just came in as a friend of my seducer, of the man who wasn't content with deserting me, but tried to cover me with shame. Now, nothing will take away my idea that Monsieur Rochebrune is one of Ernest's friends, too. How do I know that they are not planning some trap that they mean to lead me into? When I came home in such a fright two or three days ago, it was because I'd met that horrible Rambertin—the man who conceived and carried out the most outrageous treachery! And that man ran after me and dared to talk to me again about his passion! No, Madame Potrelle, I won't go to Monsieur Rochebrune's again, and I won't work for him; for all that he's doing for me isn't natural. Besides, I am sure now that he has seen Ernest, and that's enough to make me feel something worse than fear of him.'—Those are Madame Landernoy's very words, monsieur. I stood up for you; I told her that it wasn't possible that you had any hand in wicked schemes against her; and that I'd put my hand in the fire to prove it—and so I would!"

"I thank you for your good opinion of me, Madame Potrelle, and I assure you that I deserve it in this matter."

"Oh! I don't doubt it, monsieur. But the young woman's got that idea in her brain, and there's no way to get it out. But something came into my head, and I told her of it. 'You think,' I says, 'that Monsieur Rochebrune's a friend of your seducer, and you think it's strange he should take so much interest in you and pay you more for your work than it's worth. But how do you know Monsieur Ernest hasn't repented of the way he's treated you? After all, he's the father of your little girl; how do you know but what he's thinking about her, and wants her to have everything she needs?'—That seemed to strike her; she thought a long while, and then she says: 'Oh, no! no! when a man has tried to cover an unhappy mother with shame, he don't repent! his heart is closed to every honest feeling, and he never remembers that he has a child. And yet, if by any chance—if you have guessed right—— But, no, I can't believe it, it isn't possible!'—At that, monsieur, I saw that in the bottom of her heart she thought I had guessed right; so I says to her: 'Well! I'll just go to Monsieur Rochebrune, and ask him flat-footed how it is, and I'm sure he'll answer me honest.'—So I started off, monsieur, and here I am."

"You did well, madame, to believe that I would answer you frankly. You may repeat what I am going to tell you to Mignonne—that is her Christian name, and she will understand now how I know it.—I do know Monsieur Ernest Fouvenard; he has never been a friend of mine; and if he had been, his treatment of your tenant, of which he dared to boast in my presence, would have been enough to put an end to our friendship. In fact, that is just what has happened between him and the young man whom you saw here. He was intimate with Monsieur Ernest; he broke with him entirely as soon as he learned of this outrageous performance of his. I was profoundly interested by Mignonne's misfortunes; and that interest was absolutely pure, as I did not then know her. I understand why she looked upon me at first with suspicion; when one has been so shamefully betrayed, it is natural to suspect evil designs in the most innocent actions. I saw your young tenant, and I did not fall in love with her—not even after she recovered her beauty. But she aroused the liveliest interest in me, and it would have been a very pleasant task to me to make her lot easier. That is the whole truth; I hope that Mignonne will deign to believe it. As a general rule, men are evil-minded; but there are still some who do good solely for the pleasure of doing it; the exception proves the rule."

"I believe you, monsieur; oh, yes! I believe you," said the concierge, sadly; "but I am sorry that I didn't guess right. I wish that miserable Monsieur Ernest had thought of his child. Whatever she may say, I am sure the poor mother would have been pleased in the bottom of her heart."

"I am not enough of a hero, Madame Potrelle, to give credit to another for the little good I am able to do; besides, when that other is a miserable wretch, a dastard, who prides himself on his infamous conduct, it seems to me that it would be nothing less than downright fraud to give him credit for acts which would imply that his heart was not devoid of every worthy feeling. Mignonne was right in thinking that the man who would have covered an unhappy mother with opprobrium is not capable of repentance. Your supposition was born of a kind heart; but Monsieur Ernest has one that is rotten to the core, and with such hearts there is no resource. Now, I have told you the whole truth; Mignonne will believe me or not; I cannot help myself. But if she does change her opinion with regard to me, tell her that I bear no malice, and that the work I offered her will still be at her disposal."

I dismissed the concierge. Let Mignonne think and do what she chose, I had done all that I could to help her. I neither could nor ought to go any further.

The spring had returned, and one fine day I had left home thinking of Madame Dauberny, whom I would have given all the world to meet, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and recognized my former acquaintance, Baron von Brunzbrack.

"How in der teufel are you?" said the baron, taking my hand.

"Ah! is it you, Monsieur de Brunzbrack? I am delighted to meet you. Do you know that it is more than six months since we met?"

"Ja, I know id veil; but I could not meed you no more, pecause—you know pecause vhy?"

"What do I know? Assume that I do not know—I shall be much obliged."

"Pecause I no longer go to Monsir Sordeville."

"Ah! you no longer go there? Faith! I had no means of knowing that, for the very simple reason that I myself have not put my foot inside that door since—yes, since the night we played baccarat together, against Madame Dauberny."

"Ten you pe like me. Te loafely voman, she vill haf varned us poth."

"Warned—— Who, pray?"

"Te loafely FrÉdÉrique."

"Ah! so Madame Dauberny suggested to you too not to go to Madame Sordeville's, did she?"

"Ja! I haf one day received from her ein leedle note, vich I haf alvays keep, pecause I vas much bleezed to receive tat note vich she haf write herself. You shall see; I haf id alvays on my heart, in my cigar case."

And the baron, taking a dainty cigar case from his pocket, produced a small folded paper that smelt horribly of tobacco; luckily, the tobacco was of the best quality.

He opened the letter and handed it to me, but did not let it leave his own hands. I recognized FrÉdÉrique's hand, and I read:

I could not restrain a sort of shudder as I read the last name, and reflected that such a woman as FrÉdÉrique was that man's wife. Suppose that she knew what he was doing! But, no; she would do something imprudent; it was better that she should not know that story until Annette was avenged.

The baron carefully replaced the letter in his cigar case, and restored the latter to his pocket, saying:

"Vhen I haf tat note received, I vas mad mit choy. I pelieved tat te FrÉdÉrique, she vas chealous of some voman who vent to Monsir Sordeville, berhaps of Montame Sordeville herself. Ha! ha! ha!"

"Did you follow the advice she gave you?"

"Ach! pigre! I vould haf no more gone to Sordeville's for ein embire! But I haf called often to see Montame Dauberny; I haf hard luck; she pe nefer in! I haf not pin aple to meed her. And you, mein gut frent?"

"I received the same advice from Madame Dauberny."

"And you opeyed, like me?"

"Not instantly; I went once more to see Madame Sordeville, but in the afternoon."

"Ach! gut! gut!"

"Indeed, I expected to see her often; but an unforeseen event changed all my plans. I have not been there since, and I shall never go again."

"Ach! gut! gut! Is id also to do Montame Dauberny's vish?"

"Not at all; it is for another reason, which I cannot tell you."

"Gut! gut! I no untershtand. You must not—you must not shtill pe in loafe mit te peautiful FrÉdÉrique?"

"Mon Dieu! no, my dear baron! When could I have fallen in love with her, pray? I never see her; I never meet her."

"Gif me your hand, mein frent."

"And yet, I confess that I have the greatest desire to see her and speak with her."

"Ach, ja! I untershtand; and so haf I; to ask her vhy she haf forbid us to go to te Sordevilles."

"I should not be sorry to know that. But I want to talk to her about something which interests me more."

The baron drew back with a frown, and muttered:

"You haf a teclaration to make to her—in secret—mit mystery!"

"Sapristi! you are infernally tenacious in your ideas, baron. Once more, there is no question of a declaration! Why on earth have you taken it into your head that I am likely to fall in love with Madame Dauberny? Would it please you very much if I should?"

"Ach! no! no! Gif me your hand, mein frent; I haf pin wrong. I am one pig fool!"

The baron was still holding my hand, when a calÈche stopped beside us and a voice said:

"Would you like to take a short drive with me, messieurs?"

We looked up and recognized Madame Dauberny, alone in an open calÈche. Herr von Brunzbrack turned crimson with pleasure; for my part, I was well pleased to have met FrÉdÉrique at last.

"Faith! madame," said I, "the baron and I were just talking of you."

"Ja, loafely lady; ve haf pin talking of you."

"I suspected as much; that is why I stopped. Well, messieurs, wouldn't you rather talk with me than confine yourselves to talking about me?"

Our only reply was to enter the carriage without more ado. I seated myself opposite FrÉdÉrique, the baron by her side, and we drove away.