"In heaven's name, what's the matter?" I asked; "what has happened?"

"Ah! a terrible misfortune, a---- Mon Dieu! are you wounded?"

"It's almost nothing. Pray go on."

"You urged me yesterday to watch over Mignonne. When I left you, as I was still disturbed by what you had said, I walked in the direction of her home. When I reached Rue Menilmontant, although I was persuaded that Mignonne had not gone out, as she had not been at your rooms at all that day, something impelled me to go and ask the concierge. 'Madame Landernoy isn't in,' she said; 'she went out this morning to go and work at Monsieur Rochebrune's, on Rue Bleue, as usual.'--I knew that she hadn't been here, so you can imagine my anxiety. I told that to the concierge. She shared my uneasiness. We waited. The evening pa.s.sed, and the night, and Mignonne did not return. This morning I went to Pere-Lachaise, where Mignonne often goes to visit her little girl's grave. I inquired there. The gate-keeper said that he did see her yesterday morning; he knows her well, she has such a gentle, courteous way! After pa.s.sing half an hour, as usual, at her daughter's grave, she went away--to come here, no doubt. But since then she hasn't been seen."

"Mon Dieu!" cried Frederique; "what can have happened to her?"

"What has happened to her!" cried Ballangier, clenching his fists frantically; "ah! I suspect, and so does Charles! There's a man--a vile scoundrel--who looks respectable, unfortunately; he's been watching Mignonne a long while. I thrashed him some time ago, but it seems that that didn't sicken him. I ought to have killed him then and there! When you come away from Pere-Lachaise toward Paris, there are some deserted streets, nothing more than alleyways, where you don't meet anyone even in broad daylight. We don't know which streets Mignonne usually took, but he knew, no doubt; he must have been on the watch for her and abducted her, forced her into a cab. Here in Paris, with a little money one can always find a hundred vagabonds, miserable wretches, who are ready to do any rascally thing. It must be the man we met last night who has carried Mignonne off--it can't be anyone else; and you remember, Charles, when I pointed him out to you, how he was sneaking along, looking furtively on all sides, as if to see whether anyone was following him. And when he saw that you were looking at him, he scuttled away fast Oh! to think that if I had followed him then, I should know where Mignonne is! For he was going to her, I am sure of it! But you know the man, Charles; you told me last night that you knew him; you said: 'The day of reckoning must come some time.'--So tell me who he is, tell me where I can find him and kill him if he doesn't give Mignonne back to me!"

Frederique and Balloquet gazed anxiously at me. Should I name that man?

name him before her? Why should I spare the monster? Why should not his wife, as well as I, have the right to despise him utterly?

"The man who was watching Mignonne," I said, at last, "was your husband, Frederique; it was Monsieur Dauberny."

Ballangier was stupefied. Balloquet was no less surprised. Frederique, on the contrary, simply nodded her head, muttering: "I suspected as much!"--Then she said:

"But it isn't enough to be convinced, to know that it was he? How are we to prove it? How can we discover in what place, in what out-of-the-way corner of Paris, he has concealed Mignonne? If you should ask him, he would deny having had any hand in the young woman's disappearance."

"Just let me find your husband," I said; "tell me where I can see him and speak to him, and I am sure that he will deny nothing to me."

Frederique looked at me in surprise; then she rose hurriedly, saying:

"I will go home at once; my presence will not rouse his suspicions. I will find out what he did yesterday and to-day; I will find out whether he is at home. If he is, I will send word to you instantly; and to prevent his going out, I will go to his apartment, I will ask for an interview on business--in short, I will keep him at home."

She said no more, but left the room at once. Then I said to Balloquet:

"You remember Annette--and that Bouqueton?"

"Yes, yes! Well?"

"Well, that Bouqueton was Monsieur Dauberny."

"What! the villain who----"

I put my finger on my lips and pointed to Ballangier, who was sitting with his head in his hands; it would have been cruel to add to his suffering. Balloquet understood me; but he could not sit still; he paced the floor excitedly, muttering:

"Ah! mon Dieu! but, in that case, we must make haste; we mustn't lose an instant! Poor young woman! Oh! it is ghastly to know that she is with him!"

We counted the seconds. Ballangier went again and again to the window.

At last he cried:

"Here she is; she's coming back!"

"What a pity!" said Balloquet; "that means that her husband isn't at home."

Frederique entered and dropped into a chair, exhausted and gasping for breath.

"Monsieur Dauberny isn't at home," she said; "but he pa.s.sed the night there."

"He pa.s.sed the night at home?" cried Ballangier.

"Yes; the concierge is certain of it; he saw him go in last evening, before dark, quite early in fact, and he is perfectly positive that he didn't go out again."

"His meeting with us must have made him uneasy," said I; "if he was going to where he is detaining Mignonne, he was afraid of being watched and followed; so he probably went home."

"That is probable. But he went out early this morning, saying that he was going to pa.s.s some time in the country, and might be away three weeks. Where shall we look for him? Where can we hope to find him now?"

We were in despair. Ballangier, who was in a most desperate frame of mind, was still ignorant of all that Balloquet and I feared for Mignonne, who, I was sure, would not yield to Monsieur Dauberny's desires.

For a long while we were silent, each cudgelling his brains to think how we could find Monsieur Dauberny's trail. Suddenly Frederique cried:

"Ah! there is one hope!"

We all looked anxiously at her.

"During that trip of Monsieur Dauberny's, some time ago, one of his intimate friends, Monsieur Faisande, came often to inquire for him. One day, he found only Adele at home, and he said to her: 'If Dauberny returns soon, tell him to come at once to Monsieur Saint-Germain's, at Montmartre--a small house, with a green door, on the left-hand side of the square.'"

"At Montmartre!" cried Ballangier; "he was going in that direction last night."

I rose and held out my arm to Balloquet, telling him to bind it up with a handkerchief.

"Come, messieurs, come," I cried; "this is a dispensation of Providence, let us not lose a minute!--You cannot go with us, Frederique, but you will soon see us again, and something tells me that we shall bring Mignonne back with us."

Ballangier threw his arms about my neck and kissed me. Frederique bound up my arm, whispering:

"You are wounded, and you are going out--when you need rest!"

"Oh! if my recovery is a little slower, that makes no difference. I want all those whom I love to be as happy as I am!"

"You are right, my friend. Go, but remember that I am waiting for you."

I took from my desk the ring that came from poor Annette; on it I rested all my hopes. I pressed Frederique's hand, and we started. We took the first cab we saw, and I said to the driver:

"Montmartre, the public square. Take us there quickly, and you shall have five francs an hour."

We went like the wind, but the road seemed very long. At last we reached the square. I told the cabman to stop, and we all three alighted and turned to the left.

"That must be the place!" cried Ballangier, pointing to a small house of poor aspect, with a narrow green door.

"Stay in the square," I said to him, "and keep your eye on the house. If anyone comes out, run after him. You and I, Balloquet, will go in."

I knocked at the little green door; it was opened and we entered a narrow pa.s.sageway, at the end of which was a small yard. A shrewish-looking woman, who was sitting in a dark corner, called out to us:

"Who do you want?"

"Monsieur Saint-Germain."