"Master no want to talk," said the mulatto to Georget, "him not nod his head and say good-day; him not in good temper."

"Oh! I saw that too; he didn't say a single word as he pa.s.sed.--I suppose he didn't see her--he has other things on his mind. Well, he won't speak to me about her, and he looks too stern for me to mention her to him."

And Georget returned sadly to his mother.

x.x.xIV

THE COAL BARGE

They had all returned to their duties. But hardly an hour had pa.s.sed since the count's return, when a young woman appeared at the gate. The gardener happened to be alone in front of the house at that moment, and he admitted Violette, for it was she who had arrived at Nogent and had succeeded in finding the house she had sought.

"Is this Monsieur Malberg's house?" the girl asked timidly.

"Yes, mamzelle, this is the place."

"Is Monsieur Malberg at home?"

"Yes, he came back from Paris about an hour ago."

"And could I--could I speak to him?"

"Oh, yes! I think so. But come in, mamzelle, and I will go and tell monsieur."

Violette pa.s.sed through the gate tremblingly; the gardener, who had taken a step or two toward the house, returned to her and said:

"Who shall I tell monsieur? What is your name?"

"My name, monsieur--but it isn't worth while; Monsieur Malberg won't remember my name; or else, perhaps then he wouldn't want to,--and in that case I would rather--oh dear! I don't know!"

"Bless my soul! I don't know either."

"Just be kind enough to tell Monsieur Malberg that it's a girl who has come from Paris, and who would like to speak to him."

"Very good."

The gardener went into the house; Violette glanced timidly about, hoping that in those beautiful avenues which she admired, in the fields which she saw in the distance, she might catch a glimpse of Georget; then she said to herself with a sigh:

"No, it is much better that he shouldn't see me, for he would think that I came here after him, and he would be quite capable of running away from this house too."

"If mamzelle will come this way, monsieur is ready to receive her," said the gardener, returning.

Violette was greatly agitated, but she followed her guide toward the house.

The count was in his study on the ground floor; all the curtains at the windows were drawn, night was coming on, and the room was dark and silent.

"Here's the young woman," said the gardener, pushing Violette before him, as she did not dare go in, and saying in her ear:

"Don't be afraid, he won't eat you!"

"Who is it who wishes to see me?" said the count, who was seated at his desk.

"Excuse me, monsieur, it is I."

Violette had finally made up her mind to enter the room; she was then close to Monsieur de Brevanne's desk, and he, as he raised his eyes, was thunderstruck to see the young flower girl before him.

"What! you? you here, in my house?" he cried, almost angrily.

"Yes, monsieur, yes; you recognize me, do you not, monsieur?"

"Recognize you? oh, yes; your features are too deeply engraven in my memory!--But once more, mademoiselle, why have you come here? Who sent you?"

"Sent me? No one sent me, monsieur; I have come of my own accord. It is very bold on my part, no doubt, but when one does not know which way to turn, when one receives fresh insults every day, which one does not deserve--for I swear to you, monsieur, that I have no fault to reproach myself with, that I can walk with my head erect, that I can look my comrades in the face without blushing; and yet I am suspected, and more than that, people say that I am a good-for-nothing, and those who ought to defend me are the first to abandon me, to despise me. Oh! I am very unhappy, monsieur. Excuse me for coming to tell you this; I know that it doesn't interest you, and yet, if you would take up my defence, monsieur, I am very sure that people would believe you; and he--he who is here at your house, with his mother, if you should tell him that it's horrible to say unkind things about me--for what he believes he tells to others, to his friends, and yesterday Chicotin, who is a good fellow, although he loafs too much, Chicotin, who has always been friendly to me, why, even he insulted me, he treated me with contempt!

Ah! that was too much; I felt that my courage was giving way; and to get back a little of it, I thought of you, monsieur, who like so much to do good; I said to myself that you would take pity on a poor girl without parents, without friends, without anybody on earth to help her; that you would defend her; and that is why I came, monsieur."

Violette ceased to speak and waited for the count to answer her; but he seemed absorbed in his thoughts, his head had fallen upon his breast, and he said nothing.

After a pause, the girl continued:

"Monsieur seemed the other day to take a little interest in me, and that is what encouraged me to come here."

"Ah! in my house! you!" cried Brevanne, roused from his meditations by these words; "why, you know very well, mademoiselle, that my house is no place for you; that you less than any other ought to come here; that it's like defying me, like hurling an insult in my face, to come here!"

Violette felt her strength giving way; as she was utterly unable to understand the indignation of this man who had been described to her as so kind-hearted, she lowered her eyes and faltered:

"Monsieur, I did not know--I did not think--G.o.d knows that I had no such intention as you suppose. Excuse me, monsieur, I see that I did wrong to come, as it makes you angry; but I thought that you would have pity on me, a poor girl, alone on earth, without----"

"Without parents? Who told you that you were without parents? I am almost certain that you have parents, for I know them."

"Mon Dieu! can it be possible, monsieur, that you know my parents, that you can tell me whether my mother is still alive? Oh! for heaven's sake, do not deceive me, do not give me a false hope! See, monsieur, as your questions the other day led me to think that you might help me to find my family, to-day, when I came here, I thought I would bring with me the only object that I have that belonged to my parents."

"Ah! you have something that proves to whom you belong--a paper, a letter, no doubt? Give it to me, give it to me; I shall recognize their handwriting."

"No, monsieur, it isn't handwriting, it's nothing but a handkerchief. It seems that it was among the things they gave my nurse to procure clothes for me; you see I had a very strange kind of _layette_, monsieur; there were trousers in it and waistcoats and cravats; probably my parents thought I was a boy."

"But this handkerchief--"

"The handkerchief my nurse thought was so beautiful, so nicely embroidered, that she did not cut it up to make me a cap, but she kept it for me. Mon Dieu! now I can't find it; but I am sure that I brought it. Ah! here it is, monsieur, here it is."

And Violette handed the count a handkerchief of the finest linen, with embroidery in each corner. The count walked to a window, examined the embroidery, and recognized his wife's monogram and his own, as well as his coat of arms and his coronet.

That proof was convincing; it removed Monsieur de Brevanne's last doubt; and although he was previously almost certain that Violette was the daughter of his wife and of Roncherolle, on recognizing the monogram, he felt a violent wrench at his heart, and a shudder ran through his veins; for, however suspicious one may be of a fact, there is a vast distance between that and certainty.

"Does monsieur see on the handkerchief anything that helps him to identify my parents, and to tell whether they are still alive?" murmured Violette, while the count kept his eyes fixed on the handkerchief.