Balloquet looked at my wound and dressed it, declared that there was not the slightest danger to be apprehended, but that it would be as well for me to keep my bed for a few days. I was about to obey my doctor, albeit with regret, when the doorbell rang violently. I supposed that it was Mignonne; but Ballangier appeared, pale as death and so excited that he could hardly speak. "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 Ménilmontant, 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 passed, and the night, and Mignonne did not return. This morning I went to Père-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 passing 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 Frédérique; "what can have happened to her?"