"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." Frédérique entered and dropped into a chair, exhausted and gasping for breath. "Monsieur Dauberny isn't at home," she said; "but he passed the night there." "He passed 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 pass 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 Frédérique 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 Faisandé, came often to inquire for him. One day, he found only Adèle 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, Frédérique, 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. Frédérique 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."