I thanked my mother and told her of my approaching departure, which I said was due to important business. She hoped that at my return everything would be forgotten between my wife and myself; I encouraged her in that hope and bade her adieu. I was very certain that she would not go to see my wife, for that would disturb her habits. I gave to Ernest and his companion all the time that remained before my departure. They were sorry to lose me, and yet they were glad that I was going; it was the same with myself. I urged them to send me news of my daughter; in leaving her I was separating from a part of myself, but if I remained I should not see her any more. I made them swear that when they wrote to me they would never mention Madame Blémont. Finally, one night I embraced Ernest and Marguerite and their children affectionately; I was to start early next morning. Pettermann had long been ready. He told me that he was an excellent rider. We had a good horse each, and at six o’clock we left Paris. My comrade was very glad to be on the road; he hummed a refrain from the _Mariage de Figaro_, which he had not done since my illness. I started in the direction of Montmorency, for Aubonne is in that neighborhood, and I proposed to go there to see my daughter. During the past few days I had made inquiries concerning Madame Blémont at her house on Rue d’Antin. In Paris, by the use of money, one may learn whatever one desires. The result of my inquiries was that Madame Blémont was now at Paris, and that her daughter was not with her. So that Henriette was in the country without her mother; I could not hope to find a more favorable moment to see my daughter. We rode through Montmorency and arrived at Aubonne. Pettermann rode behind without once asking where we were going, and his discretion gratified me. When we came in sight of the first houses of Aubonne, I said to him: “I have business here, Pettermann; I have to see someone who is very dear to me.” “Whatever you please, monsieur; it looks to be a pleasant place.” “First of all, you must inquire where Madame Rennebaut lives; she is an old lady who owns a house in this neighborhood.” “Madame Rennebaut? All right; I will ask the first baker that I see. Perhaps there’s only one in the village, and Madame Rennebaut must necessarily trade with him. Wait here for me, monsieur, I will soon be back.” I let Pettermann go; I was then on the summit of a hill from which I could see several country houses nearby; I had stopped my horse and my eyes strove to look inside those houses, to find my Henriette; the hope that I should soon see and embrace my child made my heart beat faster. Pettermann returned. “Monsieur, I have found out about Madame Rennebaut: she is an old widow lady, very rich and with no children, who keeps a gardener, a cook and a maid.” “And her house?”