Pettermann gave little thought to the other sex, and I was very glad of it for his sake; but he did not forget the promise I had given him, and he got completely drunk once every month. The rest of the time he drank moderately. I had had no reason to complain of him since he had entered my service. His disposition was equable and cheerful; he sang when he saw that I was in good humor, he held his peace when I was pensive. But never a question, never an inquisitive word; he did not once mention Aubonne, where he had seen me scale the wall. I had every reason to think that he believed me a bachelor. During the first year of my absence, I received letters from Ernest quite frequently, and I wrote to him whenever I sojourned for any length of time in one place. Faithful to the promise he had given me, he had abstained from mentioning her whom I hoped to forget entirely. He wrote me about my daughter and little Eugène; he said that my Henriette was as fascinating as ever; he had seen her several times. Did that mean that he had been to her mother’s house? That was something that I did not know. Ah! how I longed to see my daughter again, and to embrace her! It was for her that I had determined to return to Paris; I would hold her in my arms just once, and then I would set out on my travels again; I should have laid in a store of happiness which would last for some time. As for my--as for little Eugène, I could not think of that child without reviving all my suffering. I should have taken such pleasure in loving my son, in dividing my affection between him and his sister! and that happiness I was destined never to enjoy! Poor Eugène! what a melancholy future for him! The last letters which I had received from Ernest had seemed to me different from the first ones; the style was no longer the same, and I detected embarrassment and reticence in them. In the last of all, I had noticed this sentence: “There has been a great change here of late, my friend; you would not recognize the person from whom you fled. I dare not say more for fear of breaking my promise and being scolded. But come back soon, my dear Henri; your children long to see you and your friends to embrace you.” My children--he persisted in saying my children. But I had only one. As for the change that he mentioned, what did it matter to me? Did he want to arouse my interest in that woman? No, I could not believe that. I did not mention the subject in my reply. I was anxious, before returning to Paris, to see Auvergne, that mountainous and picturesque province, the Scotland of France, which those Frenchmen who rave over cliffs and glaciers and precipices would visit oftener if it were not so near them. We admire only what is at a distance; our only ambition is to see Scotland and Italy, and we do not give a thought to Auvergne, Bretagne, and Touraine.