"A hundred times she has heard me speak of your father, of you, of your generous and excellent heart. In her trouble, she must have thought of you." "This can be thus explained." "And how did Madame d'Harville get possession of this letter?" "I am ignorant; all I know is, that, without knowing where this poor mother and child had taken refuge, she was, I believe, on their track." "Then I count upon you, Clotilde, to introduce me to Madame d'Harville; I must see her to-day." "Impossible. Her husband has just fallen a victim to a frightful accident. A gun, which he did not know was loaded, went off while in his hands, and killed him on the spot." "Oh, this is horrible!" "She departed immediately, to pass her first mourning at her father's in Normandy." "Clotilde, I conjure you to write to her to-day; ask for whatever information she may possess. Since she interests herself for these poor women, tell her she cannot have a warmer auxiliary than me; my sole desire is to find the widow of my friend, and to partake with her and her daughter the little I possess. It is now my sole family." "Always the same---always generous and devoted! Count on me; I will write to-day to Madame d'Harville. Where shall I send her answer?" "To Asnieres, poste restante." "What eccentricity! Why do you lodge there and not at Paris?" "I hate Paris, on account of the souvenirs it awakens," answered Saint Remy, with a gloomy air. "My old physician, Dr. Griffin, has a small country-house on the banks of the Seine, near Asnieres; he does not live there in winter, and offered it to me; it is almost a suburb of Paris; I could, after my researches, find there the solitude which pleases me; I have accepted." "I will write you, then, at Asnieres; I can, besides, give you now some information which may perhaps serve you, which I received from Madame d'Harville. The ruin of Madame de Fermont has been caused by the roguery of the notary who had the charge of her fortune. He denies the deposit." "The scoundrel! What is the fellow's name?" "Jacques Ferrand," said the duchess, without being able to conceal her desire to laugh. "What a strange being you are, Clotilde! There is nothing in all this but what is serious and sad, yet you laugh!" said the count, surprised and vexed. "Pardon me, my friend," answered the duchess; "the notary is such a singular man, and they tell such strange things of him. But, seriously, if his reputation as an honest man is no more merited than his reputation as a pious man (and I declare this usurped), he is a wretch!" "And he lives---" "Rue du Gentier." "He shall have a visit from me. What you have told me coincides with certain suspicions." "What suspicions?" "From what I can learn respecting the death of the brother of my poor friend, I am almost led to believe that this unfortunate man, instead of committing suicide, has been the victim of an assassination." "Goodness! what makes you suppose this?"