Although Frédéric was happy, he had not forgotten the dumb girl of the woods, and it was the thought of her that caused his frequent fits of abstraction. He longed to know Sister Anne's fate, but he dared not mention her to his father. The count had told him that he would take care of her, and Frédéric knew that he could rely on his promise; but to have no idea where she was or what she was doing--not even to know whether she still loved him!--The ingrate dared to doubt it, for he had done all that he could to kill her love! Meanwhile, as his love for Constance became more calm and placid, the memory of Sister Anne obtruded itself more frequently upon his mind; a smile or a caress from his wife quickly made him forget the dumb girl, but a little later her image returned again; it would seem that the heart of man always craves memories or hopes. For more than two years, Frédéric had been Constance's husband. Their only sorrow was their failure to have children. Frédéric longed for a son, Constance would have been overjoyed to present her husband with a pledge of her affection, and Monsieur Ménard ardently desired the arrival of some little pupils. The Comte de Montreville did not live with his children; but he came often to their house; he still had in his service the man who was with him when he was attacked in the forest, and whom he had forbidden to mention that adventure. But one evening, when he was talking with the other servants, he forgot his master's injunction; and as the others told stories about robbers, he did not fail to tell of the risk he had run in company with monsieur le comte, who had been saved, almost miraculously, by a young dumb woman. Frédéric's valet was present; and the next day, while dressing his master, he asked him if what Dumont had said was true; because he believed that Dumont was a liar, and that monsieur le comte had never mentioned being attacked by robbers and saved by a dumb woman. These last words attracted Frédéric's attention; a secret presentiment told him that Sister Anne was concerned in the adventure. He made no reply to his servant, but hastened to his father's house. The count was absent, but Dumont was there; Frédéric was able to speak to him alone, which was just what he desired. At his first question, Dumont blushed, remembering his master's orders; but it was too late for him to keep silent. Moreover, it did not seem to him that he was committing any great sin in telling his master's son the whole story, and he could not understand why Monsieur de Montreville wished to make a mystery of the adventure. Frédéric made him describe the girl his father had taken to the farm; from the beginning, he had no doubt that it was Sister Anne. He asked Dumont innumerable questions, and the valet told him all that he knew. "Do you think that she remained at the farm?" Frédéric asked.