His frequent going and coming led Dubourg to conclude that the count had some project in contemplation. "We shall have a change here," he said to Ménard; "God grant that it may restore happiness and pleasure to this house!" "It certainly hasn't been very gay here of late," said Ménard; "madame la comtesse sighs, my pupil is preoccupied, the dumb girl says nothing; and I can hardly recognize you yourself, my dear Dubourg." "Well! how do you expect me to be in high spirits, when I see that all the people I love are unhappy? In spite of my philosophy, I am not insensible to my friends' suffering." "You're like me; I think of it all day long." "Indeed! but it doesn't take away your appetite." "Would you have me make myself ill, to cheer them up?" "You're not likely to; you're getting to be a regular ball!" "That fool of a cook gives us beefsteak every day; how can I help growing fat?" "I expect great things from the arrival of Frédéric's father; he has been to the pavilion and seen Sister Anne, and a change is coming, I am sure of it." "Ah! do you think that we shan't have any more beefsteaks?" "Really, Monsieur Ménard, you weren't born to live in France; you ought to take up your abode in Switzerland, where they eat all day." "I was born, monsieur, to live anywhere; and when you called yourself Baron Potoski, you had a pretty knack of squandering our funds with your three-course dinners; but I won't say of you: _Quantum mutatus ab illo_, because I noticed you at table yesterday; you ate all the tunny, and when I wanted some more it was all gone." "Tunny is very indigestible, Monsieur Ménard; it isn't good for you." "I beg you, monsieur, not to worry about my health, and to leave some tunny for me at the next opportunity. You will see that, old as I am, I can steer clear of indigestion if I choose!" While those whom he left in the house lost themselves in conjectures, the count walked through the garden to the pavilion. It was dark when he was ready to tell Sister Anne what he proposed to do. Her room was on the first floor; he hesitated a moment before he went upstairs to the woman who had saved his life. "Poor child!" he said to himself; "I am going to deal her a heavy blow. I must take her away from Frédéric; I must separate them forever; but I am simply doing my duty, and her heart is too pure not to feel that she must think first of all of the peace of mind, yes, the life, of the woman who saved her and her son from the horrors of starvation, and who has taken pleasure in heaping kindnesses upon her." The old man entered the dumb girl's room; at sight of him, she rose and ran to meet him; one could read in her eyes the respect and affection that she felt for him. The count was touched to the heart; he looked at her for several minutes in silence; but he felt that he must say at once what he had to say, so that she might be ready at dawn.