Dubourg was petrified. He realized that he could not hope to recover his money. He returned slowly and dejectedly to the hotel, and joined Frédéric and Ménard with an expression of utter dismay. "Well, what about the robbers?" inquired Frédéric. "Ah! my friend, they have fled." "I was sure of it." "But you have entered a complaint with the magistrate, surely, monsieur le baron?" "I have done all that there was to do, Monsieur Ménard; but I fancy that we may say good-bye to our money." "In that case, what are we going to do?" "That is what we must consider.--How much money have you, Monsieur Ménard?" "Not more than two louis." "And you, Frédéric?" "I have about ten." "That isn't enough to pay our landlord, for we must owe him at least three hundred francs." "What! hasn't he been paid?" "Who ever heard of making people of our sort pay in advance?" "But think how extravagant we have been!" "We had to live; and what difference does it make whether we owe one hundred francs or three hundred, as we can't pay?" "However, we cannot leave this hotel without settling our account, and we cannot continue our journey without money." "That would be rather difficult, to be sure," said Ménard. "I see but one way to get any," said Dubourg, "and that is to apply to Monsieur le Comte de Montreville. He certainly won't leave his son in straits." "Ask monsieur le comte for money, when it isn't three weeks since we left Paris! What will he think?" murmured Ménard, with a sigh.--"What if monsieur le baron should write to his steward at Rava or Krapach?" "Why, I would write in a moment, but it's so far!--It would take at least two months to get an answer, because at this time of year the mails are greatly delayed by avalanches." "What, monsieur le baron, in summer?" "Summer is the season when the snow melts. Pardieu! if it was winter, they could make half the distance on snow-shoes. We couldn't wait all that time in this inn; we must have money at once." "My dear Ménard," said Frédéric, "you really must apply to my father." "Well, I will write him what has happened to monsieur le baron----" "No, no; you are the one he gave the money to, and you are the one who was robbed; it's useless to mention me. Just imagine that you were the one who was robbed last night." "Come, my dear Ménard, write my father a most pathetic letter." "The deuce! that's a very hard task." "I'll dictate to you, if you choose," said Dubourg. "You will oblige me very much, monsieur le baron." So Ménard took the pen, and Dubourg dictated the following letter: "MONSIEUR LE COMTE: