“Monsieur de Monfréville,” said Louise; “I have never heard of that gentleman. But Madame de Noirmont said that he was a great friend of Chérubin, and that they would give me his address at Chérubin’s house. So I will go there. Oh! I shall not ask to see him! I know that he no longer cares for me, that he doesn’t choose to know me any more; and besides, as he has three or four mistresses at once, why, I haven’t any desire to see him either.” The girl heaved a sigh as she spoke, for her heart was by no means in accord with her words; but she started toward Faubourg Saint-Germain, saying to herself: “I must not think any more about my old playfellow; I will think only of what Madame de Noirmont said to me last night.” Louise at last reached the street on which the hôtel de Grandvilain stood. When she realized that she was so near Chérubin’s abode, she stopped and began to tremble: “As Chérubin wouldn’t admit us,” she thought, “when I came with his dear old nurse, perhaps they’ll shut the door in my face. They will think that it is he whom I wish to see, and that will make him even more angry with me. Oh dear! what am I to do?” And instead of going toward the house, Louise retraced her steps, walking very slowly. But in a moment she stopped again and said to herself: “But I must ascertain this Monsieur de Monfréville’s address! Suppose I should wait until someone comes out of the house? Yes, I think that that will be the better way. I shall not be so afraid to speak to someone in the street. But it is still very early; people don’t get up at this time in these fine houses. I will walk back and forth, and wait; there’s no law against that, and, besides, not many people are passing yet. If I should see him come out, I would hide so that he might not see me. But I could look at him, at all events--and it is so long since I saw him!” Louise had been walking the street for some time, looking in vain for somebody to leave the house, when two persons came toward her from a street near by. They were not arm in arm; indeed, one of them allowed his companion to keep always a few steps in advance, as if a certain residuum of respect kept him from putting himself on a level with the other. The first wore a long coat lined with fur, very stylish and sadly soiled, and a hat which was almost new, but which seemed to have received a number of blows; he had a cigar in his mouth; the second wore his huge umbrella hat and nut-colored box-coat, a pair of shockingly dirty trousers, and boots which were not made for him and in which his feet and legs seemed fairly to dance. In addition, he had a black eye and a bruised nose. Daréna and Poterne had passed the night at a party where they had played cards until daylight, and had indulged in a fight before separating. Daréna had chosen to pass through Chérubin’s street on his way home; he always took that road by preference, a fancy which did not please Poterne, who muttered as he followed him: