Valentine hastily donned an ample cloak, and a great veil which almost concealed her features; then she betook herself at headlong speed, taking care to avoid the most frequented streets, to Rue de Bretonvilliers, inquired for Léodgard's hotel, and knocked at the gate. "Is Monsieur le Comte de Marvejols within?" "No, madame," replied the concierge, who was so impressed by the beauty and the noble air of the lady who questioned him, that he accompanied his reply with a low reverence. "What! has monsieur le comte gone out so early?" asked Valentine, with a searching glance into the courtyard. "I have not seen monsieur le comte since last evening, madame; when he goes out, I do not always know it!" "In that case, how can you be certain that he is not within?" "Because, madame, there has already been someone here to speak with monseigneur this morning." "Already! Who, pray?" "Officers--king's troops! I am not quite sure who they were. However, they were evidently very anxious to see monsieur le comte, for they came in and searched all the wings,--those gentry are very unceremonious,--and when they went away they said: 'He doesn't seem to have slept at home.'" The marchioness listened to these details with the most intense agitation; then she thanked the concierge and returned swiftly to her own house, unable as yet to believe what Miretta had told her, but none the less a prey to the most acute suffering. Miretta awaited her mistress in her apartment, and questioned her with her eyes. Valentine threw herself into a chair without uttering a word; but the pallor of her cheeks and the distortion of her features betrayed her suffering; and Miretta, deeply moved by her grief, dared not ask her a question. The two women had been in this position for some time when the Marquis de Santoval entered the room. Monsieur de Santoval's face wore a more amiable expression than usual; he was almost laughing as he entered his wife's apartment. "Palsambleu! madame la marquise," he cried, "I must tell you some strange news--a report that is in circulation this morning concerning our dear friend Comte Léodgard de Marvejols. I thought it would amuse you, and that is why I have come to tell you about it." "What is it, pray, monsieur le marquis?" "Oh! I must begin by telling you that it is utterly absurd, and that I do not believe a word of it. However, Birague, who has just told me the story, acted almost as if he believed it." "I am waiting for you to explain yourself, monsieur; but perhaps Miretta's presence embarrasses you?"