"I agree with you. Although I am an enemy of the count, I am capable of doing justice to his valor, his nobility of character--in a word, he belongs to one of the most ancient families of France, whose honor is stainless. When the lieutenant had finished, Birague could not help laughing. Whereupon the official said to him: 'I have ordered the sergeant who was in command of the watch to be sent here. I am going to question him. Remain, if you are interested.' Birague asked nothing better; he remained, and the sergeant of the watch soon appeared. He told a story which corresponded exactly with the report, but added this: 'When we picked up the cap and false beard, we saw blood on the ground, which proved that we had wounded our man.'--'And what did you do then?' asked the lieutenant.--'Monseigneur, as the moon was shining, we followed the blood along Place Royale to a point where it suddenly stopped, as if the wounded man had gone no farther.'--'And you observed that spot?'--'Yes, monseigneur; it was directly in front of the gate of the Hôtel de Marvejols.'--As you may imagine, madame, that fact seemed decidedly strange to the lieutenant as well as to Birague.--'And the girl--what became of her?' monseigneur asked the sergeant, who admitted that he had paid no further attention to her.--'You are a fool!' said the lieutenant; 'you should have arrested the girl and taken her to the guardhouse, and then have brought her before me. When a person presumes to make so serious a charge against one of the first noblemen of the court, she should not be allowed to disappear. From this girl we could ascertain how much truth there is in this story; we could learn whether you had an interview with a madwoman, or with a person who had some reason to hate the count. You must find the girl, sergeant, do you hear? You must find her.'--For my part, I consider that the lieutenant of police was perfectly right, and that the arrest of this girl might lead to some very curious revelations.--What do you think, marchioness?" For several moments past, Valentine had turned all her attention to Miretta; she kept her eyes fastened upon her with a glance of supplication, as if the girl's action were a matter of life or death to her. But Miretta, standing like a statue at the end of the room, kept her eyes fixed on the floor; and there was nothing to betray what was taking place in her mind. "Well, madame, you do not answer," continued Monsieur de Santoval. "Oh! I beg pardon, monsieur! The fact is that this story is so strange, so absurd---- Really, I do not understand how so much importance can be attached to it!"