“Ah! who would ever have thought, monsieur, that Violette, who seemed never to listen to any gallant--and she has been to the rooms of one of them, the one that I was most jealous of! Ah! I was right to be jealous of him! a perfumed dandy, a lion, as they say!” “But how do you know that she has been to his rooms?” “From another one, who also is in love with Violette, and who saw her come out of this Monsieur Jéricourt’s, who lives on his landing.” “And how do you know that he tells the truth, especially as the flower girl refused to listen to him?” “Oh, monsieur! you may be sure that I didn’t believe him either, that at first I called him a liar and an impostor; indeed I would have thrashed him if he hadn’t proposed to repeat it all to Violette herself in our presence; he did it, monsieur; he spoke to her of her visit to his neighbor, the swell Monsieur Jéricourt, and Violette turned pale; and she couldn’t find a word to defend herself, to contradict him!” “In that case, my poor boy, you can no longer doubt her infidelity; or at least, if she had never given you any promise, her weakness for another. You have done well to leave Paris, and come here with your mother; by ceasing to see this girl, you will triumph over your love, and you will soon find someone else to bestow your affections upon. At your age, one loves so readily!” “You think so, monsieur, but it seems to me that I shall never be able to love any other woman than Violette. However, I will try, I will do my utmost, and if I don’t see her any more--for you won’t send me to Paris, monsieur, will you?” “No, my boy, no, that is agreed. Indeed, Pongo always goes when I need anything; and I myself go quite often; but never fear, I won’t take you.” “So much the better, monsieur, and I thank you. Now I will walk about these lovely gardens with my mother, monsieur.” “Go, my friend, go.” Monsieur de Brévanne left his house and walked toward Monsieur Glumeau’s, saying to himself: “I have not been very polite to my neighbors; they invited me to their party, I saw their play, holding myself aloof, and then I disappeared without even going to pay my respects to them; as they cannot guess the motive that led me to act so, I must repair my discourtesy by going to call upon them.” The count had almost reached Monsieur Glumeau’s house, when a gentleman who came from it, and walked toward him, stopped and uttered a cry of surprise at finding himself face to face with Monsieur de Brévanne. He in his turn examined the person who stood before him, then held out his hand, saying: “I am not mistaken, it is Monsieur de Merval!” “The Comte de Brévanne!” cried Monsieur de Merval, grasping the hand that was offered him. Then he added: “I beg pardon, but you have dropped that name, I believe?” “Yes, they call me Malberg now; but to you I shall always be Brévanne. This is a meeting which I was far from expecting, but of which I am very glad. Are you coming from Monsieur Glumeau’s?”