Pongo was waiting for his master, teaching Carabi to pretend to be dead. Mere Brunoy was sewing, and Georget was going and coming about the garden, for the poor fellow could not keep still. Since he had been to Paris, and had seen how sad Violette looked and how she had changed, her image constantly haunted him; and when he saw his patron start for Paris that morning, he had been twenty times on the point of asking leave to accompany him, but he had not dared; after the oath he had lately taken, it would have been showing too little strength of character. So the young lover had remained at Nogent, where the day had seemed endless to him; and he hovered about the gate, in order to see the count when he returned, hoping that he might have seen Violette again and would speak of her to him. Monsieur de Brevanne returned during the afternoon; but his brow was dark, his expression more thoughtful than usual. Without a word he passed his household, who bowed before him; and he shut himself up in his room at once. "Master no want to talk," said the mulatto to Georget, "him not nod his head and say good-day; him not in good temper." "Oh! I saw that too; he didn't say a single word as he passed.--I suppose he didn't see her--he has other things on his mind. Well, he won't speak to me about her, and he looks too stern for me to mention her to him." And Georget returned sadly to his mother. XXXIV THE COAL BARGE They had all returned to their duties. But hardly an hour had passed since the count's return, when a young woman appeared at the gate. The gardener happened to be alone in front of the house at that moment, and he admitted Violette, for it was she who had arrived at Nogent and had succeeded in finding the house she had sought. "Is this Monsieur Malberg's house?" the girl asked timidly. "Yes, mamzelle, this is the place." "Is Monsieur Malberg at home?" "Yes, he came back from Paris about an hour ago." "And could I--could I speak to him?" "Oh, yes! I think so. But come in, mamzelle, and I will go and tell monsieur." Violette passed through the gate tremblingly; the gardener, who had taken a step or two toward the house, returned to her and said: "Who shall I tell monsieur? What is your name?" "My name, monsieur--but it isn't worth while; Monsieur Malberg won't remember my name; or else, perhaps then he wouldn't want to,--and in that case I would rather--oh dear! I don't know!" "Bless my soul! I don't know either." "Just be kind enough to tell Monsieur Malberg that it's a girl who has come from Paris, and who would like to speak to him." "Very good." The gardener went into the house; Violette glanced timidly about, hoping that in those beautiful avenues which she admired, in the fields which she saw in the distance, she might catch a glimpse of Georget; then she said to herself with a sigh: