"Well, that address--" "Had been theirs; but they had moved, and where to was not known. Unfortunately, up to the present time, my researches have been useless. After a thousand vain attempts before I utterly despaired, I resolved to come here. Perhaps Madame de Fermont, who, from some inexplicable motive, has not asked from me aid or assistance, may have had recourse to my son as to the son of her husband's best friend. No doubt this hope has but very slight foundation; but I will not neglect any chance that may enable me to discover the poor woman and her child." The Duchess de Lucenay, who had been listening to the comte with the utmost attention, said, suddenly: "Really it would be very singular if these should be the same persons in whom Madame d'Harville takes so much interest." "What persons?" inquired the comte. "The widow of whom you speak is still young, is she not?--her face very striking?" "Yes, but how do you know?" "Her daughter, as lovely as an angel, and about sixteen at most?" "Yes, yes." "And her name is Claire?" "Oh, for mercy's sake, say, where are they?" "Alas! I know not." "You know not?" "I will tell you all I know. A lady of my acquaintance, Madame d'Harville, came to me to inquire whether or not I knew a widow lady whose daughter was named Claire, and whose brother had committed suicide. Madame d'Harville inquired of me because she had seen these words, 'Write to Madame de Lucenay,' written at the bottom of a rough sketch of a letter which this unfortunate lady was writing to some stranger of whom she was asking assistance." "She wished to write to you; and wherefore to you?" "I cannot solve your question." "But she knew you, it would seem," said M. de Saint-Remy, struck with a sudden idea. "What mean you?" "She had heard me speak of your father a hundred times, as well as of you and your generous and excellent heart. In her misfortune, it occurred to her to address you." "That really does explain this." "And Madame d'Harville--tell me, how did she get this sketch of a letter into her possession?" "That I do not know; all I can say is, that, without knowing whither this poor mother and child had gone for refuge, she was, I believe, on the trace of them." "Then I rely on you, Clotilde, to introduce me to Madame d'Harville. I must see her this very day." "Impossible! Her husband has just been the victim of a most afflicting accident: a pistol which he did not know to be loaded went off in his hands, and he was killed on the spot." "How horrible!" "The marquise went instantly to pass the first months of her mourning with her father in Normandy." "Clotilde, I beseech you, write to her to-day; ask her for all the information in her power, and, as she takes an interest in these poor women, say she cannot find a warmer auxiliary than myself; that my only desire is to find the widow of my friend, and share with her and her daughter the little I possess. They are now all my family."