"What eccentricity! Why do you lodge there and not at Paris?"
"I hate Paris, on account of the souvenirs it awakens," answered Saint Remy, with a gloomy air. "My old physician, Dr. Griffin, has a small country-house on the banks of the Seine, near Asnieres; he does not live there in winter, and offered it to me; it is almost a suburb of Paris; I could, after my researches, find there the solitude which pleases me; I have accepted."
"I will write you, then, at Asnieres; I can, besides, give you now some information which may perhaps serve you, which I received from Madame d'Harville. The ruin of Madame de Fermont has been caused by the roguery of the notary who had the charge of her fortune. He denies the deposit."
"The scoundrel! What is the fellow's name?"
"Jacques Ferrand," said the duchess, without being able to conceal her desire to laugh.
"What a strange being you are, Clotilde! There is nothing in all this but what is serious and sad, yet you laugh!" said the count, surprised and vexed.
"Pardon me, my friend," answered the duchess; "the notary is such a singular man, and they tell such strange things of him. But, seriously, if his reputation as an honest man is no more merited than his reputation as a pious man (and I declare this usurped), he is a wretch!"
"And he lives—-"
"Rue du Gentier."
"He shall have a visit from me. What you have told me coincides with certain suspicions."