“The count’s steward could not say enough in your praise.”

“He does not know me.”

“But I know him. I got him his situation with Comte Saulevat. So you understand....”

Victoire seemed to calm down a little:

“Well,” she said, “God’s will be done . . . or rather yours. And what do you expect me to do in all this?”

“First, to put me up. You were my wet-nurse once. You can very well give me half your room now. I’ll sleep in the armchair.”

“And next?”

“Next? To supply me with such food as I want.”

“And next?”

“Next? To undertake, with me and under my direction, a regular series of searches with a view....”