I made my way there hurriedly. At the moment when I was walking across the garden, a young man alighted from horseback at the foot of the steps.
"Is this the Château de Pré-Bony?" I asked.
He flung the reins of his horse to a groom and replied, with a smile:
"At least that is what they call it, a little pompously, at Bougival."
"Oh," I murmured, as though taken aback by an unhoped for piece of news, "it's here . . . and I am in time!"
The young man introduced himself. It was the Comte de Roncherolles.
"May I ask to whom I have the honour . . ."
"Victorien Beaugrand," I replied.
And, without further preamble, confiding in the man's looks, which were frank and friendly, I said:
"I have come about Bérangère. She's here, isn't she? She has found a shelter here?"