The Comte de Roncherolles flushed slightly and eyed me with a certain attention. I took his hand:
"If you please, monsieur, the position is very serious. Bérangère is being hunted down by an extremely dangerous man."
"Who is that?"
"Velmot."
"Velmot?"
The count threw off all further disguise as useless and repeated:
"Velmot! Velmot! The enemy whom she loathes! . . . Yes, she has everything to fear from the man. Fortunately, he does not know where she is."
"He does know . . . since yesterday," I exclaimed.
"Granted. But he will need time to make his preparations, to plan his move."
"He was seen not far from here, yesterday, by people of the village."