“Monsieur, I have found out about Madame Rennebaut: she is an old widow lady, very rich and with no children, who keeps a gardener, a cook and a maid.”
“And her house?”
“It is at the other end of the village; if we take this road to the pond, then turn to the left, we shall see the house in front of us. It is a fine house with an iron fence in front of it, and a garden with a terrace, from which there is a splendid view.”
“Let us go on, Pettermann.”
We followed the road that had been pointed out to him. As I knew that Madame Blémont was at Paris, I had no hesitation about calling at Madame Rennebaut’s house; I did not know what Eugénie might have told her, but I would ask to see my daughter, and I could not believe that they would deny me that satisfaction.
We had passed the pond and were on a sort of path with the fields on one side, leading to the lovely valley of Montmorency.
I spied the house that had been described to us; I urged my horse, and we were already skirting the garden wall, when I saw a woman walking on the terrace which ran along the wall on that side, leading a little girl by the hand.
I recognized the woman and the little girl at once; and, instantly turning my horse about, I rode into the fields and away from the house as rapidly as we had approached.
I did not stop until several clumps of trees concealed me from the house. Eugénie was there; therefore my informant must have been misled, or perhaps she had returned the night before. However that might be, she was there and I could not go to that house; her presence debarred me; perhaps she would think it was she whom I wished to see. I should be too humiliated if she should have such a thought.
However, I did not wish to go away without embracing my daughter. I did not know what to do. Pettermann had followed me closely, and was right behind me; but he waited and said nothing. I dismounted, and he was about to do the same.