"How can I be melancholy," he thought, "when I have had ample proof, a hundred times over, that tender-hearted women will always take an interest in my fate! Here's to Claudine's health, and Madame Chambertin's, and Goton's, and little Delphine's, and all the others to whom I owe so many pleasant hours and delicious memories."
He drank their healths in water from a brook, for he could adapt himself to anything. Moreover, he had money and might have wine, which consideration made the water seem less disagreeable. Toward nightfall, he drew near Vizille.
"If monsieur le comte learned of Frédéric's amourette from Ménard," he said to himself, "he probably came here after him, and I shall not find him; but I shall find the pretty blonde, and she will tell me what has happened."
He did not then know that the poor girl could not tell him anything. He walked through the valley, entered the woods, looked about, and called, but saw no one. At last he discovered the cabin; he entered the garden, which was deserted; then he went into the little house, where he found no one but old Marguerite, dozing in her big armchair.
Surprised not to find the girl, Dubourg left the cabin; he was afraid that the story he had invented for Ménard would prove to be true, and that Frédéric had really taken his sweetheart away with him. He was on his way to the village to try to learn something about Sister Anne, when, in one of the paths in the forest, he met her walking slowly toward her home.
Her whole bearing was so dejected, her features wore an expression of such profound sorrow, that Dubourg was touched. He gazed at her for several minutes, saying to himself:
"Poor creature! he has gone, and he didn't take you! How much better it would have been for you if he had never come!"
At that moment, Sister Anne, hearing footsteps, looked up and saw that someone was approaching. She ran forward like a flash; when she reached Dubourg's side, she stopped, and her features, which hope had brightened for a moment, resumed their grief-stricken expression; sadly she shook her head—it was not he!
But Dubourg spoke; recognizing his voice, she looked at him more carefully, and again her heart beat fast with joy. It was one of Frédéric's friends, who had come once before to seek him; doubtless he came now to announce his return. She walked closer to him, questioning him with her eyes, and waiting impatiently for him to explain his presence; whereupon Dubourg, much surprised, asked her what had become of Frédéric.
The name of Frédéric made her quiver; she pointed to the road he had taken, counted on her fingers the number of days he had been gone, and seemed to be trying to ask him why he did not bring him back.