"What can I do? Is not Sister Anne's fate absolutely in Constance's hands? When I attempt to speak to her about it, she closes my mouth, or else declares again that she doesn't choose to send her away."
"It's very embarrassing, on my word," said Ménard; "and if I were in my pupil's place, I know what I would do."
"Well, what would you do?" queried Dubourg.
"Pardieu! I would do as he does—not know what to do."
A very simple occurrence was destined to effect a revolution in Frédéric's household: one morning, the Comte de Montreville, having at last shaken off the gout, arrived at his son's country house.
Dubourg, although he had no idea that the count knew Sister Anne, was pleased by his arrival, because he felt sure that his presence would compel Frédéric to take some decisive step. Frédéric was terribly disturbed when his father appeared, having as yet had no explanation with him. Should he tell him the truth—that the dumb girl was under his roof? But, before he was left alone with the count, Constance made him promise that he would not mention Sister Anne; for she thought that the count was ignorant of his son's wrong-doing, and she did not want him to know of it at all.
The Comte de Montreville had been anxious for a long while concerning the fate of the young woman who had saved his life. His last messenger had brought him the intelligence that she had left the farm, intending to go to Paris. As she did not appear at his house, he had caused a search to be made for her, but to no purpose; he had no idea what could have become of her.
On arriving at his son's house, the count was at once impressed by Constance's melancholy and dejection. He inquired anxiously concerning the cause of the change; the young woman tried to evade his questions, on the pretext that she was slightly indisposed; but the old man was sharp-eyed: he saw that some mystery was being hidden from him, and he determined to fathom it. His son was embarrassed in his presence. Ménard avoided him as if he were afraid of being reprimanded for something. Dubourg alone appeared delighted by his arrival. Everything seemed to indicate that something extraordinary was taking place in the house.
As Constance knew that Monsieur de Montreville was accustomed, when he was at Montmorency, to go to the pavilion in the garden to read, she lost no time in informing him that a young woman and her son, of whom she had taken charge, were quartered there. The count asked no questions; he was far from suspecting that that young woman was the one he had been seeking so long: he certainly did not expect to find her under his son's roof.
On the day after his arrival, the count rose early, as usual, and went into the garden. He walked toward the pavilion, and not until he was about to enter did he remember what Constance had told him the day before. He turned away, and was walking in another direction, when a child came out of the pavilion and ran toward him; in a moment, another person had seized his hand and pressed it to her heart. The Comte de Montreville was surprised beyond expression when he found himself in the presence of the dumb girl and her son.