“We are going to see him. I’ll tell him how sad I am when I am away from him; I’ll tell him that I cry almost all the time, that there’s nothing to amuse me in the village, and he’ll come back with us, mother; oh! I am sure that he’ll come back with us.”
Nicole shook her head with a doubtful expression, and murmured:
“At any rate, we shall find out whether he’s happy and well; that’s the main thing.”
In due time they reached the old mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain.
“This is his house,” said Nicole; “I recognize it all right! This is the very house where I came to get him when he was a spindling little thing, as thin as a rail. I made a fine boy of him, thank God! And then I came here two or three times to bring him to his father, when the old gentleman was alive.”
Louise gazed wonderingly at the old structure, whose severe aspect and time-blackened walls almost frightened her. Meanwhile, they had entered the courtyard, and Nicole said to the concierge:
“Monsieur, I’ve come to see my fieu—my nursling, young Chérubin, your master. He left us to come here, but we don’t like not having a chance to kiss him for so long; we couldn’t stand it any longer, so here we are.”
The concierge, who had his orders, replied:
“You can’t see monsieur le marquis, my master, for he isn’t in the house.”
“Gone out, has he? Oh well! he’ll come back! We’ll wait, won’t we, Louise?”