Once more Miretta obeyed her mistress's orders; and after passing a large part of the day on Place Royale, she was about to return to the Hôtel de Santoval, when she happened to meet Ambroisine, to whose house she had not been for a very long time, but for whom she still cherished profound gratitude.
The two girls greeted each other with a smile, and the bath keeper's daughter said to Miretta:
"What has become of you, pray? I never see you!"
"I am still in the service of Mademoiselle Valentine, who is now Marquise de Santoval; and you?"
"I come almost every day to see my friend Bathilde, who is now Comtesse de Marvejols."
"Ah, yes! I remember; I have heard of that marriage."
"It is a most extraordinary story. But I have no time to talk at this moment. If you knew—last evening, the Sire de Jarnonville and I found Monsieur le Comte Léodgard lying on the ground yonder, under the arcade, bathed in his own blood; I ran to the house—which is close by—and they took the wounded man there.—He is very ill; however, there is still some hope perhaps.—Adieu! adieu! I must go back to Bathilde!"
Miretta had learned all that she wished to know, and she hastened to make her report to her mistress.
On learning that Léodgard was in the house occupied by his wife, Valentine had almost a paroxysm of rage; at last she fell exhausted on a chair, saying:
"With his wife! he is with her now! And this is what all my projects of revenge have resulted in—uniting him to this Bathilde! bringing about a reconciliation between them, perhaps! Oh, no! no! I will poison that woman's happiness.—Ah! I should regret it less now if Léodgard should die of his wound!"