"Is Monsieur le Comte de Marvejols within?"
"No, madame," replied the concierge, who was so impressed by the beauty and the noble air of the lady who questioned him, that he accompanied his reply with a low reverence.
"What! has monsieur le comte gone out so early?" asked Valentine, with a searching glance into the courtyard.
"I have not seen monsieur le comte since last evening, madame; when he goes out, I do not always know it!"
"In that case, how can you be certain that he is not within?"
"Because, madame, there has already been someone here to speak with monseigneur this morning."
"Already! Who, pray?"
"Officers—king's troops! I am not quite sure who they were. However, they were evidently very anxious to see monsieur le comte, for they came in and searched all the wings,—those gentry are very unceremonious,—and when they went away they said: 'He doesn't seem to have slept at home.'"
The marchioness listened to these details with the most intense agitation; then she thanked the concierge and returned swiftly to her own house, unable as yet to believe what Miretta had told her, but none the less a prey to the most acute suffering.
Miretta awaited her mistress in her apartment, and questioned her with her eyes. Valentine threw herself into a chair without uttering a word; but the pallor of her cheeks and the distortion of her features betrayed her suffering; and Miretta, deeply moved by her grief, dared not ask her a question. The two women had been in this position for some time when the Marquis de Santoval entered the room.