"Who shall I tell monsieur? What is your name?"
"My name, monsieur—but it isn't worth while; Monsieur Malberg won't remember my name; or else, perhaps then he wouldn't want to,—and in that case I would rather—oh dear! I don't know!"
"Bless my soul! I don't know either."
"Just be kind enough to tell Monsieur Malberg that it's a girl who has come from Paris, and who would like to speak to him."
"Very good."
The gardener went into the house; Violette glanced timidly about, hoping that in those beautiful avenues which she admired, in the fields which she saw in the distance, she might catch a glimpse of Georget; then she said to herself with a sigh:
"No, it is much better that he shouldn't see me, for he would think that I came here after him, and he would be quite capable of running away from this house too."
"If mamzelle will come this way, monsieur is ready to receive her," said the gardener, returning.
Violette was greatly agitated, but she followed her guide toward the house.
The count was in his study on the ground floor; all the curtains at the windows were drawn, night was coming on, and the room was dark and silent.