"All right, I know it."
"Oh yes; but me know from Thomas,—he meet her in the country, and her out in all the storm! he call to her: 'stop, mamzelle; come, get under cover.' But her run all the time just like her not hear, and her all soaked with water. Poor girl, her get sick for sure!"
The count turned pale, but he concealed his emotion and requested to be left alone. Pongo went back to Carabi, saying:
"He want to go out too; but me no want him to get wet like the young girl; poor girl, in the fields when it storm; that not right!"
Georget said no more; but although Monsieur de Brévanne had assured him that the girl was not Violette, although he dared not doubt his protector's words, yet he felt sad and oppressed, and he deeply regretted that he had not seen the poor girl who had gone away weeping.
Early the next morning, without a word to anybody, the count started for Paris; and he had no sooner arrived than he betook himself to Boulevard du Château d'Eau. The weather was cold but fine; it was one of those beautiful autumn mornings when the sun shines on the yellow leaves and promises a fine day.
It was not a flower market day; but some of the flower girls were in their places, none the less. As the count approached, he looked about for Violette, but in vain. The girl, who was ordinarily so faithful to her occupation, had not opened her booth, had not appeared in her place.
Monsieur de Brévanne waited for a long time, walking back and forth on the boulevard; he entered a café nearby, breakfasted, read the newspapers, and then returned to the place where the flower girl always stood; but Violette did not come.
"She is probably kept away to-day by the necessity of buying flowers for her trade," said the count to himself; "I will go back to Nogent and I will see her to-morrow."
But on the next day, the young flower girl was not in her place, and the count was again obliged to go away without seeing her.