"So it was, monsieur, but a constant fever has prevented it from healing."
"If that is so, I will go with you, my child; I will take you back to your father, and see for myself how he is. Perhaps he should have another doctor."
"Oh! you are so kind, monsieur, and I am so grateful to you! Would you be willing to see my father, and to tell him what you have just told me? I have an idea that that would cure him at once."
The count at once led Violette away, saying:
"Come, my child; let us first find out how he is."
It was but a short distance from the count's house to Roncherolle's lodgings. Violette and Monsieur de Brévanne soon arrived. The concierge was not in her lodge, and Mirontaine received them, barking in most lugubrious fashion.
"That is strange!" murmured Violette; "this dog knows me perfectly well, so why does she make that noise? why does she howl like that? Mon Dieu! they say that that announces some calamity!"
And the girl ran rapidly up the stairs, while the count tried to reassure her. But when they reached the fifth floor, they saw Georget and Chicotin standing outside Roncherolle's door. Violette would have passed into the room, but Georget put his arms about her and detained her, and she saw that his eyes were filled with tears.
"O my God! my father is dead!" cried the girl.
Georget and his friend sadly hung their heads; thereupon Violette fell into Monsieur de Brévanne's arms, faltering: