"Come, come, be calm, Georget; you are not reasonable, my friend; and I think that I shall do well not to let you go to Paris again."
"Forgive me, monsieur; you are right to scold me.—Mon Dieu! to think that I hurried back so fast, because I had good news to tell monsieur, and here I have forgotten all about it and haven't told him! It is all Violette's fault, you see, monsieur; she upsets my wits, she makes me forget everything; it is worse than sickness, monsieur!—And she talked about me?"
"Well, Georget, as you have thought of it at last, what is the news that you have to tell me?"
"Monsieur, I haven't forgotten that sometime ago you employed me to find the residence in Paris of a person whom you wished to find; it was a Monsieur de Roncherolle, wasn't it, monsieur?"
At the name of Roncherolle, the count's face instantly lighted up, and he seized Georget's arm, exclaiming:
"Yes, yes, it was he! Well, go on—what do you know?"
"I know that gentleman's address, at last."
"You know it?"
"Yes, monsieur.—Mon Dieu! if I had happened to mention it sooner to Chicotin, my old comrade, I should have known it a long while ago. He is that gentleman's messenger, he works for him."
"And his address?"