"Why, she stuck her tongue out at me and call me gingerbread man."

"So, Pongo, you don't like it when you have to go to Paris?"

"No, no! And then when me leave Carabi, him always scratch me when me come back; for him forget me, and not mind me any more; but me go there all the same."

"Well, my dear Pongo, if you choose, the first time that Monsieur Malberg gives you an errand to do in Paris, I will undertake it, I will go in your place; and you need not be afraid but that I will do exactly as you tell me."

"Oh! thank you, Monsieur Georget, you very kind; but me can't accept."

"Why not?"

"No, no, me no do that!"

"It would be a favor to me too, because then I could take the opportunity to buy some things in Paris that I need."

"No, Monsieur Georget, me not send you in my place, because, when master, him tell me to go there, if me no do it, he says: 'Pongo he no more my servant, Pongo he make others do his work'; and he turn me away. No, Pongo always do master's work himself!—Just wait, you flower, me take a cane to you, fine Zima like master's, and then you have to stand straight."

Georget walked sadly away from Pongo; the poor boy was burning with longing to go to Paris, though it were to stay there but a moment; but he dared not admit it either to his mother or to his patron; for after swearing so often that he would never go there again, that he held Paris in horror; after having earnestly begged that he might never be sent there, how could he now have the face to ask permission to go there? Would it not be equivalent to an admission that he was still thinking of Violette, that he could not succeed in forgetting her, that, in short, he would give ten years of his life to see her for an instant? At eighteen, years seem such a trifle; if a lover's wishes could always be gratified, he would often squander in a few days the best part of his youth.

Monsieur de Merval had kept the promise he had given to the Comte de Brévanne, and had gone to Nogent to pass a day. That day had been employed in walking about the country, talking confidentially all the while. Monsieur de Brévanne had questioned his guest again concerning Madame de Grangeville's present position, and without making it apparent that he attached much importance to the matter, he had inquired her address. He had also asked Monsieur de Merval if he had not met Monsieur de Roncherolle in Paris; but Monsieur de Merval was unable to give him any information upon that subject.

During that day, employed in that confidential conversation, that outpouring of the heart, in which one often reveals one's most secret thoughts, Monsieur de Merval had been more than once on the point of disclosing a secret of the greatest interest to him whose confidence he received. But, always held back by the fear of causing him pain, he had not spoken, and had left Monsieur de Brévanne, saying to himself, as after his first visit:

"What is the use of telling him that? Perhaps he will never know it."

On the morrow of the day that he had passed with Monsieur de Merval, the count in the morning informed his servant that they would go to Paris about noon.

Pongo began at once to make his preparations, which consisted, first of all, in stuffing Carabi with cake and bits of meat, in order, he said, that the cat might not commit larceny during his absence and so call for punishment.

The mulatto had hardly finished with his friend Carabi, and was about to beat flonflon, which was the name he gave to his master's travelling coat, when Georget passed him.

"What are you doing there, Pongo?" said the young man, stopping.

"Me beat flonflon, Monsieur Georget, me make flonflon very fine and clean; him like to be beaten, for him go to Paris!"

"What? are you going to Paris, Pongo?"

"Yes, me go with master, he tell me we go soon, at noon; you hear, flonflon?—There! oh! you be all clean!"

"You say that Monsieur Malberg is going to Paris to-day?"

"Yes, Monsieur Georget, with me; he take me, so me put on Mina, my pretty new cap."

Georget stayed to hear no more, but set about searching the house for the count; at last he found him seated under a lilac bush, where as usual he seemed to be deep in meditation.

"Pray forgive me, monsieur, if I disturb you," said Georget, approaching the count; "but I have just learned that—that monsieur is going to Paris to-day."

"Yes, that is true; but what does it matter to you, my boy, so long as I do not take you, as you begged me not to do? Never fear, I don't need you; I shall take nobody but Pongo."

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, you see, I have reflected—I have realized that I was wrong to say that to monsieur, for I ought to be at his service, I ought to be always ready to do what he wishes; and then—you see—I had no right to ask monsieur not to take me to Paris when he went there; and that is why—if monsieur would like me to go with him—why I will be ready whenever monsieur says, I won't keep him waiting."

The count watched Georget closely while he was speaking, and replied gently:

"I thank you, Georget, for the effort that you make to please me, but I tell you again, I will not subject you to such a severe trial; you have a horror of Paris, I know, and I can understand it; you might meet someone there whom you wish never to see again, whom, on the contrary, you wish to forget entirely; I will not expose you to dangers which you are wise enough to avoid. Besides, I have no need of your service in Paris; so calm your fears, my friend, you shall remain here."

The poor boy was struck dumb; he did not know what to say; he turned pale and staggered, and at last, finding that he had not the strength to conceal longer what he felt, he fell on his knees in front of Monsieur de Brévanne, stammering in a voice broken by sobs:

"Oh! take me, monsieur! Take me, I beg you! It isn't my fault, but I can't stand it any longer! I won't speak to her, monsieur; I won't speak to her, that I swear to you; but if I can see her for a moment, just a moment; if I can know that she is still there in the place where I used to see her, then I will come right away, I will come back calmer and more at peace, and I will work even better than ever, for my head will not be in a whirl as it is now."

"Rise, my poor boy! At all events, you are honest now, and I prefer that. What is the use of disguising what you feel? Moreover, my poor boy, you do not yet possess the art of dissembling; stay as you are; it is more rare, but it is much better. Well, as you can't live without seeing her, you may go to Paris with me."

"Oh! how kind you are, monsieur!"

"But be careful! be prudent! remember the past! Ah! if twenty years had passed since you had seen the object of your love, I should have less fear for you; but after only a fortnight, it's very dangerous!"

"I won't speak to her, monsieur; I swear to you that I won't!"

"Very good. Go and get ready, and tell Pongo that I am taking you in his place, that he need not go to Paris."

Georget, drunken with joy, ran like a mad man through the gardens; he longed to tell everybody that he was going to Paris. He told the gardener, who was watering his vegetables; he shouted it at his mother, who was working in front of the house, and who thought that she must have heard wrong; but when she attempted to ask her son for a word of explanation, he was already far away. He hastened up to his room to dress; he finished his toilet in a moment; then he started out to find Pongo, whom he found still brushing and beating flonflon; he tried to take possession of the coat, which the mulatto refused to give him.

"Let me have it, Pongo! let me have it!" said Georget; "you are not going to Paris, I am going to take your place. Give me the coat, I am going to take it to monsieur; it is beaten enough."

"What!