La clique dorée. English

by Emile Gaboriau

  XIV.

  "Well, I am sure the count can boast that he has had a curiouswedding-day."

  This was the way the servants spoke at the moment when Henrietta leftthe reception-room. She heard it; and without knowing whether theyapproved her conduct, or laughed at it, she felt gratified, so eager ispassion for encouragement from anywhere.

  But she had not yet gone half-way up the stairs which led to her ownrooms, when she was held at the place by the sound of all the bells ofthe house, which had been set in motion by a furious hand. She bent overthe balusters to listen. The servants were rushing about; the vestibuleresounded with hurried steps; and she distinguished the imperious voiceof M. Ernest, the count's valet, who called out,--

  "Salts, quick! Fresh water. The countess has a nervous attack."

  A bitter smile curled Henrietta's lips.

  "At least," she said to herself, "I shall have poisoned this woman'sjoy." And, fearing to be caught thus listening, she went up stairs.

  But, when she was alone once more, the poor girl failed not to recognizethe utter futility of her fancied triumph. Whom had she wounded, afterall? Her father.

  However unwell the countess might be to-night,--and perhaps she was notreally unwell,--she would certainly be well again in the morning; andthen what would be the advantage of the scandal she had attempted inorder to ruin her? Now Henrietta saw it very clearly,--now, when it wastoo late.

  Worse than that! She fancied that what she had done to-day pledgedher for the future. The road upon which she had started evidently lednowhere. Never mind, it seemed to her miserable cowardice to shrink fromgoing on.

  Rising with the sun, she was deliberating on what weak point she mightmake her next attack, when there came a knock at the door, and Clarissa,her own maid, entered.

  "Here is a letter for you, miss," she said. "I have received it thismoment, in an envelope addressed to me."

  Henrietta examined the letter for a long time before opening it,studying the handwriting, which she did not know. Who could write toher, and in this way, unless it was Maxime de Brevan, to whom Danielhad begged her to intrust herself, and who, so far, had given no sign oflife of himself?

  It was M. de Brevan who wrote thus,--

  "Madam,--Like all Paris, I also have heard of your proud and nobleprotest on the day of your father's unfortunate marriage. Egotists andfools will perhaps blame you. But you may despise them; for all the bestmen are on your side. And my dear Daniel, if he were here, would approveand admire your courage, as I do myself."

  She drew a full breath, as if her heart had been relieved of a heavyburden.

  Daniel's friend approved her conduct. This was enough to stiflehenceforth the voice of reason, and to make her disregard every idea ofprudence. The whole letter of M. de Brevan was, moreover, nothing but along and respectful admonition to resist desperately.

  Farther on he wrote,--

  "At the moment of taking the train, Daniel handed me a letter, in whichhe expresses his innermost thoughts. With a sagacity worthy of such aheart, he foresees and solves in advance all the difficulties by whichyour step-mother will no doubt embarrass you hereafter. This letter istoo precious to be intrusted to the mail, I shall, therefore, get myselfintroduced at your father's house before the end of the week, and Ishall have the honor to put that letter into your own hands."

  And again,--

  "I shall have an opportunity, tomorrow, to send Daniel news from here.If you wish to write to him, send me your letter to-day, Rue Laffitte,No. 62, and I will enclose it in mine."

  Finally, there came a postscript in these words,--

  "Mistrust, above all, M. Thomas Elgin."

  This last recommendation caused Henrietta particular trouble, and madeher feel all kinds of vague and terrible apprehensions.

  "Why should I mistrust him," she said to herself, "more than theothers?"

  But a more pleasing anxiety soon came to her assistance. What? Herewas an opportunity to send Daniel news promptly and safely, and she wasrunning the risk, by her delays, of losing the chance? She hastened todress; and, sitting down before her little writing-table, she went towork communicating to her only friend on earth all her sufferings sincehe had so suddenly left her, her griefs, her resentments, her hopes.

  It was eleven o'clock when she had finished, having filled eight largepages with all she felt in her heart. As she was about to rise, shesuddenly felt ill. Her knees gave way under her, and she felt as ifevery thing was trembling around her. What could this mean? she thought.And now only she remembered that she had eaten nothing since the daybefore.

  "I must not starve myself," she said almost merrily to herself. Her longchat with Daniel had evidently rekindled her hopes.

  She rang the bell; and, when her maid appeared, she said,--

  "Bring me some breakfast!"

  Miss Ville-Handry occupied three rooms. The first, her sitting-room,opened upon the hall; on the right was her bed-chamber; and on the lefta boudoir with her piano, her music, and her books. When Henrietta tookher meals up stairs, which of late had happened quite often, she ate inthe sitting-room.

  She had gone in there, and was clearing the table of the albums andlittle trifles which were lying about, so as to hasten matters, when themaid reappeared with empty hands.

  "Ah, miss!"

  "Well?"

  "The count has given orders not to take any thing up stairs."

  "That cannot be."

  But a mocking voice from without interrupted her, saying,--

  "It is so!"

  And immediately Count Ville-Handry appeared, already dressed, curled,and painted, bearing the appearance of a man who is about to enjoy hisrevenge.

  "Leave us!" he said to the maid-servant.

  And, as soon as Clarissa had left the room, he turned to Henrietta withthese words,--

  "Yes, indeed, my dear Henrietta, I have given strict orders not to bringyou up any thing to eat. Why should you indulge such fancies? I ask you.Are you unwell? If you are, we will send for the doctor. If not, youwill do me the favor to come down and take your meals in the dining-roomwith the family,--with the countess and myself, M. Elgin and Mrs.Brian."

  "But, father!"

  "There is no father who could stand this. The time of weakness ispast, and so is the time of passion; therefore, you will come down. Oh!whenever you feel disposed. You will, perhaps, pout a day, maybe twodays; but hunger drives the wolf into the village; and on the third daywe shall see you come down as soon as the bell rings. I have in vainappealed to your heart; you see I am forced to appeal to your stomach."

  Whatever efforts Henrietta might make to remain impassive, the tearswould come into her eyes,--tears of shame and humiliation. Could thisidea of starving her into obedience have originated with her father? No,he would never have thought of it! It was evidently a woman's thought,and the result of bitter, savage hate.

  Still the poor girl felt that she was caught; and her heart revolted atthe ignominy of the means, and the certainty that she would be forcedto yield. Her cruel imagination painted to her at once the exultation ofthe new countess, when she, the daughter of Count Ville-Handry, wouldappear in the dining-room, brought there by want, by hunger.

  "Father," she begged, "send me nothing but bread and water, but spare methat exposure."

  But, if the count was repeating a lesson, he had learned it well. Hisfeatures retained their sardonic expression; and he said in an icytone,--

  "I have told you what I desire. You have heard it, and that is enough."

  He was turning to leave the room, when his daughter held him back.

  "Father," she said, "listen to me."

  "Well, what is it, now?"

  "Yesterday you threatened to shut me up."

  "Well?"

  "To-day it is I who beseech you to do so. Send me to a convent. Howeverharsh and strict the rules may be, however sad life may be there, I willfind there some relief for my sorrow, and I will bless you with all myheart."

  He onl
y shrugged his shoulders over and over again; then he said,--

  "A good idea! And from your convent you would at once write to everybodyand everywhere, that my wife had turned you out of the house; that youhad been obliged to escape from threats and bad treatment; you wouldrepeat all the well-known elegies of the innocent young girl who ispersecuted by a wicked stepmother. Not so, my dear, not so!"

  The breakfast-bell, which was ringing below, interrupted him.

  "You hear, Henrietta," he said. "Consult your stomach; and, according towhat it tells you, come down, or stay here."

  He went out, manifestly quite proud at having performed what he calledan act of paternal authority, without vouchsafing a glance at hisdaughter, who had sunk back upon a chair; for she felt overcome, thepoor child! by all the agony of her pride. It was all over: she couldstruggle no longer. People who would not shrink from such extrememeasures in order to overcome her might resort to the last extremities.Whatever she could do, sooner or later she would have to succumb.

  Hence--why might she not as well give way at once? She saw clearly,that, the longer she postponed it, the sweeter would be the victory tothe countess, and the more painful would be the sacrifice to herself.Arming herself, therefore, with all her energy, she went down into thedining-room, where the others were already at table.

  She had imagined that her appearance would be greeted by some insultingremark. Not at all. They seemed hardly to notice her. The countess, whohad been talking, paused to say, "Good-morning, madam!" and then went onwithout betraying in her voice the slightest emotion.

  Henrietta had even to acknowledge that they had been considerate. Herplate had not been put by her mother-in-law. A seat had been kept forher between Mrs. Brian and M. Elgin. She sat down, and, while eating,watched stealthily, and with all her powers of observation, thesestrangers who were henceforth the masters of her destiny, and whom shenow saw for the first time; for yesterday she had hardly perceived them.

  She was at once struck, painfully struck, with the dazzling, marvellousbeauty of Countess Sarah, although she had been shown her photograph byher father, and ought thus to have been prepared. It was evident thatthe young countess had barely taken time to put on a wrapper beforecoming down to breakfast. Her complexion was more animated than usually.She exhibited all the touching confusion of a young bride, and wasconstantly more or less embarrassed.

  Henrietta comprehended but too well the influence such a woman waslikely to have over an old man who had fallen in love with her. It madeher tremble. But grim Mrs. Brian appeared to her hardly less formidable.She could read nothing in her dull, heavy eye but cold wickedness;nothing in her lean, yellow face but an implacable will; all thewrinkles seemed to be permanently graven in wax.

  She thought, after all, the least to be feared was tall, stiff M.Thomas Elgin. Seated by her, he had shown her discreetly some littleattentions; and, when she observed him more closely, she discovered inhis eyes something like commiseration.

  "And yet," she thought, "it was against him that M. de Brevan warned meparticularly."

  But breakfast was over. Henrietta rose, and having bowed, without sayinga word, was going back to her room when she met on the stairs someof the servants, who were carrying a heavy wardrobe. Upon inquiry shelearned that, as Sir Thorn and Mrs. Brian were hereafter to live in thepalace, they were bringing up their furniture.

  She shook her head sadly; but in her rooms a greater surprise wasawaiting her. Three servants were hard at work taking down herfurniture, under the direction of M. Ernest, the count's valet.

  "What are you doing there?" she asked, and "Who has permitted you?"

  "We are only obeying the orders of the count, your father," replied M.Ernest. "We are getting your rooms ready for Madam Brian."

  And, turning round to his colleagues, he said,--

  "Go on, men! Take out that sofa; now!"

  Overcome with surprise, Henrietta remained petrified where she was,looking at the servants as they went on with their work. What? Theseeager adventurers had taken possession of the palace, they invaded it,they reigned here absolutely, and that was not enough for them! Theymeant to take from her even the rooms she had occupied, she, thedaughter of their dupe, the only heiress of Count Ville-Handry! Thisimpudence seemed to her so monstrous, that unable to believe it, andyielding to a sudden impulse, she went back to the dining-room, and,addressing her father, said to him,--

  "Is it really true, father, that you have ordered my furniture to beremoved?"

  "Yes, I have done so, my daughter. My architect will transform yourthree rooms into a large reception-room for Mrs. Brian, who had notspace enough for"--

  The young countess made a gesture of displeasure.

  "I cannot understand," she said, "how Aunt Brian can accept that."

  "I beg your pardon," exclaimed the admirable lady, "this is doneentirely without my consent."

  But the count interposed, saying,--

  "Sarah, my darling, permit me to be sole judge in all the arrangementsthat concern my daughter."

  Count Ville-Handry's accent was so firm as he said this, that one wouldhave sworn the idea of dislodging Henrietta had sprung from his ownbrains. He went on,--

  "I never act thoughtlessly, and always take time to mature my decisions.In this case I act from motives of the most ordinary propriety. Mrs.Brian is no longer young; my daughter is a mere child. If one of thetwo has to submit to some slight inconvenience, it is certainly mydaughter."

  All of a sudden M. Elgin rose.

  "I should leave," he began.

  Unfortunately the rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct murmur.

  He was no doubt at that moment recalling a promise he had made. Andresolved not to interfere in the count's family affairs, and, on theother hand, indignant at what he considered an odious abuse of power,he left the room abruptly. His looks, his physiognomy, his gestures, allbetrayed these sentiments so clearly, that Henrietta was quite touched.

  But Count Ville-Handry continued, after a moment's surprise, saying,--

  "Therefore, my daughter will hereafter live in the rooms formerlyoccupied by the companion of my--I mean of her mother. They are small,but more than sufficient for her. Besides, they have this advantage,that they can be easily overlooked from one of our own rooms, my dearSarah; and that is important when we have to deal with an imprudentgirl, who has so sadly abused the liberty which she enjoyed, thanks tomy blind confidence."

  What should she say? What could she reply?

  If she had been alone with her father, she would certainly have defendedherself; she would have tried to make him reconsider his decision; shewould have besought him; she might have gone on her knees to him.

  But here, in the presence of these two women, with the mocking eye ofCountess Sarah upon her, it was impossible! Ah! she would have died athousand times over rather than to give these miserable adventurers thejoy and the satisfaction of a new humiliation.

  "Let them crush me," she said to herself; "they shall never hear mecomplain, or cry for mercy."

  And when her father, who had been quietly watching her, asked,--

  "Well?"

  "You shall be obeyed this very night," she replied.

  And by a kind of miracle of energy, she went out of the room calmly, herhead on high; without having shed a tear.

  But God knew what she suffered.

  To give up those little rooms in which she had spent so many happyhours, where every thing recalled to her sweet memories, certainly thatwas no small grief: it was nothing however, in comparison with thatfrightful perspective of having to live under the wary eye of CountessSarah, under lock and key.

  They would not even leave her at liberty to weep. Her intolerablesufferings would not extort a sigh from her that the countess did nothear on the other side of the partition, and delight in.

  She was thus harassing herself, when she suddenly remembered the letterwhich she had written to Daniel. If M. de Brevan was to have it thatsame day, there was not a
moment to lose. Already it was too late forthe mail; and she would have to send it by a commissionaire.

  She rang the bell, therefore, for Clarissa, her confidante, for thepurpose of sending it to the Rue Laffitte. But, instead of Clarissa, oneof the housemaids appeared, and said,--

  "Your own maid is not in the house. Mrs. Brian has sent her to CircusStreet. If I can do any thing for you"--

  "No, I thank you!" replied Henrietta.

  It seemed, then, that she counted for nothing any more in the house.She was not allowed to eat in her rooms; she was turned out of her ownrooms; and the maid, long attached to her service, was taken from her.And here she was forced to submit to such humiliations without a chanceof rebelling.

  But time was passing; and every minute made it more difficult to let M.de Brevan have her letter in time for the mail.

  "Well," said Henrietta to herself, "I will carry it myself."

  And although she had, perhaps, in all her life not been more than twicealone in the street, she put on her bonnet, wrapped herself up in acloak, and went down swiftly.

  The concierge, a large man, very proud of his richly laced livery,was sitting before the little pavilion in which he lived, smoking, andreading his paper.

  "Open the gates!" said Henrietta.

  But the man, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, without evengetting up from his seat, answered in a surly tone,--

  "The count has sent me orders never to let you go out without a verbalor written permission; so that"--

  "Impudence!" exclaimed Henrietta.

  And resolutely she went up to the ponderous gates of the court-yard,stretching out her hand to pull the bolt. But the man, divining herintention, and quicker than she, had rushed up to the gate, and, cryingout as loud as he could, he exclaimed,--

  "Miss, miss! Stop! I have my orders, and I shall lose my place."

  At his cries a dozen servants who were standing idly about in thestables, the vestibule, and the inner court, came running up. Then SirThorn appeared, ready to go out on horseback, and finally the counthimself.

  "What do you want? What are you doing there?" he asked his daughter.

  "You see, I want to go out."

  "Alone?" laughed the count. Then he continued harshly, pointing at theconcierge,--

  "This man would be instantly dismissed if he allowed you to leave thehouse alone. Oh, you need not look at me that way! Hereafter you willonly go out when, and with whom, it pleases me. And do not hope toescape my watchful observation. I have foreseen every thing. The littlegate to which you had a key has been nailed up. And, if ever a manshould dare to steal into the garden, the gardeners have orders to shoothim down like a dog, whether it be the man with whom I caught you theother day, or some one else."

  Under this mean and cowardly insult Henrietta staggered; but,immediately collecting herself, she exclaimed,--

  "Great God! Am I delirious? Father, are you aware of what you aresaying?"

  And, as the suppressed laughter of the servants reached her, she addedwith--almost convulsive vehemence,--

  "At least, say who the man was with whom I was in the garden, sothat all, all may hear his name. Tell them that it was M. DanielChampcey,--he whom my sainted mother had chosen for me among all,--hewhom for long years you have daily received at your house, to whom youhave solemnly promised my hand, who was my betrothed, and who would nowbe my husband, if we had chosen to approve of your unfortunate marriage.Tell them that it was M. Daniel Champcey, whom you had sent off the daybefore, and whom a crime, a forgery committed by your Sarah, forced togo to sea; for he had to be put out of the way at any _hazard_. Aslong as he was in Paris, you would never have dared treat me as I amtreated."

  Overcome by this unexpected violence, the count could only stammer outa few incoherent words. Henrietta was about to go on, when she feltherself taken by the arm, and gently but irresistibly taken up to thehouse. It was Sir Thorn, who tried to save her from her own excitement.She looked at him; a big tear was slowly rolling down the cheek of theimpassive gentleman.

  Then, when he had led her as far as the staircase, and she had laid holdof the balusters, he said,--

  "Poor girl!"

  And went away with rapid steps.

  Yes, "poor girl" indeed!

  Her resolve was giving way under all these terrible blows; and seizedwith a kind of vertigo, out of breath, and almost beside herself, shehad rushed up the steps, feeling as if she still heard the abominableaccusations of her father, and the laughter of the servants.

  "O God," she sobbed, "have pity on me!"

  She felt in her heart that she had no hope left now but God, deliveredup as she was to pitiless adversaries, sacrificed to the implacablehatred of a stepmother, abandoned by all, and betrayed and openlyrenounced by her own father.

  Hour by hour she had seen how, by an incomprehensible combination offatal circumstances, the infernal circle narrowed down, within which shewas wretchedly struggling, and which soon would crush her effectually.What did they want of her? Why did they try every thing to exasperateher to the utmost? Did they expect some catastrophe to result from herdespair?

  Unfortunately, she did not examine this question carefully, tooinexperienced as she was to suspect the subtle cunning of people whosewickedness would have astonished a criminal judge. Ah, how useful oneword from Daniel would have been to her at this crisis! But, tremblingwith anguish for his betrothed, the unhappy man had not dared repeatto her the terrible words which had escaped M. de Brevan, in his firstmoment of expansion,--

  "Miss Brandon leaves the dagger and the poisoned cup to fools, as toocoarse and too dangerous means to get rid of people. She has safermeans to suppress those who are in her way--means which justice neverdiscovers."

  Lost in sombre reflections, the poor girl was forgetting the hour,and did not notice that it had become dark already, when she heard thedinner-bell ring. She was free not to go down; but she revolted at theidea that the Countess Sarah might think her overcome. So she said toherself,--

  "No. She shall never know how much I suffer!"

  Ringing, then, for Clarissa, who had come back, she said,--

  "Come, quick, dress me!"

  And in less than five minutes she had arranged her beautiful hair, andput on one of her most becoming dresses. While changing her dress, shenoticed the rustling of paper.

  "Ah!" she said to herself, "my letter to Daniel. I had forgotten it."

  Was it already too late to send it to M. de Brevan? Probably it was. Butwhy might she not try, at least? So she gave it to Clarissa, saying,--

  "You will take a cab, and take this letter immediately to M. de Brevan,Rue Laffitte, No. 62. If he is out, you will leave it, telling thepeople to be sure to give it to him as soon as he comes in. You can findsome excuse, if they should ask you why you are going out. Be discreet."

  She herself went down stairs, so determined to conceal her emotion, thatshe actually had a smile on her lips as she entered the dining-room.The fever that devoured her gave to her features unwonted animation,and to her eyes a strange brilliancy. Her beauty, ordinarily a littleimpaired, shone forth once more in amazing splendor, so as to eclipsealmost that of the countess.

  Even Count Ville-Handry was struck by it, and exclaimed, glancing at hisyoung wife,--

  "Oh, oh!"

  Otherwise, this was the only notice which was taken of Henrietta. Afterthat, no one seemed to mind her presence, except M. Elgin, whose eyesoftened whenever he looked at her. But what was that to her? Affectinga composure which she was far from possessing, she made an effort toeat, when a servant entered, and very respectfully whispered a few wordsin the ear of the countess.

  "Very well," she said; "I'll be there directly."

  And, without vouchsafing an explanation, she left the table, andremained perhaps ten minutes away.

  "What was it?" asked Count Ville-Handry, with an accent of tenderestinterest, when his young wife reappeared.

  "Nothing, my dear," she replied, as she took her sea
t again,--"nothing,some orders to give."

  Still Henrietta thought she noticed under this apparent indifference ofher step-mother an expression of cruel satisfaction. More than that, shefancied she saw the countess and Mrs. Brian rapidly exchange looks, onesaying, "Well," and the other answering, "All right."

  The poor girl, prejudiced as she was, felt as if she had been stabbedonce more to the heart.

  "These wretches," she thought, "have prepared another insult for me."

  This suspicion took so powerfully hold of her, that when dinner wasover, instead of returning to her rooms, she followed her father and hisnew "friends" into the sitting-room. Count Ville-Handry spoke of Mrs.Brian and M. Elgin always as "the family."

  They did not long remain alone. The count and his young wife hadprobably let it be known that they would be at home that evening; andsoon a number of visitors came in, some of them old friends of thefamily, but the great majority intimates from Circus Street. Henriettawas too busy watching her stepmother to notice how eagerly she herselfwas examined, what glances they cast at her, and how careful the marriedladies, as well as the young girls, were to leave her alone. It requireda brutal scene to open her mind to the truth, and to bring her thoughtsback to the horrible reality of her situation. That scene came but toosoon.

  As the visitors increased, the conversation had ceased to be general,and groups had formed; so that two ladies came to sit down close byHenrietta. They were apparently friends of the young countess, for shedid not know them, and one of them had a strong foreign accent. Theywere talking. Instinctively Henrietta listened.

  "Why did you not bring your daughter?" asked one of them.

  "How could I?" replied the other. "I would not bring her here for theworld. Don't you know what kind of a woman the count's daughter is? Itis incredible, and almost too scandalous. On the day of her father'smarriage she ran away with somebody, by the aid of a servant, who hassince been dismissed; and they had to get the police to help them bringher back. If it had not been for our dear Sarah, who is goodness itself,they would have sent her to a house of correction."

  A stifled cry interrupted them. They looked round. Henrietta hadsuddenly been taken ill, and had fallen to the ground. Instantly, andwith one impulse, everybody was up. But the honorable M. Elgin had beenahead of them all, and had rushed up with such surprising promptness atthe very moment when the accident happened, that it almost looked as ifhe had had a presentiment, and was watching for the precise time whenhis assistance would be needed.

  Raising Henrietta with a powerful arm, he laid her on a sofa, notforgetting to slip a cushion under her head. Immediately the countessand the other ladies crowded around the fainting girl, rubbing the palmsof her hands, moistening her temples with aromatic vinegar and cologne,and holding bottles of salts persistently to her nostrils.

  Still all efforts to bring her to remained sterile; and this was soextraordinary, that even Count Ville-Handry began to be moved, althoughat first he had been heard to exclaim,--

  "Pshaw! Leave her alone. It is nothing."

  The mad passion of senile love had not yet entirely extinguished in himthe instincts of a father; and anxiety rekindled the affection he hadformerly felt for his child. He rushed, therefore, to the vestibule,calling out to the servants who were there on duty,--

  "Quick! Let some one run for the doctor; never mind which,--thenearest!"

  This acted as a signal for the guests to scatter at once. Findingthat this fainting-fit lasted too long, and fearing perhaps a fataltermination, a painful scene, and tears, they slyly slipped out, one byone, and escaped.

  In this way the countess, Mrs. Brian, M. Elgin, and the unhappy fatherfound themselves soon once more alone with poor Henrietta, who was stillunconscious.

  "We ought not to leave her here," said Countess Sarah; "she will bebetter in her bed."

  "Yes, that is true, you are right!" replied the count. "I shall have hercarried to her room."

  And he was stretching out his hand to pull the bell, when Sir Thornstopped him, saying in a voice of deep emotion,--

  "Never mind, count. I'll carry her myself."

  And, without waiting for an answer, he took her up like a feather, andcarried her to her room, followed by Count Ville-Handry, and his youngwife. He could, of course, not remain in Henrietta's room; but it lookedas if he could not tear himself away. For some time the servants, quiteamazed, saw him walk up and down the passage with feverish steps,and, in spite of his usual impassiveness, giving all the signs ofextraordinary excitement. Every ten minutes he paused in his walk to askat the door, with a voice full of anxiety,--

  "Well?"

  "She is still in the same condition," was the answer.

  In the meantime two physicians had arrived, but without obtaining anybetter results than the countess and her friends. They had exhaustedall the usual remedies for such cases, and began, evidently, to be nota little surprised at the persistency of the symptoms. Nor could CountVille-Handry suppress his growing anxiety as he saw them consulting inthe recess of one of the windows, discussing more energetic means tobe employed. At last, toward midnight, Sir Thorn saw the young countesscome out of Henrietta's room.

  "How is she?" he cried out.

  Then the countess said, speaking very loud, so as to be heard by theservants,--

  "She is coming to; and that is why I am leaving her. She dislikes me soterribly, that poor unhappy child, that I fear my presence might do herharm."

  Henrietta had indeed recovered her consciousness. First had come ashiver running over her whole body; then she had tried painfully andrepeatedly to raise herself on her pillows, looking around,--

  Evidently she did not remember what had happened, and mechanicallypassed her hand to and fro over her brow, as if to brush away the darkveil that was hanging over her mind, looking with haggard eyes at thedoctors, at her father, and at her confidante, Clarissa, who knelt byher bedside, weeping.

  At last, when, all of a sudden, the horrid reality broke upon her mind,she threw herself back, and cried out,--

  "O God!"

  But she was saved; and the doctors soon withdrew, declaring thatthere was nothing to apprehend now, provided their prescriptions werecarefully observed. The count then came up to his daughter, and, takingher hands, asked her,--

  "Come, child. What has happened? What was the matter?"

  She looked upon him in utter despair, and then said in a low voice,--

  "Nothing! only you have ruined me, father."

  "How, how?" said the count. "What do you mean?"

  And very much embarrassed, perhaps angry against himself, and trying tofind an excuse for what he had done, he added, simpering,--

  "Is it not your own fault? Why do you treat Sarah so badly, and do allyou can to exasperate me?"

  "Yes, you are right. It is my fault," murmured Henrietta.

  She said it in a tone of bitter irony now; but afterwards, when she wasalone, and more quiet, reflecting in the silence of the night, she hadto acknowledge, and confess to herself, that it was so. The scandal bywhich she had intended to crush her step-mother had fallen back uponherself, and crushed her.

  Still, the next morning she was a little better; and, in spite of allthat Clarissa could say, she would get up, and go down stairs, for allher hopes henceforth depended on that letter written by Daniel. She hadbeen waiting day after day for M. de Brevan, who was to bring it to her;and for nothing in the world would she have been absent when he came atlast.

  But she waited for him in vain that day, and four days after.

  Attributing his tardiness to some new misfortune, she thought of writingto him, when at last, on Tuesday,--the day which the countess had chosenfor her reception-day,--but not until the room was already quite full ofcompany, the servant announced,--"M. Palmer, M. de Brevan!"

  Seized with most violent emotions, Henrietta turned round suddenly,casting upon the door one of those glances in which a whole soul isread at once. At last she was to know him whom her Daniel h
ad called hissecond self. Two men entered: one, quite old, had gray hair, and lookedas grave and solemn as a member of parliament; the other, who might bethirty or thirty-five years old, looked cold and haughty, having thinlips and a sardonic smile.

  "That is the man!" said Henrietta to herself; "that is Daniel's friend!"

  At first she disliked him excessively. Upon examining him more closely,she thought his composure affected, and his whole appearance lackingin frankness. But she never thought for a moment of distrusting M. deBrevan. Daniel had blindly recommended him to her; and that was enough.She had been too severely punished when she tried to follow her owninspirations, ever to think of repeating the experiment.

  Still she kept him in view. After having been presented to the CountessSarah and her husband, he had thrown himself into the crowd, andmanaged, after a while, to get near to her. He went from one group toanother, throwing a word to each one, gaining thus, insensibly, andwithout affectation, a small chair, which was vacant, by the side ofHenrietta.

  And the air of perfect indifference with which he took possession of itwould have made you think he had fully measured the danger of riskinga confidential talk with a young lady under the eyes of fifty or sixtypersons. He commenced with some of those set phrases which furnish thecurrency of society, speaking loud enough to be heard by the neighbors,and to satisfy their curiosity, if they should have a fancy forlistening. As he noticed that Henrietta had turned very red, and lookedovercome, while fixing most anxiously her eyes upon him, he even said,--

  "I pray you, madam, affect a little more indifference. Smile; we may bewatched. Remember that we must not know each other; that we are perfectstrangers to each other."

  Then he began in a very loud voice to sing the praise of the last newplay that had been performed, until finally, thinking that he had putall suspicions asleep, he drew a little nearer, and, casting down hiseyes, he said,--

  "It is useless to tell you, madam, that I am M. de Brevan."

  "I heard your name announced, sir," replied Henrietta in the same way.

  "I have taken the liberty of writing to you, madam, under cover to yourmaid Clarissa, according to Daniel's orders; but I hope you will pardonme."

  "I have nothing to pardon, sir, but to thank you very much, from thebottom of my heart, for your generous devotion."

  No man is perfect. A passing blush colored the cheeks of M. de Brevan;he had to cough a little; and once or twice passed his hand between hiscollar and his neck, as if he felt troubled in his throat.

  "You must have thought," continued Henrietta, "that I was not ingreat haste to avail myself of your kind offer; but--there weredifficulties--in my way"--

  "Oh, yes! I know," broke in M. de Brevan, sadly shaking his head; "yourmaid has told me. For she found me at home, as no doubt you have heard;and your letter arrived just in time to be sent on with mine. They willgain a fortnight in this way; for the mail for Cochin China does notleave more than once a month,--on the _26th_."

  But he paused suddenly, or rather raised his voice to resume his accountof the new drama. Two young ladies had stopped just before them. As soonas they were gone, he went on,--

  "I bring you, madam, Daniel's letter."

  "Ah!"

  "I have folded it up very small, and I have it here in my hand; if youwill let your handkerchief fall, I'll slip it into it as I pick it up."

  The trick was not new; but it was also not very difficult. StillHenrietta did it awkwardly enough. Her letting the handkerchief falllooked any thing but natural; and, when she took it back again, she wasall eagerness. Then, when she felt the crisp paper under the folds ofthe linen, she became all crimson in her face. Fortunately, M. de Brevanhad the presence of mind to rise suddenly, and to move his chair so asto help her in concealing her embarrassment. Then, when he saw hercalm again, he sat down once more, and went on, with an accent of deepinterest,--

  "Now, madam, permit me to inquire after your position here."

  "It is terrible."

  "Do they harass you?"

  "Oh, fearfully!"

  "No doubt, your step-mother?"

  "Alas! who else would do it? But she dissembles, veiling her malignityunder the most affected gentleness. In appearance she is all kindnessto me. And my poor father becomes a willing instrument in her hands,--mypoor father, formerly so kind, and so fond of me!"

  She was deeply moved; and M. de Brevan saw the tears starting in hereyes. Quite frightened, he said,--

  "Madam, for Heaven's sake control yourself!"

  And, anxious to turn Henrietta's thoughts from her father, he asked,--

  "How is Mrs. Brian to you?"

  "She always takes sides against me."

  "Naturally. And Sir Thorn?"

  "You wrote me that I should mistrust him particularly, and so I do; but,I must confess, he alone seems to be touched by my misfortunes."

  "Ah! that is the very reason why you ought to fear him."

  "How so?"

  M. de Brevan hesitated, and then answered, speaking very rapidly, andafter having looked around cautiously,--

  "Because M. Elgin might very well cherish a hope of replacing Daniel inyour heart, and of becoming your husband."

  "Great God!" exclaimed Henrietta, sinking back in her chair with anexpression of horror. "Is it possible?"

  "I am quite sure of it," replied M. Brevan.

  And, as if he had been frightened himself by what he had said, headded,--

  "Yes, I am quite sure. I have read the heart of that man; and beforelong you will have some terrible evidence of his intentions. But I pray,madam, let this remain a secret between us, to be kept religiously.Never allow yourself the slightest allusion."

  "What can I do?" murmured the poor girl, "what can I do? You alone, sir,can advise me."

  For some time M. de Brevan continued silent; then he said in a very sadvoice,--

  "My experience, madam, supplies me with but one advice,--be patient; saylittle; do as little as possible; and endeavor to appear insensible totheir insults. I would say to you, if you will excuse the trivialityof the comparison, imitate those feeble insects who simulate death whenthey are touched. They are defenceless; and that is their only chance ofescape."

  He had risen; and, while bowing deeply before Henrietta, he added,--

  "I must also warn you, madam, not to be surprised if you see me doingevery thing in my power for the purpose of winning the good-will ofyour step-mother. Believe me, if I tell you that such duplicity isvery distasteful to my character. But I have no other way to obtain theprivilege of coming here frequently, of seeing you, and of being usefulto you, as I have promised your friend Daniel."