id
your ever coming back to it again. My servants will be informed, that,
if any one of them ever allows you to cross the threshold of this house,
he will be instantly dismissed. Go, sir!"

XI.

Twenty-four hours after Daniel had thus left Count Ville-Handry's
palace, pale and staggering, he had not yet entirely recovered from
this last blow. He had made a mortal enemy of the man whom it was his
greatest interest to manage; and this man, who of his own accord would
have parted with him only regretfully, had now turned him disgracefully
out of his house.

He could hardly account to himself for the way in which this had come
about. Nay, more; retracing step by step, his conduct during the last
few days, it appeared to him pitiful, absurd. And then all that had
happened seemed to have turned against him.

He accused Fate, that blind goddess, who is always blamed by those who
have not the courage to blame themselves. He was in this state of mind
when there came to him, to his great surprise, a letter from Henrietta.
Thus it was she who anticipated him, and who, sure that he would be
desperate, had the feminine delicacy to write to him almost cheerfully.

"Immediately after your departure, my dear Daniel, father ordered me up
stairs, and decided that I should stay there till I should become more
reasonable. I know I shall stay here a long time."

She concluded thus,--

"What we want most of all, oh, my only friend! is courage. Will you have
as much as your Henrietta?"

"Oh, certainly, certainly! I shall have all that is needed," exclaimed
Daniel, moved to tears.

And he vowed to himself that he would devote himself, heart and soul,
to his work, and there find, if not forgetfulness, at least peace. He
found, however, that to swear was easier than to do. In spite of all
his efforts, he could not fix his thoughts upon any thing else but his
misfortunes. The studies which he had formerly pursued with delight now
filled him with disgust. The balance of his whole life was so completely
destroyed, that he was not able to restore it.

The existence which he now led was that of a desperate man. As soon as
he had risen, he hurried to M. de Brevan, and remained in his company
as long as he could. Left alone, he wandered at haphazard along the
Boulevards, or up the Champs Elysees. He dined early, hurried home
again, and, putting on a rough overcoat which he had worn on board ship,
he went to roam around the pa