me a letter, in which
he expresses his innermost thoughts. With a sagacity worthy of such a
heart, he foresees and solves in advance all the difficulties by which
your step-mother will no doubt embarrass you hereafter. This letter is
too precious to be intrusted to the mail, I shall, therefore, get myself
introduced at your father's house before the end of the week, and I
shall 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 made
her feel all kinds of vague and terrible apprehensions.

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

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

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

"I must not starve myself," she said almost merrily to herself. Her long
chat 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 left
a boudoir with her piano, her music, and her books. When Henrietta took
her meals up stairs, which of late had happened quite often, she ate in
the sitting-room.

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

"Ah, miss!"

"Well?"

"T