M. Daniel Champcey."

"Stop, madam. You are mistaken. It was not I who sent Daniel away."

Daniel! the countess said so; said familiarly, Daniel! Had she any right
to do so? How? Whence this extraordinary impudence?

Still Henrietta saw in it only a new insult; no suspicion entered her
soul, and she replied in the most ironical tone,--

"Then it was not you who sent that petition to the secretary of the
navy? It was not you who ordered and paid for that forged document which
caused M. Champcey to be ordered abroad?"

"No; and I told him so myself, the day before he left, in his own room."

Henrietta was stunned. What? This woman had gone to see Daniel? Was this
true? It was not even plausible.

"In his room?" she repeated,--"in his room?"

"Why, yes, in University Street. I foresaw that trick which I could
not prevent, and I wished to prevent it. I had a thousand reasons for
wishing ardently that he should remain in Paris."

"A thousand reasons? You? Tell me only one!"

The countess courtesied, as if excusing herself for being forced to tell
the truth against her inclination, and added simply,--

"I love him!"

As if she had suddenly seen an abyss opening beneath her feet, Henrietta
threw herself back, pale, trembling, her eyes starting from their
sockets.

"You---love--Daniel!" she stammered,--"you love him!"

And, agitated by a nervous tremor, she said, laughing painfully,--

"But he--he? Can you hope that he will ever love you?"

"Yes, any day I may wish for it. And I shall wish it the day when he
returns."

Was she speaking seriously? or was the whole scene only a bit of cruel
sport? That is what Henrietta was asking herself, as far as she was able
to control her thoughts; for she felt her head growing dizzy, and her
thoughts rushed wildly through her mind.

"You love Daniel!" she repeated once more, "and yet you were married the
very week after his departure!"

"Alas, yes!"

"And what was my father to you? A magnificent prey, which you did
not like to let escape,--an easy dupe. After all, you acknowledge it
yourself, it was his fortune you wanted. It was for his money's
sake that you married him,--you, the young, marvellously-beautiful
woman,--the old man."

A smile rose upon the lips of the countess, in which she appeared
herself in all the deep treachery of her secret calculations. She broke
in, laughing ironically--

"I? I had coveted the fortune of this dear count, my husband? You do