not
think of it, madam? Have you so completely forgotten the zeal with which
you heard me, only the other day, try to turn him from this enterprise
in which he is about to embark all he possesses?"

Henrietta hardly knew whether she was awake or asleep. Was she not,
perhaps, under the influence of one of those hallucinations which fevers
produce?

"And you dare tell me all these things, me, Count Ville-Handry's own
daughter, the daughter of your husband?"

"Why not?" asked the countess.

And, shrugging her shoulders, she added in a careless tone,--

"Do you think I am afraid of your reporting me to him? You are at
liberty to try it. Listen. I think I hear your father's footstep in the
vestibule; call him in, and tell him what we have been talking about."

And, as Henrietta said nothing, she laughed, and said,--

"Ah! you hesitate. You do not dare do it? Well, you are wrong. I mean to
hand him your letter, and I shall call him."

There was no need for it; for at the same moment the count entered,
followed by austere, grim Mrs. Brian. As he perceived his wife and his
daughter, his face lighted up immediately; and he exclaimed,--

"What? You are here, both of you, and chatting amicably like two
charming sisters? My Henrietta has come back to her senses, I trust."

They were both silent; and, seeing how they looked at each other with
fierce glances, he went on in a tone of great bitterness--

"But no, it is not so! I am not so fortunate. What is the matter? What
has happened?"

The countess shook her head sadly, and replied,--

"The matter is, that your daughter, during your absence, has written a
letter to one of my most cruel enemies, to that man who, you know,
on our wedding-day, slandered me meanly; in fine, to the Duke of
Champdoce!"

"And has any one of my servants dared to carry that letter?"

"No, my friend! It was brought to me in obedience to your orders; and
the young lady summoned me haughtily to hand her that letter."

"That letter?" cried the count. "Where is that letter?"

The countess gave it to him with these words,--

"Perhaps it would be better to throw it into the fire without reading
it."

But already he had torn the envelope; and, as he was reading the first
lines, a crimson blush overspread his temples, and his eyes became
bloodshot. For Henrietta, sure of the Duke of Champdoce, had not
hesitated to open her heart to him, describing her situation as it
really was; painting her