“Well, I am sure the count can boast that he has had a curious wedding-day.”  
This was the way the servants spoke¹ at the moment when Henrietta left the reception-room. She heard it; and without knowing whether they approved her conduct, or laughed at it, she felt gratified, so eager is passion for encouragement from anywhere.
 
But she had not yet gone half-way up the stairs which led to her own rooms, when she was held at the place by the sound of all the bells of the house, which had been set in motion by a furious hand. She bent² over the balusters to listen. The servants were rushing about; the vestibule resounded³ with hurried steps; and she distinguished⁴ the imperious voice of 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’s joy.” And, fearing to be caught thus listening, she went up stairs.
 
But, when she was alone once more, the poor girl failed not to recognize the utter futility⁵ of her fancied triumph. Whom had she wounded, after all? Her father.
 
However unwell the countess might be to-night,—and perhaps she was not really unwell,—she would certainly be well again in the morning; and then what would be the advantage of the scandal she had attempted in order to ruin her? Now Henrietta saw it very clearly,—now, when it was too late.
 
Worse than that! She fancied that what she had done to-day pledged her for the future. The road upon which she had started evidently led nowhere. Never mind, it seemed to her miserable⁶ cowardice⁷ to shrink from going on.
 
Rising with the sun, she was deliberating on what weak point she might make 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 this moment, 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 to her, and in this way, unless it was Maxime de Brevan, to whom Daniel had begged her to intrust herself, and who, so far, had given no sign of life of himself?
 
It was M. de Brevan who wrote thus,—
 
“Madam,—Like all Paris, I also have heard of your proud and noble protest on the day of your father’s unfortunate marriage. Egotists and fools will perhaps blame you. But you may despise them; for all the best men are on your side. And my dear Daniel, if he were here, would approve and admire your courage, as I do myself.”
 
She drew a full breath, as if her heart had been relieved of a heavy burden.
 
Daniel’s friend approved her conduct. This was enough to stifle⁸ henceforth the voice of reason, and to make her disregard every idea of prudence¹⁰. The whole letter of M. de Brevan was, moreover, nothing but a long and respectful admonition to resist desperately¹¹.
 
Farther on he wrote,—
 
“At the moment of taking the train, Daniel handed me a letter, in which he expresses his innermost thoughts. With a sagacity worthy¹² 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, Rue¹³ Laffitte, No. 62, and I will enclose it in mine.”
 
Finally, there came a postscript¹⁴ 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 apprehensions¹⁵.
 
“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 promptly¹⁶ 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 resentments¹⁷, 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 rekindled¹⁸ 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-room¹⁹, 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?”
 
“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 his revenge.
 
“Leave us!” he said to the maid-servant.
 
And, as soon as Clarissa had left the room, he turned to Henrietta with these words,—
 
“Yes, indeed, my dear Henrietta, I have given strict orders not to bring you 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, you will do me the favor to come down and take your meals in the dining-room with 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 is past, and so is the time of passion; therefore, you will come down. Oh! whenever you feel disposed. You will, perhaps, pout²⁰ a day, maybe two days; but hunger drives the wolf into the village; and on the third day we shall see you come down as soon as the bell rings. I have in vain appealed to your heart; you see I am forced to appeal to your stomach.”
 
Whatever efforts Henrietta might make to remain impassive, the tears would come into her eyes,—tears of shame and humiliation²¹. Could this idea of starving her into obedience²² 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, savage²³ hate.
 
Still the poor girl felt that she was caught; and her heart revolted at the ignominy of the means, and the certainty that she would be forced to yield. Her cruel imagination painted to her at once the exultation²⁴ of the new countess, when she, the daughter of Count Ville-Handry, would appear in the dining-room, brought there by want, by hunger.
 
“Father,” she begged, “send me nothing but bread and water, but spare me that exposure.”
 
But, if the count was repeating a lesson, he had learned it well. His features retained their sardonic²⁵ expression; and he said in an icy tone,—
 
“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 beseech²⁶ you to do so. Send me to a convent. However harsh and strict the rules may be, however sad life may be there, I will find there some relief for my sorrow, and I will bless you with all my heart.”
 
He only shrugged²⁷ his shoulders over and over again; then he said,—
 
“A good idea! And from your convent you would at once write to everybody and everywhere, that my wife had turned you out of the house; that you had been obliged to escape from threats and bad treatment; you would repeat all the well-known elegies²⁸ of the innocent young girl who is persecuted²⁹ 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 to what it tells you, come down, or stay here.”
 
He went out, manifestly quite proud at having performed what he called an act of paternal³⁰ authority, without vouchsafing³¹ a glance at his daughter, who had sunk back upon a chair; for she felt overcome, the poor child! by all the agony of her pride. It was all over: she could struggle no longer. People who would not shrink from such extreme measures in order to overcome her might resort to the last extremities³². Whatever she could do, sooner or later she would have to succumb³³.
 
Hence—why might she not as well give way at once? She saw clearly, that, the longer she postponed³⁴ it, the sweeter would be the victory to the countess, and the more painful would be the sacrifice to herself. Arming herself, therefore, with all her energy, she went down into the dining-room, where the others were already at table.
 
She had imagined that her appearance would be greeted by some insulting remark. Not at all. They seemed hardly to notice her. The countess, who had been talking, paused to say, “Good-morning, madam!” and then went on without betraying in her voice the slightest emotion.
 
Henrietta had even to acknowledge that they had been considerate. Her plate had not been put by her mother-in-law. A seat had been kept for her between Mrs. Brian and M. Elgin. She sat down, and, while eating, watched stealthily, and with all her powers of observation, these strangers who were henceforth the masters of her destiny, and whom she now saw for the first time; for yesterday she had hardly perceived them.
 
She was at once struck, painfully struck, with the dazzling, marvellous beauty of Countess Sarah, although she had been shown her photograph by her father, and ought thus to have been prepared. It was evident that the young countess had barely taken time to put on a wrapper before coming down to breakfast. Her complexion³⁶ was more animated³⁷ than usually. She exhibited all the touching³⁸ confusion of a young bride, and was constantly more or less embarrassed.
 
Henrietta comprehended but too well the influence such a woman was likely to have over an old man who had fallen in love with her. It made her 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 the wrinkles seemed to be permanently³⁹ 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 discreetly⁴⁰ some little attentions; and, when she observed him more closely, she discovered in his eyes something like commiseration⁴².
 
“And yet,” she thought, “it was against him that M. de Brevan warned me particularly.”
 
But breakfast was over. Henrietta rose, and having bowed, without saying a word, was going back to her room when she met on the stairs some of the servants, who were carrying a heavy wardrobe. Upon inquiry⁴³ she learned that, as Sir Thorn and Mrs. Brian were hereafter to live in the palace, they were bringing up their furniture.
 
She shook her head sadly; but in her rooms a greater surprise was awaiting her. Three servants were hard at work taking down her furniture, 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 petrified⁴⁴ where she was, looking at the servants as they went on with their work. What? These eager adventurers had taken possession of the palace, they invaded it, they reigned⁴⁵ here absolutely, and that was not enough for them! They meant to take from her even the rooms she had occupied, she, the daughter of their dupe, the only heiress of Count Ville-Handry! This impudence⁴⁶ seemed to her so monstrous⁴⁷, that unable to believe it, and yielding 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 be removed?”
 
“Yes, I have done so, my daughter. My architect will transform your three rooms into a large reception-room for Mrs. Brian, who had not space 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 done entirely⁴⁸ without my consent.”
 
But the count interposed, saying,—
 
“Sarah, my darling, permit me to be sole judge in all the arrangements that concern my daughter.”
 
Count Ville-Handry’s accent was so firm as he said this, that one would have sworn the idea of dislodging Henrietta had sprung from his own brains. He went on,—
 
“I never act thoughtlessly, and always take time to mature my decisions. In this case I act from motives⁴⁹ of the most ordinary propriety⁵⁰. Mrs. Brian is no longer young; my daughter is a mere⁵¹ child. If one of the two has to submit to some slight inconvenience, it is certainly my daughter.”
 
All of a sudden M. Elgin rose.
 
“I should leave,” he began.
 
Unfortunately the rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct murmur⁵².
 
He was no doubt at that moment recalling a promise he had made. And resolved not to interfere⁵³ in the count’s family affairs, and, on the other hand, indignant at what he considered an odious⁵⁴ abuse of power, he left the room abruptly⁵⁵. His looks, his physiognomy, his gestures, all betrayed 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 formerly⁵⁶ occupied 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 dear Sarah; and that is important when we have to deal with an imprudent girl, who has so sadly abused the liberty which she enjoyed, thanks to my blind confidence.”
 
What should she say? What could she reply?
 
If she had been alone with her father, she would certainly have defended herself; she would have tried to make him reconsider his decision; she would have besought⁵⁷ him; she might have gone on her knees to him.
 
But here, in the presence of these two women, with the mocking eye of Countess Sarah upon her, it was impossible! Ah! she would have died a thousand times over rather than to give these miserable adventurers the joy and the satisfaction of a new humiliation.
 
“Let them crush me,” she said to herself; “they shall never hear me complain, 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, her head 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 happy hours, where every thing recalled to her sweet memories, certainly that was no small grief: it was nothing however, in comparison with that frightful⁵⁸ perspective of having to live under the wary⁵⁹ eye of Countess Sarah, under lock and key.
 
They would not even leave her at liberty to weep. Her intolerable sufferings would not extort⁶⁰ a sigh from her that the countess did not hear on the other side of the partition, and delight in.
 
She was thus harassing⁶¹ herself, when she suddenly remembered the letter which she had written to Daniel. If M. de Brevan was to have it that same day, there was not a moment to lose. Already it was too late for the mail; and she would have to send it by a commissionaire.
 
She rang the bell, therefore, for Clarissa, her confidante, for the purpose of sending it to the Rue Laffitte. But, instead of Clarissa, one of the housemaids appeared, and said,—
 
“Your own maid is not in the house. Mrs. Brian has sent her to Circus Street. 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 own rooms; and the maid, long attached to her service, was taken from her. And here she was forced to submit to such humiliations without a chance of 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 twice alone in the street, she put on her bonnet⁶³, wrapped herself up in a cloak, and went down swiftly.
 
The concierge⁶⁴, a large man, very proud of his richly laced livery, was sitting before the little pavilion in which he lived, smoking, and reading his paper.
 
“Open the gates!” said Henrietta.
 
But the man, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, without even getting up from his seat, answered in a surly tone,—
 
“The count has sent me orders never to let you go out without a verbal or written permission; so that”—
 
“Impudence!” exclaimed Henrietta.
 
And resolutely⁶⁵ she went up to the ponderous⁶⁶ gates of the court-yard, stretching out her hand to pull the bolt. But the man, divining her intention, and quicker than she, had rushed up to the gate, and, crying out 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 standing⁶⁷ idly about in the stables, the vestibule, and the inner court, came running up. Then Sir Thorn appeared, ready to go out on horseback, and finally the count himself.
 
“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 the concierge,—
 
“This man would be instantly dismissed if he allowed you to leave the house alone. Oh, you need not look at me that way! Hereafter you will only go out when, and with whom, it pleases me. And do not hope to escape my watchful⁶⁸ observation. I have foreseen every thing. The little gate to which you had a key has been nailed up. And, if ever a man should dare to steal into the garden, the gardeners have orders to shoot him down like a dog, whether it be the man with whom I caught you the other day, or some one else.”
 
Under this mean and cowardly insult Henrietta staggered; but, immediately collecting herself, she exclaimed,—
 
“Great God! Am I delirious⁶⁹? Father, are you aware of what you are saying?”
 
And, as the suppressed laughter of the servants reached her............