This inspiration was, moreover, to be the last favor which Providence¹ vouchsafed² to Henrietta,—an opportunity which, once allowed to pass, never returns. From that moment she found herself irrevocably insnared in a net which tightened⁴ day by day more around her, and held her a helpless captive. She had vowed⁵ to herself, the unfortunate girl, that she would economize⁷ her little hoard⁸ like the blood in her veins⁹. But how could she economize?  
She was without every thing. When M. de Brevan had gone to engage this garret-room, he had thought of nothing; or rather (and such a calculation was quite in keeping with his cold-blooded rascality) he had taken his measures so that his victim must soon be in utter destitution¹⁰. Without any other clothes than those she wore on the night of her flight, she had no linen¹¹, no shoes, not a towel even to wipe her hands, unless she borrowed them from her friend down stairs.
 
Accustomed as she was to all the comforts of boundless¹² wealth, and to all the refinements¹³ of cleanliness, these privations became to her a genuine martyrdom. Thus she spent in a variety of small purchases more than a hundred and fifty francs. The sum was enormous at a time when she could already count the days to the hour when she would be without bread. In addition to that she had to pay Mrs. Chevassat five francs a day for her board. Five francs were another enormous sum which troubled her grievously; for she would have been quite willing to live on bread and water. But in that direction she thought no economizing¹⁴ was possible.
 
One evening she had hinted at the necessity of retrenching¹⁵, when Mrs. Chevassat had shot at her a venomous glance, which pierced her to the very marrow¹⁶ of her bones.
 
“It must be done,” she said to herself.
 
In her mind she felt as if the five francs were a kind of daily ransom¹⁷ which she paid the estimable concierge¹⁸’s wife for her good-will. It is true, that, for such a consideration, the terrible woman was all attention for her “poor little pussy-cat;” for thus she had definitely dubbed¹⁹ Henrietta, becoming daily more familiar, and adding this odious²⁰ and irritating presumption²¹ to all the other tortures of the poor girl. Many a time poor Henrietta had been made so indignant and furious, that she had been on the point of rebelling; but she had never dared, submitting to this familiarity for the same reason for which she paid her five francs every day. The old woman, taking her silence for consent, put no longer any restraint upon herself. She declared she could not comprehend how her “little pussy-cat,” young and pretty as she was, could consent to live as she did. Was that a life?
 
Then she always came back to M. Maxime, who continued to call regularly twice a day, the poor young man!
 
“And more than that, poor little pussy,” she added, “you will see that one of these days he will summon courage enough to come and offer you an apology.”
 
But Henrietta would not believe that.
 
“He will never have such consummate²² impudence,” she thought.
 
He had it, nevertheless. One morning, when she had just finished righting up her room, somebody knocked discreetly²³, at her door. Thinking that it was Mrs. Chevassat, who brought her her breakfast, she went to the door and opened it, without asking who was there. And she started back with amazement²⁴ and with terror when she recognized M. de Brevan.
 
It really looked as if he were making a supreme²⁵ effort over himself. He was deadly pale; his lips trembled; his eyes looked dim and uncertain; and he moved his lips and jaws²⁶ as if he had gravel²⁷ in his mouth.
 
“I have come, madam,” he said, “to ask if you have reconsidered.”
 
She made no reply, looking at him with an air of contempt which would have caused a man with some remnant of honor in his heart to flee from the spot instantly. But he had, no doubt, armed himself beforehand, against contempt.
 
“I know,” he continued, “that my conduct must appear abominable²⁸ in your eyes. I have led you into this snare³, and I have meanly betrayed a friend’s confidence; but I have an excuse. My passion is stronger than my will, than my reason.”
 
“A vile³⁰ passion for money!”
 
“You may think so, madam, if you choose. I shall not even attempt to clear myself. That is not what I came for. I came solely³¹ for the purpose of enlightening you in regard to your own position, which you do not seem to realize.”
 
If she had followed her own impulses, Henrietta would have driven the wretch³² away. But she thought she ought to know his intentions and his plans. She overcame her disgust, therefore, and remained silent.
 
“In the first place,” said M. de Brevan, apparently³³ trying to collect his thoughts, “bear this in mind, madam. You are ruined in reputation, and ruined through me. All Paris is convinced, by this time, that I have run away with you; and that I keep you concealed³⁴ in a charming place, where we enjoy our mutual³⁵ love; in fact, that you are my mistress.”
 
He seemed to expect an explosion of wrath³⁶. By no means! Henrietta remained motionless like a statue.
 
“What would you have?” he went on in a tone of sarcasm³⁷. “My coachman has been talking. Two friends of mine, who reached the palace on foot when I drove up, saw you jump into my coupe; and, as if that had not been enough, that absurd M. Elgin must needs call me out. We had a duel³⁹, and I have wounded him.”
 
The manner in which the young girl shrugged⁴⁰ her shoulders showed but too clearly that she did not believe M. de Brevan. He added,—
 
“If you doubt it, madam, pray read this, then, at the top of the second column.”
 
She took the paper which he offered her, and there she read,—
 
“Yesterday, in the woods near Vincennes, a duel with swords was fought between M. M. de B—— and one of the most distinguished⁴¹ members of our American colony. After five minutes’ close combat, M. E—— was wounded in the arm. It is said that the sudden and very surprising disappearance⁴² of one of the greatest heiresses of the Faubourg Saint Germain was not foreign to this duel. Lucky M. de B—— is reported to know too much of the beautiful young lady’s present home for the peace of the family. But surely these lines ought to be more than enough on the subject of an adventure which will ere long, no doubt, end in a happy and brilliant marriage.”
 
“You see, madam,” said M. de Brevan, when he thought Henrietta had had time enough to read the article, “you see it is not I who advise marriage. If you will become my wife, your honor is safe.”
 
“Ah, sir!”
 
In that simple utterance⁴³ there was so much contempt, and such profound disgust, that M. de Brevan seemed to turn, if possible, whiter than before.
 
“Ah! I see you prefer marrying M. Thomas Elgin,” he said.
 
She only shrugged her shoulders; but he went on,—
 
“Oh, do not smile! He or I; you have no other alternative. Sooner or later you will have to choose.”
 
“I shall not choose, sir.”
 
“Oh, just wait till poverty has come! Then you think, perhaps, you will only need to implore⁴⁴ your father to come to your assistance. Do not flatter yourself. Your father has no other will but that of the Countess Sarah; and the Countess Sarah will have it so, that you marry Sir Thorn.”
 
“I shall not appeal to my father, sir.”
 
“Then you probably count upon Daniel’s return? Ah, believe me! do not indulge in such dreams. I have told you Daniel loves the Countess Sarah; and, even if he did not love her, you have been too publicly disgraced for him ever to give you his name. But that is nothing yet. Go to the navy department, and they will tell you that ‘The Conquest’ is out on a cruise of two years more. At the time when Daniel returns, if he returns at all (which is very far from being certain), you will long since have become Mrs. Elgin or Madame de Brevan, unless”—
 
Henrietta looked at him so fixedly⁴⁵, that he could not bear the glance; and then she said in a deep voice,—
 
“Unless I die! did you not mean that? Be it so.”
 
Coldly M. de Brevan bowed, as if he intended to say,—
 
“Yes, unless you should be dead: that was what I meant.”
 
Then, opening the door, he added,—
 
“Let me hope, madam, that this is not your last word. I shall, however, have the honor of calling every week to receive your orders.”
 
And, bowing, he left the room.
 
“What brought him here, the wretch! What does he want of me?”
 
Thus she questioned herself as soon as she was alone, and the door was ‘shut.’ And her anguish⁴⁶ increased tenfold; for she did not believe a word of the pretexts⁴⁷ which M. de Brevan had assigned for his visit. No, she could not admit that he had come to see if she had reflected, nor that he really cherished that abominable hope, that misery⁴⁸, hunger, and fear would drive her into his arms.
 
“He ought to know me well enough,” she thought with a new access of wrath, “to be sure that I would prefer death a thousand times.”
 
There was no doubt in her mind that this step, which had evidently been extremely painful to himself, had become necessary through some all-powerful consideration. But what could that be? By a great effort of mind Henrietta recalled, one by one, all the phrases used by M. de Brevan, in the hope that some word might give her light; but she discovered nothing. All he had told her as to the consequences of her flight, she had foreseen before she had resolved to escape. He had told her nothing new, but his duel with Sir Thorn; and, when she considered the matter, she thought that, also, quite natural. For did they not both covet⁴⁹ with equal eagerness the fortune which she would inherit from her mother as soon as she came of age? The antagonism⁵⁰ of their interests explained, she thought, their hatred⁵¹; for she was well convinced that they hated each other mortally. The idea that Sir Thorn and M. de Brevan understood each other, and pursued a common purpose, never entered her mind; and, if it had suggested itself, she would have rejected it as absurd.
 
Must she, then, come to the conclusion that M. de Brevan had really, when he appeared before her, no other aim but to drive her to despair? But why should he do so? what advantage would that be to him? The man who wants to make a girl his own does not go to work to chill her with terror, and to inspire her with ineffable⁵² disgust. Still M. de Brevan had done this; and therefore he must aim at something different from that marriage of which he spoke⁵³.
 
What was that something? Such abominable things are not done for the mere⁵⁴ pleasure of doing them, especially if that involves some amount of danger. Now, it was very clear, that upon Daniel’s return, whether he still loved Henrietta or not, M. de Brevan would have a terrible account to give to that brave sailor who had trusted him with the care of his betrothed⁵⁵. Did M. de Brevan ever think of that return? Oh, yes! he did; and with secret terror. There was proof of that in one of the phrases that had escaped him.
 
After having said, “When Daniel returns,” he had added, “if he ever returns, which is by no means sure.”
 
Why this proviso? Had he any reasons to think that Daniel might perish in this dangerous campaign? Now she remembered, yes, she remembered distinctly, that M. de Brevan had smiled in a very peculiar⁵⁶ way when he had said these words. And, as she recalled this, her heart sank within her, and she felt as if she were going to faint. Was he not capable of anything, the wretched man, who had betrayed him so infamously,—capable even of arming an assassin?
 
“Oh, I must warn Daniel!” she exclaimed, “I must warn him, and not lose a minute.”
 
And, although she had written him a long letter only the day before, she wrote again, begging him to be watchful⁵⁷, to mistrust everybody, because most assuredly his life was threatened. And this letter she carried herself to the post-office, convinced as she was that to confide²⁹ it to Mrs. Chevassat would have been the same as to send it to M. de Brevan.
 
It was astonishing, however, how the estimable lady seemed to become day by day more attached to Henrietta, and how expansive and demonstrative her affections grew. At all hours of the day, and on the most trivial pretexts, she would come up, sit down, and for entire hours entertain her with her intolerable speeches. She did not put any restraint upon herself any longer, but talked “from the bottom of her heart” with her “dear little pussy-cat,” as if she had been her own daughter. The strange doctrines⁵⁸ at which she had formerly⁵⁹ only hinted, she now proclaimed without reserve, boasting of an open kind of cynicism, which betrayed a terrible moral perversity⁶⁰. It looked as if the horrible Megsera had been deputed by Henrietta’s enemies for the special purpose of demoralizing and depraving her, if possible, and to drive her into the brilliant and easy life of sin in which so many unhappy women perish.
 
Fortunately, in this case, the messenger was ill-chosen. The eloquence⁶¹ of Mrs. Chevassat, which very likely would have inflamed⁶² the imagination of some poor but ambitious girl, caused nothing but disgust in Henrietta’s heart. She had gotten into the habit of thinking of other things while the old woman was holding forth⁶³; and her noble soul floated off to regions where these vulgarities could reach her no more.
 
Her life was, nevertheless, a very sad one. She never went out, spending her days in her chamber⁶⁴, reading, or working at a great embroidery⁶⁵, a masterpiece of patience and taste, which she had undertaken with a faint hope that it might become useful in case of distress⁶⁶. But a new source of trouble roused her soon after from this dull monotony. Her money grew less and less; and at last the day came when she changed the last gold-piece of her nine hundred francs. It became urgent to resort once more to the pawnbroker⁶⁷; for these were the first days of April, and the honeyed words of Mrs. Chevassat had given her to understand that she had better get ready to pay on the 8th her rent, which amounted to a hundred francs.
 
She intrusted therefore to the concierge the remaining ring to be pawned⁶⁸. Calculating from the sum she had received for the first ring, she hoped to obtain for this one, at the very least, five or six hundred francs.
 
The concierge brought her one hundred and ninety francs.
 
At first, she was convinced the man had robbed her; and she gave him to understand that she thought so. But he showed her the receipt in a perfect rage.
 
“Look there,” he said, “and remember to whom you are talking!”
 
On the receipt she read in fact these words: “Advanced, two hundred francs.” Convinced of the injustice⁶⁹ of her accusations⁷⁰, Henrietta had to make her apologies, and hardly succeeded by means of a ten-franc-piece in soothing⁷¹ the man’s wounded feelings.
 
Alas⁷²! the poor girl did not know that one is always at liberty to pledge an article only for a given sum, a part of its real value; and she was too inexperienced in such matters to notice the reference to that mode of pawning⁷³ on her receipt. However, it was one of those mishaps⁷⁴ for poor Henrietta which cannot be mended, and from which we never recover. She lost two months’ existence, the very time, perhaps, that was needed till Daniel’s return. Still the day when the rent was due came, and she paid her hundred francs. The second day after that, she was once more without money, and, according to Mrs. Chevassat’s elegant expression, forced to “live on her poor possessions.” But the pawnbroker had too cruelly disappointed her calculations: she would not resort to him again, and risk a second disappointment.
 
This time she thought she would, instead of pawning, sell, her gold- dressing-case; and she requested the obliging lady below to procure⁷⁵ her a purchaser. At first Mrs. Chevassat raised a host of objections.
 
“To sell such a pretty toy!” she said, “it’s murder! Just think, you’ll never see it again. If, on the other hand, you carry it to ‘Uncle’ you can take it out again as soon as you have a little money.”
 
But she lost her pains, she saw and at last consented to bring up a kind of dealer⁷⁶ in toilet-articles, an excellent honest man, she declared, in whom one could put the most absolute confidence. And he really showed himself worthy⁷⁷ of her warm recommendation; for he offered instantly five hundred francs for the dressing-case, which was not worth much more than three times as much. Nor was this his last bid. After an hour’s irritating discussions, after having ten times pretended to leave the room, he drew with many sighs his portemonnaie from its secret home, and counted upon the table the seven hundred francs in gold upon which Henrietta had stoutly⁷⁸ insisted.
 
That was enough to pay Mrs. Chevassat for four months’ board.
 
“But no,” said the poor young girl to herself, “that would be pusillanimous⁷⁹ in the highest degree.”
 
And that very evening she summoned all her courage, and told the formidable woman in a firm tone of voice, that henceforth she would only take one meal, dinner. She had chosen this half-way measure in order not to avoid a scene, for that she knew she could not hope for, but a regular falling-out.
 
Contrary to all expectations, the concierge’s wife appeared neither surprised nor angry. She only shrugged her shoulders as she said,—
 
“As you like, my ‘little pussy-cat.’ Only believe me, it is no use economizing in one’s eating.”
 
From the day of this coup³⁸ d’etat, Henrietta went down every morning herself to buy her penny-roll and the little supply of milk which constituted her breakfast. For the rest of the day she did not leave her room, busying herself with her great work; and nothing broke in upon the distressing⁸⁰ monotony of her life but the weekly visits of M. de Brevan.
 
For he did not forget his threat; and every week Henrietta was sure to see him come. He came in with a solemn air, and coldly asked if she had reflected since he had had the honor of presenting his respects to her. She did not answer him ordinarily, except by a look of contempt; but he did not seem in the least disconcerted. He bowed respectfully, and invariably said, before leaving the room,—
 
“Next time, then; I can wait. Oh! I have time; I can wait.”
 
If he hoped thus to conquer Henrietta more promptly⁸², he was entirely⁸³ mistaken. This periodical insult acted only as an inducement to keep up her wrath and to increase her energy. Her pride rose at the thought of this unceasing struggle; and she swore that she would be victorious⁸⁴. It was this sentiment which inspired her with a thought, which, in its results, was destined⁸⁵ to have a decisive influence on her future.
 
It was now the end of June, and she saw with trembling her little treasure grow smaller and smaller; when one day she asked Mrs. Chevassat, who seemed to be of unusually good-humor, if she could not procure her some work. She told her that she was considered quite skilful⁸⁶ in all kinds of needlework.
 
But the woman laughed at the first words, and said,—
 
“Leave me alone! Are hands like yours made to work?”
 
And when Henrietta insisted, and showed her, as a proof of what she could do, the embroidery which she had ............