In the meantime, the long, trying scene had exhausted¹ Daniel; and he lay there, panting, on his bed. The surgeon and the lawyer withdrew, to let him have some rest.  
He certainly needed it; but how could he sleep with the fearful idea of his Henrietta—she whom he loved with his whole heart—being in the hands of this Justin Chevassat, a forger², a former galley-slave, the accomplice³ and friend of Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet?
 
“And I myself handed her over to him!” he repeated for the thousandth time,—“I, her only friend upon earth! And her confidence in me was so great, that, if she had any presentiment⁵, she suppressed it for my sake.”
 
Daniel had, to be sure, a certain assurance now, that Maxime de Brevan would not be able to escape from justice. But what did it profit him to be avenged⁶, when it was too late, long after Henrietta should have been forced to seek in suicide the only refuge from Brevan’s persecution⁸? Now it seemed to him as if the magistrate⁹ was far more anxiously concerned for the punishment of the guilty than for the safety of the victims. Blinded by passion, so as to ask for impossibilities, Daniel would have had this lawyer, who was so clever in unearthing¹⁰ crimes committed in Saigon, find means rather to prevent the atrocious crime which was now going on in France. On his part, he had done the only thing that could be done.
 
At the first glimpse of reason that had appeared after his terrible sufferings, he had hastened to write to Henrietta, begging her to take courage, and promising¹¹ her that he would soon be near her. In this letter he had enclosed the sum of four thousand francs.
 
This letter was gone. But how long would it take before it could reach her? Three or four months, perhaps even more.
 
Would it reach her in time? Might it not be intercepted¹², like the others? All these anxieties made a bed of burning coals of the couch of the poor wounded man. He twisted and turned restlessly from side to side, and felt as if he were once more going to lose his senses. And still, by a prodigious¹³ effort of his will, his convalescence¹⁴ pursued its normal, steady way in spite of so many contrary influences.
 
A fortnight after Crochard’s confession¹⁵, Daniel could get up; he spent the afternoon in an arm-chair, and was even able to take a few steps in his chamber¹⁶. The next week he was able to get down into the garden of the hospital, and to walk about there, leaning on the arm of his faithful Lefloch. And with his strength and his health, hope, also, began to come back; when, all of a sudden, two letters from Henrietta rekindled¹⁷ the fever.
 
In one the poor girl told him how she had lived so far on the money obtained from the sale of the little jewelry¹⁸ she had taken with her, but added that she was shamefully¹⁹ cheated, and would soon be compelled to seek employment of some sort in order to support herself.
 
“I am quite sure,” she said, with a kind of heartrending cheerfulness, “that I can earn my forty cents a day; and with that, my friend, I shall be as happy as a queen, and wait for your return, free from want.”
 
In the other she wrote,—
 
“None of my efforts to procure²⁰ work has so far succeeded. The future is getting darker and darker. Soon I shall be without bread. I shall struggle on to the last extremity²¹, were it only not to give my enemies the joy of seeing me dead. But, Daniel, if you wish to see your Henrietta again, come back; oh, come back!”
 
Daniel had not suffered half as much the day when the assassin’s ball ploughed through his chest. He was evidently reading one of those last cries which precede agony. After these two fearful letters, he could only expect a last one from Henrietta,—a letter in which she would tell him, “All is over. I am dying. Farewell!”
 
He sent for the chief surgeon, and said, as soon as he entered,—
 
“I must go!”
 
The good doctor frowned, and replied rudely,—
 
“Are you mad? Do you know that you cannot stand up fifteen minutes?”
 
“I can lie down in my berth²².”
 
“You would kill yourself.”
 
“What of that? I would rather suffer death than what I now endure. Besides, I have made up my mind irrevocably! Read this, and you will see yourself that I cannot do otherwise.”
 
The chief surgeon took in Henrietta’s last letter almost at a single glance; but he held it in his hand for some time, pretending to read it, but in reality meditating²³.
 
“I am sure,” the excellent man thought in his heart, “I am sure, in this man’s place, I should do the same. But would this imprudence be of any use to him? No; for he could not reach the mouth of the Dong-Nai alive. Therefore it is my duty to keep him here: and that can be done, since he is as yet unable to go out alone; and Lefloch will obey me, I am sure, when I tell him that his master’s life depends upon his obedience²⁵.”
 
Too wise to meet so decided²⁶ a determination as Daniel’s was by a flat refusal, he said,—
 
“Very well, then; be it as you choose!”
 
Only he came in again the same evening, and, with an air of disappointment, said to Daniel,—
 
“To go is all very well; but there is one difficulty in the way, of which neither you nor I have thought.”
 
“And what is that?”
 
“There is no vessel²⁷ going home.”
 
“Really, doctor?”
 
“Ah! my dear friend,” replied the excellent man boldly, “do you think I could deceive you?”
 
Evidently Daniel thought him quite capable of doing so; but he took good care not to show his suspicions, reserving to himself the right of making direct inquiries²⁸ as soon as the opportunity should offer. It came the very next morning. Two friends of his called to see him. He sent Lefloch out of the room on some pretext²⁹, and then begged them to go down to the port, and to engage a passage for him,—no, not for him, but for his man, whom urgent business recalled to France.
 
In the most eager manner the two gentlemen disappeared. They stayed away three hours; and, when they came back, their answer was the same as the doctor’s. They declared they had made inquiries on all sides; but they were quite sure that there was not a single vessel in Saigon ready to sail for home. Ten other persons whom Daniel asked to do the same thing brought him the same answer. And yet, that very week, two ships sailed,—one for Havre, the other for Bordeaux. But the concierge³⁰ of the hospital, and Lefloch, were so well drilled, that no visitor reached Daniel before having learned his lesson thoroughly³¹.
 
Thus they succeeded in keeping Daniel quiet for a fortnight; but, at the end of that time, he declared that he felt quite well enough to look out for a ship himself; and that, if he could do no better, he meant to sail for Singapore, where he would be sure to procure a passage home. It would, of course, have been simple folly³² to try and keep a man back who was so much bent³³ upon his purpose; and, as his first visit to the port would have revealed to him the true state of things, the old surgeon preferred to make a clean breast of it. When he learned that he had missed two ships, Daniel was at first naturally very much incensed³⁴.
 
“That was not right, doctor, to treat me thus,” he exclaimed. “It was wrong; for you know what sacred duties call me home.”
 
But the surgeon was prepared for his justification³⁵. He replied with a certain solemnity which he rarely assumed,—
 
“I have only obeyed my conscience. If I had let you set sail in the condition in which you were, I should have virtually sent you to your grave, and thus have deprived your betrothed³⁶, Miss Ville-Handry, of her last and only chance of salvation³⁷.”
 
Daniel shook his head sadly, and said,—
 
“But if I get there too late, too late; by a week, a day, do you think, doctor, I shall not curse your prudence²⁴? And who knows, now, when a ship will leave?”
 
“When? On Sunday, in five days; and that ship is ‘The Saint Louis’ a famous clipper, and so good a sailor, that you will easily overtake the two big three-masters that have sailed before you.”
 
Offering his hand to Daniel, he added,—
 
“Come, my dear Champcey; don’t blame an old friend who has done what he thought was his duty to do.”
 
Daniel was too painfully affected³⁸ to pay much attention to the conclusive³⁹ and sensible reasons alleged⁴⁰ by the chief surgeon; he saw nothing but that his friends had taken advantage of his condition to keep him in the dark. Still he also felt that it would have been black ingratitude⁴¹ and stupid obstinacy⁴³ to preserve in his heart a shadow of resentment⁴⁴. He therefore, took the hand that was offered him, and, pressing it warmly, replied in a tone of deep emotion,—
 
“Whatever the future may have in store for me, doctor, I shall never forget that I owe my life to your devotion.”
 
As usually, when he felt that excitement was overcoming him,—a very rare event, to tell the truth,—the old surgeon fell back into his rough and abrupt⁴⁵ manner.
 
“I have attended you as I would have attended any one: that is my duty, and you need not trouble yourself about your gratitude⁴². If any one owes me thanks, it is Miss Ville-Handry; and I beg you will remind her of it when she is your wife. And now you will be good enough to dismiss all those dismal⁴⁶ ideas, and remember that you have only five days longer to tremble with impatience⁴⁷ in this abominable⁴⁸ country.”
 
He spoke⁴⁹ easily enough of it,—five days! It was an eternity⁵⁰ for a man in Daniel’s state of mind. In three hours he had made all his preparations for his departure, arranged his business matters, and obtained a furlough for Lefloch, who was to go with him. At noon, therefore, he asked himself with terror, how he was to employ his time till night, when they came, and asked if he would please come over to the courthouse, to see the magistrate.
 
He went at once, and found the lawyer, but so changed, that he hardly recognized him at first. The last mail had brought him the news of his appointment to a judgeship, which he had long anxiously desired, and which would enable him to return, not only to France, but to his native province. He meant to sail in a frigate⁵¹ which was to leave towards the end of the month, and in which Crochard, also, was to be sent home.
 
“In this way,” he said, “I shall arrive at the same time as the accused, and very soon after the papers, which were sent home last week; and I trust and hope I shall be allowed to conduct the trial of an affair, which, so far, has gone smoothly⁵² enough in my hands.”
 
His impassive air was gone; and that official mask was laid aside, which might have been looked upon as much a part of his official costume as the black gown which was lying upon one of his trunks. He laughed, he rubbed his hands, and said,—
 
“I should take pleasure in having him in my court, this Justin Chevassat, alias⁵³ Maxime de Brevan. He must be a cool swindler, brimful of cunning and astuteness⁵⁴, familiar with all the tricks of criminal courts, and not so easily overcome. It will be no child’s play, I am sure, to prove that he was the instigator⁵⁵ of Crochard’s crimes, and that he has hired him with his own money. Ah! There will be lively discussions and curious incidents.”
 
Daniel listened, quite bewildered.
 
“He, too,” he thought. “Professional enthusiasm carries him away; and here he is, troubling himself about the discussions in court, neither less nor more than Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet. He thinks only of the honor he will reap for having handed over to the jury such a formidable rascal⁵⁶ as”—
 
But the lawyer had not sent for Daniel to speak to him of his plans and his hopes. Having learned from the chief surgeon that Lieut. Champcey was on the point of sailing, he wished to tell him that he would receive a very important packet, which he was desired to hand to the court as soon as he reached Paris.
 
“This is, you understand,” he concluded, “an additional precaution which we take to prevent Maxime de Brevan from escaping us.”
 
It was five o’clock when Daniel left the court-house; and on the little square before it he found the old surgeon, waiting to carry him off to dinner, and a game of whist in the evening. So, when he undressed at night, he said to himself,—
 
“After all, the day has not been so very long!”
 
But to-morrow, and the day after to-morrow, and the next days!
 
He tried in vain to get rid of the fixed⁵⁷ idea which filled his mind,—a mechanical instinct, so to say, which was stronger than h............