It was exactly two years since Daniel and Henrietta had been parted by the foulest¹ treachery,—two years since that fatal evening when the stupidly ironical² voice of Count Ville-Handry had suddenly made itself heard near them under the old trees of the garden of the palace.  
What had not happened since then? What unheard-of, most improbable events; what trials, what tribulations³, what sufferings! They had endured all that the human heart can endure. There was not a day, so to say, in these two years, that had not brought them its share of grief and sorrow. How often both of them had despaired of the future! How many times they had sighed for death!
 
And yet, after all these storms, here they were reunited once more, in unspeakable happiness, forgetting every thing,—their enemies and the whole world, the anxieties of the past, and the uncertainty⁴ of the future.
 
They remained thus for a long time, holding each other closely, overcome with happiness, unable, as yet, to believe in the reality for which they had sighed so long, unable to utter a word, laughing and weeping in one breath.
 
Now and then they would move apart a little, throwing back the head in order the better to look at each other; then swiftly they would fold each other again closely in their arms, as if they were afraid they might be separated anew.
 
“How they love each other!” whispered Mrs. Bertolle in her brother’s ear,—“the poor young people!”
 
And big tears rolled down her cheeks, while the old dealer⁶, not less touched, but showing his emotion differently, closed his hands fiercely, and said,—
 
“All right, all right! They will have to pay for everything.”
 
Daniel, in the meantime, was recovering himself gradually; and reason once more got the better of his feelings. He led Henrietta to an arm- chair at the corner of the fireplace, and sitting down in front of her, after having taken her hands in his own, he asked her to give him a faithful account of the two terrible years that had just come to an end.
 
She had to tell him everything,—her humiliations in her father’s house, the insults she had endured, the wicked slanders⁷ by which her honor had been tainted⁹, the incomprehensible blindness of the count, the surly provocations¹⁰ of her step-mother, the horrible attentions of Sir Thorn; in fine, the whole abominable¹¹ plot which had been formed, as she found out too late, for the purpose of driving her to seek safety in flight, and to give herself up to Maxime de Brevan.
 
Trembling with rage, livid, his eyes bloodshot, Daniel suddenly let go Henrietta’s hands, and exclaimed in a half-smothered voice,—
 
“Ah, Henrietta! your father deserved—Wretched old man! to abandon his child to the mercy of such miserable¹² wretches¹³!”
 
And, when the poor girl looked at him imploringly¹⁴, he replied,—
 
“Be it so! I will say nothing more of the count. He is your father, and that is enough.”
 
Then he added coldly,—
 
“But that M. Thomas Elgin, I swear by God he shall die by my hand; and as to Sarah Brandon”—
 
He was interrupted by the old dealer, who tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and said with an indescribable smile,—
 
“You shall not do that honor to the Hon. M. Elgin, M. Champcey. People like him do not die by the sword of honest men.”
 
In the meantime Henrietta had resumed her history, and spoke¹⁵ of her surprise and amazement¹⁶ when she reached that bare room in Water Street, with its scanty¹⁷ second-hand¹⁸ furniture.
 
“And yet, Henrietta,” here broke in Daniel, “I had handed that man all my money to be placed at your disposal in case of any accident.”
 
“What!” exclaimed the old dealer, “you had”—
 
He did not finish, but looked at the young officer with an utterly¹⁹ amazed air, as if he were an improbable phenomenon, never seen before.
 
Daniel shook his head sadly.
 
“Yes,” he said, “I know it was an insane thing. But it was less insane than to intrust my betrothed²⁰ to his care. I believed in the friendship of that man.”
 
“And besides,” remarked Mrs. Bertolle, “how could you suppose such atrocious treachery? There are crimes which honest hearts never even conceive.”
 
Henrietta continued, describing her sensations when she found herself for the first time in her life harassed²¹ by want, destitution²², hunger. But, when she came to the disgusting ill-treatment she received at the hands of the concierge²³’s wife, Daniel cried out,—
 
“Stop!”
 
And, fearfully excited, he asked her,—
 
“Did I hear right? Did you say the concierge of that house in Water Street, and his wife, were called Chevassat?”
 
“Yes, why?”
 
“Because Maxime de Brevan’s real name is Justin Chevassat.”
 
Papa Ravinet started up as if he had been shot.
 
“What,” he said, “you know that?”
 
“I learned it three months ago. I also know that my friend, the proud nobleman, Maxime de Brevan, who has been received in the most aristocratic salons²⁵ of Paris, has been a galley-slave, condemned²⁶ for forgery²⁷.”
 
Henrietta had risen, filled with terror.
 
“Then,” she stammered²⁸, “this wretched man was”—
 
“Chevassat’s son; yes, madam,” replied Mrs. Bertolle.
 
“Oh!” exclaimed the poor girl, “oh!”
 
And she fell heavily back into her chair, overcome by this discovery. The old dealer alone preserved his calm appearance.
 
“How did you learn that?” he asked Daniel.
 
“Through the man whom my friend Maxime had hired to murder me.”
 
Positively²⁹ this threatened to be too much for Henrietta’s mind.
 
“Ah! I thought the mean coward would try to get you out of the way, Daniel. I wrote to you to be careful.”
 
“And I received your letter, my darling, but too late. After having missed me twice, the assassin fired at me; and I was in my bed, a ball in my chest, dying.”
 
“What has become of the murderer?” asked Papa Ravinet.
 
“He was arrested.”
 
“Then he confessed?”
 
“Yes, thanks to the astonishing cleverness of the magistrate³⁰ who carried on the investigation³¹.”
 
“What has become of him?”
 
“He has left Saigon by this time. They have sent him home to be tried here.”
 
“And Brevan?”
 
“I am surprised he has not yet been arrested. The papers in the case were sent to Paris by a vessel³² which left a fortnight before I left. To be sure, ‘The Saint Louis’ may have gotten ahead of her. At all events, I have in my keeping a letter to the court.”
 
Papa Ravinet seemed to be almost delirious³³ with joy. He gesticulated like a madman; he laughed nervously³⁴, and almost frightfully, till his sides shook; and at last he said,—
 
“I shall see Brevan on the scaffold! Yes, I shall!”
 
But from that moment there was an end of that logical order which the old gentleman had so far kept up. As it always happens with people who are under the influence of some passion, eager to learn what they do not know, and little disposed to tell what they do know, confusion prevailed soon. Questions crossed each other, and followed, without order or connection. Answers came at haphazard³⁵. Each wanted to be heard; and all were speaking at once. Thus the explanations, which, by a little management, might have been given in twenty minutes, took them more than two hours.
 
At last, after the lapse³⁶ of this time, and by dint³⁷ of great efforts, it became possible to ascertain³⁸ the sum total of the information given by Papa Ravinet, Daniel, and Henrietta. The truth began to show itself in the midst of this chaos³⁹; and the plot of Sarah Brandon and her accomplices⁴⁰ appeared in all its hideous⁴¹ outlines. A plan of striking simplicity⁴², the success of which seemed to have hung upon a hair. If the old dealer, instead of going down by the backstairs, had taken the front staircase, he would never have heard Henrietta’s agony, and the poor child would have been lost.
 
If Crochard’s ball had been a few lines nearer the heart, Daniel would have been killed.
 
And still the old dealer was not quite satisfied. He hung his lip, and winked⁴³ with his yellow eyes, as if he wished it to be understood that he was by no means fully²⁴ convinced, and that there were certain points which required fuller explanation.
 
“Look here, M. Champcey,” he began at last, “the more I think of it, the more I am convinced that Sarah Brandon had nothing to do with these attempts at assassination⁴⁴, which so nearly made an end of you. She is too strong in her perversity⁴⁵ to stoop to such coarse means, which always leave traces behind, and finally lead to a court of justice. She always acts alone, when her mind is made up; and her accomplices aid her only unconsciously, so that they can never betray her.”
 
Daniel had been thoughtful.
 
“What you tell me,” he answered, “I was told before by M. de Brevan.”
 
The old gentleman did not seem to hear him, so intensely did he apply all the faculties⁴⁶ of his mind to the problem before him.
 
“Still,” he continued, “there is no doubt about the manner in which Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, was employed. Could Brevan have done so without Sarah’s knowledge, and perhaps even contrary to her wishes?”
 
“That is quite possible; but then why should he have done so?”
 
“To secure to himself the fortune which M. Champcey had so imprudently intrusted to him,” said Henrietta.
 
But Papa Ravinet shook his head, looking very wise, and said,—
 
“That is one explanation. I do not say no to it; but it is not the true one yet. Murder is so dangerous an expedient⁴⁷, that even the boldest criminals only resort to it in the last extremity⁴⁸, and generally very much against their inclination⁴⁹. Could not Brevan have possessed⁵⁰ himself of M. Champcey’s property without a murder? Of course, he could.
 
“Then we must look for another motive⁵¹. You may say, it was fear which drove him to it. No; for at the time when he engaged Crochard, he could not foresee the atrocious outrages⁵² of which he would have become guilty during the succeeding year. Believe my experience; I discern in the whole affair a hurry and an awkwardness which betray a passion, a violent hatred⁵³, or, perhaps”—
 
He stopped suddenly, and seemed to reflect and deliberate, while he was mechanically stroking his chin. Then all of a sudden, looking strangely at Daniel, he asked him,—
 
“Could the Countess Sarah be in love with you, M. Champcey?”
 
Daniel’s face turned crimson⁵⁴. He had not forgotten that fatal evening, when, in the house in Circus Street, he had held Sarah Brandon in his arms; and the intoxicating⁵⁵ delirium⁵⁶ of that moment had left in his heart a bitter and undying pang⁵⁷ of remorse⁵⁸. He had never dared confess to Henrietta that Sarah had actually come to his rooms alone. And even to-night, while giving very fully all the details of his passage out, and his residence in Saigon, he had not said a word of the letters which had been addressed to him by the countess.
 
“Sarah Brandon in love with me?” he stammered. “What an idea!”
 
But he could not tell a falsehood; and Henrietta would not have been a woman, if she had not noticed his embarrassment⁵⁹.
 
“W............