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Champcey left France. You cannot any more now than at that time marry without Count Ville-Handry’s consent. Will he give it? You know very well that the Countess Sarah will not let him. Will you defy prejudices, and proudly avow your love? Ah, have a care! If you sin against social conventionalities, you risk your whole happiness of life. Will you hide yourself, on the other hand? However careful you may be, the world will find you out; and fools and hypocrites will overwhelm you with slander. And Miss Henrietta has been too much calumniated already.”

To soar in the azure air, and suddenly to fall back into the mud on earth; to indulge in the sweetest of dreams, and all at once to be recalled to stern reality,—this is what Daniel and Henrietta endured at that moment. The calm, collected voice of the old dealer sounded cruel to them. Still he was but a sincere friend, who did his painful duty in awakening them from such deceptive illusions.

“Now,” he went on, “mind that I take everything at the best; and even suppose the case, that Count Ville-Handry leaves his daughter free to choose: would that be enough? Evidently not; for the moment Sarah Brandon hears that Miss Henrietta has not committed suicide, but is, instead, at the Hotel du Louvre, within easy reach of M. Daniel Champcey, she will prevail on her husband to shut his daughter up in a convent. For another year, Miss Henrietta is yet under paternal control; that is, in this case, at the mercy of a revengeful step-mother, who looks upon her as a successful rival.”

At this idea, that Henrietta might be once more taken from him, Daniel felt his blood chill off in his veins; and he exclaimed,—

“Ah, and I never dreamed of any of these things! I was mad! Joy had blinded my eyes completely.”

But the old gentleman beckoned to him to say nothing, and with an almost imperious gesture went on,—

“Oh, wait! I have not yet shown you the most urgent danger: Count Ville-Handry, who, when you knew him, had, I know not how many millions, is completely ruined. Of all he once owned, of his lands, forests, castles, deeds, and bonds, there is nothing left. His last cent, his last rod of land, has been taken from him. You left him living like a prince in his forefathers’ palace: you will find him vegetating in the fourth story of a lodging-house. You know, that, being poor, he is deemed guilty. The day is drawing near when Sarah Brandon will get rid of him, as she has gotten rid of Kergrist, of Malgat the poor cashier, and others. The means are at hand. Already the name of Count Ville-Handry is seriously compromised. The company which he has established is breaking to pieces; and the papers hold him up to public contempt. If he cannot pay to-day, he will be to-morrow accused of fraudulent bankruptcy. Now, I ask you, is the count a man who will survive such a disgrace?”

For some time Henrietta had been unable to suppress her sobs; under this terrible threat she broke out in loud weeping.

“Ah, sir!” she said, “you have misled me. You assured me that my father’s life was in no danger.”

“And I promise you still, it is not in danger. Would I be here, if I did not think that Sarah was not quite ready yet?”

Daniel, also, had suffered terribly during this discussion; and he now said passionately,—

“Would it not be a crime for us to think, to wait, and to calculate, when such great dangers are impending? Come, sir, let us go”—

“Where?”

“Ah, how do I know? Into court, to the count, to a lawyer who can advise us. There must be something that can be done.”

The old dealer did not stir.

“Poor, honest young man!” he said with an accent of bitter irony. “And what could we tell the lawyer? That Sarah Brandon has made an old man, the Count Ville-Handry, fall madly in love with her? That is no crime. That she has made him marry her? That was her right. That the count has launched forth in speculations? She opposed it. That he understood nothing of business? She could not help that. That he has been duped, cheated, and finally ruined in two short years? Apparently she is as much ruined as he is. That, in order to delay the catastrophe, he has resorted to illegal means? She is sorry for it. That he will not survive the taint on his ancient name? What can she do? Sarah, who was able to clear herself the day after Malgat’s disappearance, will not be at a loss now to establish her innocence.”

“But the count, sir, the count! Can we not go to him?”

“Count Ville-Handry would say to you—But you shall hear to-morrow what he will tell you.”

Daniel began to feel utterly dismayed.

“What can be done, then?” he asked.

“We must wait till we have sufficient evidence in hand to crush at one blow Sarah Brandon, Thorn, and Mrs. Brian.”

“Well; but how shall we get such evidence?”

The old gentleman cast a look of intelligence at his sister, smiled, and said with a strange accent in his voice,—

“I have collected some. As to the rest”—

“Well?”

“Well, my dear M. Champcey, I am no longer troubled about getting more, since I have found out that the Countess Sarah is in love with you.”

Now Daniel began to understand the part Papa Ravinet expected him to play. Still he did not object; he bowed his head under the clear eye of Henrietta, and said in a low voice,—

“I will do what you wish me to do, sir.”

The old gentleman uttered a low cry of delight, as if he had been relieved of an overwhelming anxiety.

“Then,” he said, “we will begin the campaign tomorrow morning. But we must know exactly who the enemies are whom we have to meet. Listen, therefore!”





XXX.

It struck midnight; but the poor people in the little parlor in the Hotel du Louvre hardly thought of sleep. How could they have become aware of the flight of time, as long as all their faculties were bent upon the immense interests that were at stake? On the struggle which they were about to undertake depended Count Ville-Handry’s life and honor, and the happiness and whole future life of Daniel and Henrietta.

And Papa Ravinet and his sister had said,—“As for us, even more than that depends upon it.” The old dealer, therefore, drew up an easy- chair, sat down, and began in a somewhat husky voice,—

“The Countess Sarah is not Sarah Brandon, and is not an American. Her real name, by which she was known up to her sixteenth year, is Ernestine Bergot; and she was

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