The Clique of Gold, Emile Gaboriau [if you liked this book .txt] 📗

him. Ah! I should leave more cheerfully if you would promise me to trust this faithful friend, to listen to his advice, and to follow his directions.”

“I promise you, Daniel, I will obey him.”

But a rustling of the dry leaves interrupted them.

They turned round. A man was cautiously approaching them.

“My father!” cried Henrietta.

And, pushing Daniel towards the gate, she begged him to flee.

To remain would only have been to risk a painful explanation, insults, perhaps even a personal collision. Daniel understood that but too well.

“Farewell,” he said to Henrietta, “farewell! Tomorrow you will receive a letter from me.”

And he escaped, but not so promptly that he should not have heard the count’s angry voice, as he said,—

“Ah, ah! Is this the virtuous young lady who dares to insult Miss Sarah?”

As soon as Daniel had locked the door again, he listened for a moment, hoping that he might hear something of importance. But he could only make out a few indistinct exclamations, then nothing, nothing more.

It was all over now. He would have to sail without seeing Henrietta again, without enjoying that bitter happiness of holding her once more in his arms. And yet he had told her nothing of all he had to tell her; he had not spoken to her of half his recommendations, nor given her a thousandth part of his tender farewells.

How had they been surprised? How came it about that the count had stayed at home, instead of hurrying off immediately after dinner, as was his custom? Why should he have inquired after his daughter, he who generally took no more trouble about her than if she had not existed?

“Ah, we have been betrayed!” thought the unhappy man.

By whom? By that unpleasant maid evidently, whom he had seen that morning; by that very Clarissa in whom Henrietta put such confidence. If that was so,—and it was but too probable,—to whom should he send his letters hereafter? Here, again, he saw himself reduced to Maxime de Brevan as the only one who could convey news from him to Henrietta. Ah! he recognized but too clearly the execrable but most cunning policy of Miss Brandon.

“The wretch!” he swore; “the infamous woman!”

Wrath, mad wrath, set his brains on fire. And he could do nothing against that woman!

“But she does not stand alone!” he suddenly exclaimed. “There is a man there who shelters her under his responsibility,—Sir Thorn!”

M. Elgin might be insulted; he might be struck in the face, and thus be compelled to fight.

And, without considering this absurd plan, he hurried to Circus Street. Although it was barely eight o’clock, Miss Brandon’s house looked as if everybody were asleep. He rang the bell, however; and, when a servant came to the door, he inquired,—

“M. Thomas Elgin?”

“M. Elgin is absent,” replied the servant.

“At what hour will he be back?”

“He is not coming home to-night.”

And whether he had received special instructions, or was only acting upon general orders, he added,—

“Mrs. Brian is at the theatre; but Miss Brandon is at home.”

Daniel’s wrath changed into a kind of cold fury.

“They expected me,” he thought.

And he hesitated. Should he see Miss Brandon? But for what end? He was just turning away, when a sudden thought occurred to him. Why should he not talk with her, come to an understanding, and perhaps make a bargain with her?

“Show me to Miss Brandon’s room,” he said to the servant.

She sat, as she always did when left alone in the house, in the little boudoir, where Daniel had already once been carried by her. Dressed in a long dressing-wrapper of pale-blue cashmere, her hair scarcely taken up at all, she was reading, reclining on a sofa.

As the door opened, she raised herself carelessly a little, and, without turning around, asked,—

“Who is that?”

But, when the servant announced the name of M. Champcey, she rose with a bound, almost terrified, dropping the book which she had in her hand.

“You!” she murmured as soon as the servant had left. “Here, and of your own accord?”

Firmly resolved this time to remain master of his sensations, Daniel had stopped in the middle of the room, as stiff as a statue.

“Don’t you know, madam, what brings me here? All your combinations have succeeded admirably; you triumph, and we surrender.”

She looked at him in perfect amazement, stammering—

“I do not understand you. I do not know what you mean.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and continued in an icy tone,—

“Do me the honor to think that I am not altogether a fool. I have seen the letter which you have sent to the minister, signed with my name. I have held that masterpiece of forgery in my hand and know now how you free yourself of my presence!”

Miss Brandon interrupted him with an angry gesture,—

“Then it is really so! He has done it; he has dared do it!”

“Who is this he? M. Thomas Elgin, no doubt?”

“No, not he; another man.”

“Name him!”

She hesitated, hung her head, and then said with a great effort,—

“I knew they wished to separate us; and, without knowing precisely what means they would employ, I suspected them. And, when I came to you the other day, I wanted to say to you, ‘Have a care!’ and you, M. Champcey, you drove me from you.”

He looked upon her with such an ironical smile that she broke off, and cried,—

“Ah, he does not believe me! Tell me that you do not believe me!”

He bowed ceremoniously, and replied in his gravest manner,—

“I believe, Miss Brandon, that you desire to become Countess Ville- Handry; and you clear everything out of your path that can hinder you in your plans.”

She was about to answer; but he did not give her time, and continued,—

“Mark, I pray, that I make no charges. Come, let us play openly. You are too sensible and too practical to hate us—Miss Henrietta and myself—from gratuitous and purely platonic motives. You hate us because we are in your way. How are we