After this remark, which gave Madame de l’Estorade the full change for her coin, Jacques Bricheteau bowed ceremoniously and was about to leave the room, when a sudden contradiction of the countess’s comedy of indifference appeared in the person of Nais, who rushed in exclaiming triumphantly,—­

“Mamma, a letter from Monsieur de Sallenauve!”

The countess turned crimson.

“What do you mean by running in here like a crazy girl?” she said sternly; “and how do you know that this letter is from the person you mention?”

“Oh!” replied Nais, twisting the knife in the wound, “when he wrote you those letters from Arcis-sur-Aube, I saw his handwriting.”

“You are a silly, inquisitive little girl,” said her mother, driven by these aggravating circumstances quite outside of her usual habits of indulgence.  “Go to your room.”  Then she added to Jacques Bricheteau, who lingered after the arrival of the letter,—­

“Permit me, monsieur.”

“It is for me, madame, to ask permission to remain until you have read that letter.  If by chance Monsieur de Sallenauve gives you any particulars about his journey, you will, perhaps, allow me to profit by them.”

“Monsieur de Sallenauve,” said the countess, after reading the letter, “requests me to inform my husband that he has gone to Hanwell, county of Middlesex, England.  You can address him there, monsieur, to the care of Doctor Ellis.”

Jacques Bricheteau made a second ceremonious bow and left the room.

“Nais has just given you a taste of her quality,” said Madame de Camps; “but you deserved it,—­you really treated that poor man too harshly.”

“I could not help it,” replied Madame de l’Estorade; “the day began wrong, and all the rest follows suit.”

“Well, about the letter?”

“It is dreadful; read it yourself.”

Madame,—­I was able to overtake Lord Lewin, the Englishman of whom I spoke to you, a few miles out of Paris.  Providence sent him to Ville d’Avray to save us from an awful misfortune.  Possessing an immense fortune, he is, like so many of his countrymen, a victim to spleen, and it is only his natural force of character which has saved him from the worst results of that malady.  His indifference to life and the perfect coolness with which he spoke of suicide won him Marie-Gaston’s friendship in Florence.  Lord Lewin, having studied the subject of violent emotions, is very intimate with Doctor Ellis, a noted alienist, and it not infrequently happens that he spends two or three weeks with him at Hanwell, Middlesex Co., one of the best-managed lunatic asylums in England,—­Doctor Ellis being in charge of it.

When he arrived at Ville d’Avray, Lord Lewin saw at once that Marie-Gaston had all the symptoms of incipient mania.  Invisible to other eyes, they were apparent to those of Lord Lewin.  In speaking to me of our poor friend, he used the