“You will not obey!  It is impossible for you to obey!”

“Henrietta, my honor is at stake.”

“Ah, what does it matter?”

He was about to reply; but she continued in a broken voice,—­

“You will certainly not go when you have heard me.  You think I am strong, brave, and capable to breast the storm?  You are mistaken.  I was only drawing upon your energy, Daniel.  I am a child, full of daring as long as it rests on its mother’s knee, but helpless as soon as it feels that it is left to itself; I am only a woman, Daniel; I am weak.”

The unhappy man felt his strength leaving him; he could no longer bear the restraint which he had imposed upon himself.

“You insist upon sending me off in utter despair?” he asked her.  “Ah, I have hardly courage enough for myself!”

She interrupted him with a nervous laugh, and said in bitter sarcasm,—­

“It would be courage to stay, to despise public opinion.”

And, as any thing appeared to her preferable to such a separation, she added,—­

“Listen!  If you will stay, I will yield.  Let us go together to my father, and I will tell him that I have overcome my aversion to Miss Brandon.  I will ask him to present me to her; I will humble myself before her.”

“That is impossible, Henrietta.”

She bent towards him, joining her hands; and in a suppliant voice she repeated,—­

“Stay, I beseech you, in the name of our happiness!  If you have ever loved me, if you love me now, stay!”

Daniel had foreseen this heartrending scene; but he had vowed, that, if his heart should break, he would have the fortitude to resist Henrietta’s prayers and tears.

“If I were weak enough to give way now, Henrietta,” he said, “you would despise me before the month is over; and I, desperate at having to drag out a life of disgrace, would blow out my brains with a curse on you.”

With her arms hanging listlessly by her side, her hands crossed behind her, Miss Ville-Handry stood there motionless, like a statue.  She felt in her heart that Daniel’s resolution was not to be shaken.

Then he said in a gentle voice,—­

“I am going, Henrietta; but I leave you a friend of mine,—­a true and noble friend, who will watch over you.  You have heard me speak of him often,—­Maxime de Brevan.  He knows my wishes.  Whatever may happen, consult 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.