“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?