But, when she was alone once more, the poor girl failed not to recognize the utter futility of her fancied triumph.  Whom had she wounded, after all?  Her father.

However unwell the countess might be to-night,—­and perhaps she was not really unwell,—­she would certainly be well again in the morning; and then what would be the advantage of the scandal she had attempted in order to ruin her?  Now Henrietta saw it very clearly,—­now, when it was too late.

Worse than that!  She fancied that what she had done to-day pledged her for the future.  The road upon which she had started evidently led nowhere.  Never mind, it seemed to her miserable cowardice to shrink from going on.

Rising with the sun, she was deliberating on what weak point she might make her next attack, when there came a knock at the door, and Clarissa, her own maid, entered.

“Here is a letter for you, miss,” she said.  “I have received it this moment, in an envelope addressed to me.”

Henrietta examined the letter for a long time before opening it, studying the handwriting, which she did not know.  Who could write to her, and in this way, unless it was Maxime de Brevan, to whom Daniel had begged her to intrust herself, and who, so far, had given no sign of life of himself?

It was M. de Brevan who wrote thus,—­

“Madam,—­Like all Paris, I also have heard of your proud and noble protest on the day of your father’s unfortunate marriage.  Egotists and fools will perhaps blame you.  But you may despise them; for all the best men are on your side.  And my dear Daniel, if he were here, would approve and admire your courage, as I do myself.”

She drew a full breath, as if her heart had been relieved of a heavy burden.

Daniel’s friend approved her conduct.  This was enough to stifle henceforth the voice of reason, and to make her disregard every idea of prudence.  The whole letter of M. de Brevan was, moreover, nothing but a long and respectful admonition to resist desperately.

Farther on he wrote,—­

“At the moment of taking the train, Daniel handed me a letter, in which he expresses his innermost thoughts.  With a sagacity worthy of such a heart, he foresees and solves in advance all the difficulties by which your step-mother will no doubt embarrass you hereafter.  This letter is too precious to be intrusted to the mail, I shall, therefore, get myself introduced at your father’s house before the end of the week, and I shall have the honor to put that letter into your own hands.”

And again,—­

“I shall have an opportunity, tomorrow, to send Daniel news from here.  If you wish to write to him, send me your letter to-day, Rue Laffitte, No. 62, and I will enclose it in mine.”

Finally, there came a postscript in these words,—­

“Mistrust, above all, M. Thomas Elgin.”

This last recommendation caused Henrietta particular trouble, and made her feel all kinds of vague and terrible apprehensions.