“Why should I mistrust him,” she said to herself, “more than the others?”

But a more pleasing anxiety soon came to her assistance.  What?  Here was an opportunity to send Daniel news promptly and safely, and she was running the risk, by her delays, of losing the chance?  She hastened to dress; and, sitting down before her little writing-table, she went to work communicating to her only friend on earth all her sufferings since he had so suddenly left her, her griefs, her resentments, her hopes.

It was eleven o’clock when she had finished, having filled eight large pages with all she felt in her heart.  As she was about to rise, she suddenly felt ill.  Her knees gave way under her, and she felt as if every thing was trembling around her.  What could this mean? she thought.  And now only she remembered that she had eaten nothing since the day before.

“I must not starve myself,” she said almost merrily to herself.  Her long chat with Daniel had evidently rekindled her hopes.

She rang the bell; and, when her maid appeared, she said,—­

“Bring me some breakfast!”

Miss Ville-Handry occupied three rooms.  The first, her sitting-room, opened upon the hall; on the right was her bed-chamber; and on the left a boudoir with her piano, her music, and her books.  When Henrietta took her meals up stairs, which of late had happened quite often, she ate in the sitting-room.

She had gone in there, and was clearing the table of the albums and little trifles which were lying about, so as to hasten matters, when the maid reappeared with empty hands.

“Ah, miss!”

“Well?”

“The count has given orders not to take any thing up stairs.”

“That cannot be.”

But a mocking voice from without interrupted her, saying,—­

“It is so!”

And immediately Count Ville-Handry appeared, already dressed, curled, and painted, bearing the appearance of a man who is about to enjoy his revenge.

“Leave us!” he said to the maid-servant.

And, as soon as Clarissa had left the room, he turned to Henrietta with these words,—­

“Yes, indeed, my dear Henrietta, I have given strict orders not to bring you up any thing to eat.  Why should you indulge such fancies?  I ask you.  Are you unwell?  If you are, we will send for the doctor.  If not, you will do me the favor to come down and take your meals in the dining-room with the family,—­with the countess and myself, M. Elgin and Mrs. Brian.”

“But, father!”

“There is no father who could stand this.  The time of weakness is past, and so is the time of passion; therefore, you will come down.  Oh! whenever you feel disposed.  You will, perhaps, pout a day, maybe two days; but hunger drives the wolf into the village; and on the third day we shall see you come down as soon as the bell rings.  I have in vain appealed to your heart; you see I am forced to appeal to your stomach.”