And by a kind of miracle of energy, she went out of the room calmly, her head on high; without having shed a tear.

But God knew what she suffered.

To give up those little rooms in which she had spent so many happy hours, where every thing recalled to her sweet memories, certainly that was no small grief:  it was nothing however, in comparison with that frightful perspective of having to live under the wary eye of Countess Sarah, under lock and key.

They would not even leave her at liberty to weep.  Her intolerable sufferings would not extort a sigh from her that the countess did not hear on the other side of the partition, and delight in.

She was thus harassing herself, when she suddenly remembered the letter which she had written to Daniel.  If M. de Brevan was to have it that same day, there was not a moment to lose.  Already it was too late for the mail; and she would have to send it by a commissionaire.

She rang the bell, therefore, for Clarissa, her confidante, for the purpose of sending it to the Rue Laffitte.  But, instead of Clarissa, one of the housemaids appeared, and said,—­

“Your own maid is not in the house.  Mrs. Brian has sent her to Circus Street.  If I can do any thing for you”—­

“No, I thank you!” replied Henrietta.

It seemed, then, that she counted for nothing any more in the house.  She was not allowed to eat in her rooms; she was turned out of her own rooms; and the maid, long attached to her service, was taken from her.  And here she was forced to submit to such humiliations without a chance of rebelling.

But time was passing; and every minute made it more difficult to let M. de Brevan have her letter in time for the mail.

“Well,” said Henrietta to herself, “I will carry it myself.”

And although she had, perhaps, in all her life not been more than twice alone in the street, she put on her bonnet, wrapped herself up in a cloak, and went down swiftly.

The concierge, a large man, very proud of his richly laced livery, was sitting before the little pavilion in which he lived, smoking, and reading his paper.

“Open the gates!” said Henrietta.

But the man, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, without even getting up from his seat, answered in a surly tone,—­

“The count has sent me orders never to let you go out without a verbal or written permission; so that”—­

“Impudence!” exclaimed Henrietta.

And resolutely she went up to the ponderous gates of the court-yard, stretching out her hand to pull the bolt.  But the man, divining her intention, and quicker than she, had rushed up to the gate, and, crying out as loud as he could, he exclaimed,—­

“Miss, miss!  Stop!  I have my orders, and I shall lose my place.”

At his cries a dozen servants who were standing idly about in the stables, the vestibule, and the inner court, came running up.  Then Sir Thorn appeared, ready to go out on horseback, and finally the count himself.