Still Henrietta saw in it only a new insult; no suspicion entered her soul, and she replied in the most ironical tone,—­

“Then it was not you who sent that petition to the secretary of the navy?  It was not you who ordered and paid for that forged document which caused M. Champcey to be ordered abroad?”

“No; and I told him so myself, the day before he left, in his own room.”

Henrietta was stunned.  What?  This woman had gone to see Daniel?  Was this true?  It was not even plausible.

“In his room?” she repeated,—­“in his room?”

“Why, yes, in University Street.  I foresaw that trick which I could not prevent, and I wished to prevent it.  I had a thousand reasons for wishing ardently that he should remain in Paris.”

“A thousand reasons?  You?  Tell me only one!”

The countess courtesied, as if excusing herself for being forced to tell the truth against her inclination, and added simply,—­

“I love him!”

As if she had suddenly seen an abyss opening beneath her feet, Henrietta threw herself back, pale, trembling, her eyes starting from their sockets.

“You—–­love—­Daniel!” she stammered,—­“you love him!”

And, agitated by a nervous tremor, she said, laughing painfully,—­

“But he—­he?  Can you hope that he will ever love you?”

“Yes, any day I may wish for it.  And I shall wish it the day when he returns.”

Was she speaking seriously? or was the whole scene only a bit of cruel sport?  That is what Henrietta was asking herself, as far as she was able to control her thoughts; for she felt her head growing dizzy, and her thoughts rushed wildly through her mind.

“You love Daniel!” she repeated once more, “and yet you were married the very week after his departure!”

“Alas, yes!”

“And what was my father to you?  A magnificent prey, which you did not like to let escape,—­an easy dupe.  After all, you acknowledge it yourself, it was his fortune you wanted.  It was for his money’s sake that you married him,—­you, the young, marvellously-beautiful woman,—­the old man.”

A smile rose upon the lips of the countess, in which she appeared herself in all the deep treachery of her secret calculations.  She broke in, laughing ironically—­

“I?  I had coveted the fortune of this dear count, my husband?  You do not think of it, madam?  Have you so completely forgotten the zeal with which you heard me, only the other day, try to turn him from this enterprise in which he is about to embark all he possesses?”

Henrietta hardly knew whether she was awake or asleep.  Was she not, perhaps, under the influence of one of those hallucinations which fevers produce?

“And you dare tell me all these things, me, Count Ville-Handry’s own daughter, the daughter of your husband?”

“Why not?” asked the countess.

And, shrugging her shoulders, she added in a careless tone,—­