But Count Ville-Handry’s only daughter—­the heiress of many millions, brought up, so to say, in a hothouse, according to the stupid custom of modern society—­knew nothing at all of life, of its bitter realities, its struggles, and its sufferings.  She had nothing but courage.

“That is enough,” she said to herself.  “What we will do, we can do.”

Thus resolved to seek aid from no one, she set to work examining her condition and her resources.

As to objects of any value, she owned the cashmere which she had wrapped around her when she fled, the dressing-case in her mother’s travelling-bag, a brooch, a watch, a pair of pretty ear-rings, and, lastly, two rings, which by some lucky accident she had forgotten to take off, one of which was of considerable value.  All this, she thought, must have cost, at least, eight or nine thousand francs; but for how much would it sell? since she was resolved to sell it.  This was the question on which her whole future depended.

But how could she dispose of these things?  She wanted to have it all settled, so as to get rid of this sense of uncertainty; she wanted, especially, to pay for the scanty, wretched furniture in her chamber.  Whom could she ask to help her?  For nothing in the world would she have confided in Mrs. Chevassat; for her instincts told her, that, if she once let that terrible woman see what were her necessities, she would be bound hand and foot to her.  She was thinking it out, when the idea of the pawnbroker occurred to her.  She had heard such men spoken of; but she only knew that they kept places where poor people could get money upon depositing a pledge.

“That is the place I must go to,” Henrietta said to herself.

But how was she to find one?

“Well, I’ll find it some way,” she said.

So she went down, to Mrs. Chevassat’s great astonishment, but without answering her questions, where she was going to in such a hurry.

Having turned at the first corner, she went on at haphazard, walking quite rapidly, and not minding the passers-by, entirely occupied in looking at the houses and the sign-boards.  But for more than an hour she wandered thus through all the small streets and alleys in those suburbs; she found nothing, and it was getting dark.

“And still I won’t go home till I have found it,” she said to herself wrathfully.

This resolution gave her courage to go up to a policeman, and, crimson like a poppy, to ask him,—­

“Will you be so kind, sir, as to tell me a pawnbroker’s shop?”

The man looked with pity at the young girl, whose whole person exhaled a perfume of distinction and of candor, asking himself, perhaps, what terrible misfortune could have reduced a lady like her to such a step; then he answered with a sigh,—­

“There, madam, at the corner of the first street on the right, you will find a loan office.”

“Loan office?” These words suggested to Henrietta no clear idea.  But it mattered not.  She went on in feverish haste, recognized the house that had been pointed out to her, went up stairs, and, pushing open a door, found herself in a large room, where some twenty people were standing about, waiting.