She trembled, and raised her head.

In the framework of the open door stood a man of mature age and of medium height, looking at her.

It was Papa Ravinet, who, after a long conversation with the concierge, and after some words with his amiable wife, had come up to inquire after his patient.  She guessed at it, rather than she knew; for, although she lived in the same house with him, she was not in the same part of the building, and she scarcely recollected having caught a glimpse of him now and then in crossing the yard.

“That,” she thought, “is the man who plots my ruin, the wretch whom I am to avoid.”

Now, it is true that this man, with his mournful face, his huge, brushlike eyebrows, and his small, yellow eyes, startling by their incessant activity, had for the observer something enigmatical about him, and therefore did not inspire much confidence.

Nevertheless, Henrietta thanked him none the less heartily, although greatly embarrassed, for his readiness to help her, his kind care, and his generosity in providing every thing she wanted.

“Oh! you owe me no thanks,” he said.  “I have only done my duty, and that very imperfectly.”

And at once, in a rather grim manner, he began to tell her that what he had done was nothing in comparison with what he meant to do.  He had but too well guessed what had led Henrietta to attempt suicide; he had only to look around her room.  But he swore she should have nothing more to fear from want as long as he was there.

But, the more earnest and pressing the good man became in his protestations, the more Henrietta drew back within her usual reserve; her mind being filled with the prejudices instilled by Mrs. Chevassat.  Fortunately he was a clever man, the old dealer; and by means of not saying what might shock her, and by saying much that could not fail to touch her, he gradually regained his position.  He almost conquered her when he returned to her the letters she had written before making her dreadful preparations, and when she saw that they looked unhurt, and sealed as before.  Thus, when he left her, after half an hour’s diplomatic intercourse, he had obtained from the poor young girl the promise that she would not renew the attempt at her life, and that she would explain to him by what fatal combination of circumstances she had been reduced to such extreme suffering.

“You would not hesitate,” he said, “if you knew how easy it often is, by a little experience, to arrange the most difficult matters.”

Henrietta did not hesitate.  A thought which had occurred to her as soon as she found herself alone had brought her to this conclusion:  “If Papa Ravinet were really what Mrs. Chevassat says, that bad woman would not have warned me against him.  If she tries to keep me from accepting the old man’s assistance, she no doubt finds it to her advantage that I should do so.”

When she tried, after that, to examine as coolly as she could the probable consequences of her decision, she found enormous chances in her favor.  If Papa Ravinet was sincere, she might be enabled to wait for Daniel; if he was not sincere, what did she risk?  She who had not feared death itself need not fear any thing else.  Lucretia’s dagger will always protect a brave woman’s liberty.