Maxime’s letter fortunately reassured him a little.  Maxime confirmed Sarah’s account, adding, moreover, that Miss Henrietta was very sad, but calm and resigned; and that her step-mother treated her with the greatest kindness.  The surprising part was, that Brevan did not say a word of the large amounts that had been intrusted to his care, nor of his method of selling the lands, nor of the price which he had obtained.

But Daniel did not notice this; all his thoughts were with Henrietta.

“Why should she not have written,” he thought, “when all the others found means to write?”

Overwhelmed with disappointment, he had sat down on a wooden bench in the embrasure of one of the windows in the hall where the letters were distributed.  Travelling across the vast distance which separated him from France, his thoughts were under the trees in the garden of the count’s palace.  He felt as if a powerful effort of his will would enable him to transport himself thither.  By the pale light of the moon he thought he could discern the dress of his beloved as she stole towards him between the old trees.

A friendly touch on the shoulder recalled him rudely to the real world.  Four or five officers from “The Conquest” were standing around him, gay, and free from cares, a hearty laugh on their lips.

“Well, my dear Champcey,” they said, “are you coming?”

“Where?”

“Why, to dinner!”

And as he looked at them with the air of a man who had just been roused, and has not had time to collect his thoughts, they went on,—­

“Well, to dinner.  It appears Saigon possesses an admirable French restaurant, where the cook, a Parisian, is simply a great artist.  Come, get up, and let us go.”

But Daniel was in a humor which made solitude irresistibly attractive.  He trembled at the idea of being torn from his melancholy reveries, of being compelled to take his part in conversation, to talk, to listen, to reply.

“I cannot dine with you to-day, my friends,” he said to his comrades.

“You are joking.”

“No, I am not.  I must return on board.”  Then only, the others were struck by the sad expression of his face; and, changing their tone, they asked him in the most affectionate manner,—­

“What is the matter, Champcey?  Have you heard of any misfortune, any death?”

“No.”

“You have had letters from France, I see.”

“They bring me nothing sad.  I was expecting news, and they have not come; that is all.”

“Oh! then you must come with us.”

“Do not force me; I would be a sorry companion.”

Still they insisted, as friends will insist who will not understand that others may not be equally tempted by what charms them; but nothing could induce Daniel to change his mind.  At the door of the government house he parted with his comrades, and went back, sad and solitary, towards the harbor.