“Let us run the risk.”

It was a burning hot afternoon, and Daniel had now been an invalid for seven weeks.  Lefloch raised him on his pillows, stowed him away, as he called it; and the surgeon handed him his letters.

Daniel uttered a cry of delight.

At the first glance he had recognized on three of the envelopes Henrietta’s handwriting.  He kissed them, and said,—­

“At last she writes!”

The shock was so violent, that the doctor was almost frightened.

“Be calm, my dear friend,” he said.  “Be calm!  Be a man, forsooth!”

But Daniel only smiled, and replied,—­

“Never mind me, doctor; you know joy is never dangerous; and nothing but joy can come to me from her who writes to me.  However, just see how calm I am!”

So calm, that he did not even take the time to see which was the oldest of his letters.

He opened one of them at haphazard, and read:—­

“Daniel, my dear Daniel, my only friend in this world, and my sole hope, how could you intrust me to such an infamous person?  How could you hand over your poor Henrietta to such a wretch?  This Maxime de Brevan, this scoundrel, whom you considered your friend, if you knew”—­

This was the long letter written by Henrietta the day after M. de Brevan had declared to her that he loved her, and that sooner or later, whether she chose or not, she should be his, giving her the choice between the horrors of starvation and the disgrace of becoming his wife.

As Daniel went on reading, a deadly pallor was spreading over his face, pale as it was already; his eyes grew unnaturally large; and big drops of perspiration trickled down his temples.  A nervous trembling seized him, so violent, that it made his teeth rattle; sobs rose from his chest; and a pinkish foam appeared on his discolored lips.  At last he reached the concluding lines,—­

“Now,” the young girl wrote, “since, probably, none of my letters have reached you, they must have been intercepted.  This one will reach you; for I am going to carry it to the post-office myself.  For God’s sake, Daniel, return!  Come back quick, if you wish to save, not your Henrietta’s honor, for I shall know how to die, but your Henrietta’s life!”

Then the surgeon and the sailor witnessed a frightful sight.

This man, who but just now had not been able to raise himself on his pillows; this unfortunate sufferer, who looked more like a skeleton than a human being; this wounded man, who had scarcely his breath left him,—­threw back his blankets, and rushed to the middle of the room, crying, with a terrible voice,—­

“My clothes, Lefloch, my clothes!”

The doctor had hastened forward to support him; but he pushed him aside with one arm, continuing,—­

“By the holy name of God, Lefloch, make haste!  Run to the harbor, wretch! there must be a steamer there.  I buy it.  Let it get up steam, instantly.  In an hour I must be on my way.”