But, now that he had proved this so amply, he very quickly asked for the letter, and read it.  Like the chief surgeon, he, also, was struck and amazed by the wickedness of M. de Brevan.

“But here is exactly what we want,” he exclaimed,—­“an irrefragable proof of complicity.  He would never have dared to abuse Miss Ville-Handry’s confidence in so infamous a manner, if he had not been persuaded, in fact been quite sure, that Lieut.  Champcey would never return to France.”

Then, after a few minutes’ reflection, he added,—­

“And yet I feel that there is something underneath still, which we do not see.  Why had they determined upon M. Champcey’s death even before he sailed?  What direct and pressing interest could M. de Brevan have in wishing him dead at that time?  Something must have happened between the two which we do not know.”

“What?”

“Ah! that is what I cannot conceive.  But remember what I say, doctor:  the future reserves some fearful mysteries yet to be revealed to us hereafter.”

The two men had been so entirely preoccupied with their thoughts, that they were unconscious of the flight of time; and they were not a little astonished, therefore, when they now noticed that the day was gone, and night was approaching.  The lawyer rose, and asked, returning Henrietta’s letter to the doctor,—­

“Is this the only one M. Champcey has received?”

“No; but it is the only one he has opened.”

“Would you object to handing me the others?”

The excellent doctor hesitated.

“I will hand them to you,” he said at last, “if you will assure me that the interests of justice require it.  But why not wait”—­

He did not dare say, “Why not wait for M. Champcey’s death?” but the lawyer understood him.

“I will wait,” he said.

While thus talking, they had reached the door.  They shook hands; and the chief surgeon, his heart fall of darkest presentiments, slowly made his way to the hospital.

A great surprise awaited him there.  Daniel, whom he had left in a desperate condition, almost dying,—­Daniel slept profoundly, sweetly.  His pale face had recovered its usual expression; and his respiration was free and regular.

“It is almost indescribable,” said the old doctor, whose experience was utterly at fault.  “I am an ass; and our science is a bubble.”

Turning to Lefloch, who had respectfully risen at his entrance, he asked,—­

“Since when has your master been sleeping in this way?”

“For an hour, commandant.”

“How did he fall asleep?”