Daniel had been thoughtful.

“What you tell me,” he answered, “I was told before by M. de Brevan.”

The old gentleman did not seem to hear him, so intensely did he apply all the faculties of his mind to the problem before him.

“Still,” he continued, “there is no doubt about the manner in which Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, was employed.  Could Brevan have done so without Sarah’s knowledge, and perhaps even contrary to her wishes?”

“That is quite possible; but then why should he have done so?”

“To secure to himself the fortune which M. Champcey had so imprudently intrusted to him,” said Henrietta.

But Papa Ravinet shook his head, looking very wise, and said,—­

“That is one explanation.  I do not say no to it; but it is not the true one yet.  Murder is so dangerous an expedient, that even the boldest criminals only resort to it in the last extremity, and generally very much against their inclination.  Could not Brevan have possessed himself of M. Champcey’s property without a murder?  Of course, he could.

“Then we must look for another motive.  You may say, it was fear which drove him to it.  No; for at the time when he engaged Crochard, he could not foresee the atrocious outrages of which he would have become guilty during the succeeding year.  Believe my experience; I discern in the whole affair a hurry and an awkwardness which betray a passion, a violent hatred, or, perhaps”—­

He stopped suddenly, and seemed to reflect and deliberate, while he was mechanically stroking his chin.  Then all of a sudden, looking strangely at Daniel, he asked him,—­

“Could the Countess Sarah be in love with you, M. Champcey?”

Daniel’s face turned crimson.  He had not forgotten that fatal evening, when, in the house in Circus Street, he had held Sarah Brandon in his arms; and the intoxicating delirium of that moment had left in his heart a bitter and undying pang of remorse.  He had never dared confess to Henrietta that Sarah had actually come to his rooms alone.  And even to-night, while giving very fully all the details of his passage out, and his residence in Saigon, he had not said a word of the letters which had been addressed to him by the countess.

“Sarah Brandon in love with me?” he stammered.  “What an idea!”

But he could not tell a falsehood; and Henrietta would not have been a woman, if she had not noticed his embarrassment.

“Why not?” she asked.

And, looking fixedly at Daniel, she went on,—­

“That wretched woman impudently boasted to my face that she loved you; more than that, she swore that you, also, had loved her, and were still in love with her.  She laughed at me contemptuously, telling me that she had it in her power to make you do anything she chose, and offering to show me your letters”—­

She paused a moment, turned her head aside, and said with a visible effort,—­