He had been leaning against the mantlepiece, close to Mrs. Bertolle, who sat there silent and immovable; and now he raised his head, and, looking attentively at Henrietta and Daniel by turns, he added,—­

“Perhaps you are both not exactly conscious of the position in which you stand.  Having been reunited to-night, after such terrible trials, and having, both of you, escaped, almost by a miracle, from death, you feel, no doubt, as if all trouble was at an end, and the future was yours.  I must undeceive you.  You are precisely where you were the day before M. Champcey left France.  You cannot any more now than at that time marry without Count Ville-Handry’s consent.  Will he give it?  You know very well that the Countess Sarah will not let him.  Will you defy prejudices, and proudly avow your love?  Ah, have a care!  If you sin against social conventionalities, you risk your whole happiness of life.  Will you hide yourself, on the other hand?  However careful you may be, the world will find you out; and fools and hypocrites will overwhelm you with slander.  And Miss Henrietta has been too much calumniated already.”

To soar in the azure air, and suddenly to fall back into the mud on earth; to indulge in the sweetest of dreams, and all at once to be recalled to stern reality,—­this is what Daniel and Henrietta endured at that moment.  The calm, collected voice of the old dealer sounded cruel to them.  Still he was but a sincere friend, who did his painful duty in awakening them from such deceptive illusions.

“Now,” he went on, “mind that I take everything at the best; and even suppose the case, that Count Ville-Handry leaves his daughter free to choose:  would that be enough?  Evidently not; for the moment Sarah Brandon hears that Miss Henrietta has not committed suicide, but is, instead, at the Hotel du Louvre, within easy reach of M. Daniel Champcey, she will prevail on her husband to shut his daughter up in a convent.  For another year, Miss Henrietta is yet under paternal control; that is, in this case, at the mercy of a revengeful step-mother, who looks upon her as a successful rival.”

At this idea, that Henrietta might be once more taken from him, Daniel felt his blood chill off in his veins; and he exclaimed,—­

“Ah, and I never dreamed of any of these things!  I was mad!  Joy had blinded my eyes completely.”

But the old gentleman beckoned to him to say nothing, and with an almost imperious gesture went on,—­

“Oh, wait!  I have not yet shown you the most urgent danger:  Count Ville-Handry, who, when you knew him, had, I know not how many millions, is completely ruined.  Of all he once owned, of his lands, forests, castles, deeds, and bonds, there is nothing left.  His last cent, his last rod of land, has been taken from him.  You left him living like a prince in his forefathers’ palace:  you will find him vegetating in the fourth story of a lodging-house.  You know, that, being poor, he