“Sir Thorn and Mrs. Brian found out in a few days how well they had been served by their instincts in taking hold of Sarah.  In less than six months, this wonderful girl, whose education they had undertaken, spoke English as well as they did, and had become their master, controlling them by the very superiority of her wickedness.  From the day on which Mrs. Brian explained to her the part she was expected to play, she had assumed it so naturally and so perfectly, that all traces of art disappeared at once.  She had instinctively appreciated the immense advantage she would derive from personifying a young American girl, and the irresistible effect she might easily produce by her freedom of movement and her bold ingenuousness.  Finally, at the end of eighteen months’ residence in America, M. Elgin declared that the moment had come when Sarah might appear on the stage.

“It was, therefore, twenty-eight months after their parting in Homburg, that M. de Brevan received, one morning, the following note:—­

“’Come to-night, at nine o’clock, to M. Thomas Elgin’s house in Circus Street, and be prepared for a surprise.’

“He went there.  A tall man opened the door of the sitting-room; and, at the sight of a young lady who sat before the fire, he could not help exclaiming, ‘Ernestine, is that you?’

“But she interrupted him at once, saying, ’You are mistaken:  Ernestine Bergot is dead, and buried by the side of Justin Chevassat, my dear M. de Brevan.  Come, lay aside that amazed air, and kiss Miss Sarah Brandon’s hand.’

“It was heaven opening for Maxime.  She had at last come back to him,—­this woman, who had come across his life like a tempest, and whose memory he had retained in his heart, as a dagger remains in the wound it has made.  She had come back, more beautiful than ever, irresistible in her matchless charms; and he fancied it was love which had brought her back.

“His vanity led him astray.  Sarah Brandon had long since ceased to admire him.  Familiar as she was with the life of adventurers in high life, she had soon learned to appreciate M. de Brevan at his just value.  She saw him now as he really was,—­timid, overcautious, petty, incapable of conceiving bold combinations, scarcely good enough for the smallest of plots, ridiculous, in fine, as all needy scamps are.

“Nevertheless, Sarah wanted him, although she despised him.  On the point of entering upon a most dangerous game, she felt the necessity of having one accomplice, at least, in whom she could trust blindly.  She had, to be sure, Mrs. Brian and Sir Thorn, as he began to be called now; but she mistrusted them.  They held her, and she had no hold on them.  On the other hand, Maxime de Brevan was entirely hers, dependent on her pleasure, as the lump of clay in the hands of the sculptor.