“We have the whole matter in our hands now.  But there is not a minute to lose.  Do you go back to the hotel, and wait for me there.  I must go to the court.”

At the hotel Daniel found Henrietta dying with anxiety.  Still she only asked after her father.  Was it pride, or was it prudence?  She did not mention Sarah’s name.  They had, however, not much time for conversation.  Papa Ravinet came back sooner than they expected, all busy and excited.  He drew Daniel aside to give him his last directions, and did not leave him till midnight, when he went away, saying,—­

“The ground is burning under our feet; be punctual to-morrow.”

At the precise hour Daniel presented himself in Peletier Street, where the count received him with a delighted air.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “you come just in time.  Brian is away; Sir Thorn is out on business; and I shall have to leave you directly after breakfast.  You must keep the countess company.  Come, Sarah, let us have breakfast.”

It was an ill-omened breakfast.

Under the thick layers of rouge, the count showed his livid pallor; and every moment nervous tremblings shook him from head to foot.  The countess affected childish happiness; but her sharp and sudden movements betrayed the storm that was raging in her heart.  Daniel noticed that she incessantly filled the count’s glass,—­a strong wine it was too,—­and that, in order to make him take more, she drank herself an unusual quantity.

It struck twelve, and Count Ville-Handry got up.

“Well,” he said with the air and the voice of a man who braces himself to mount the scaffold, “it must be done; they are waiting for me.”

And, after having kissed his wife with passionate tenderness, he shook hands with Daniel, and went out hurriedly.

Crimson and breathless, Sarah also had risen, and was listening attentively.  And, when she was quite sure that the count had gone downstairs, she said,—­

“Now, Daniel, look at me!  Need I tell you who the woman is whom I have chosen for you?  It is—­the Countess Ville-Handry.”

He shook and trembled; but he controlled himself by a supreme effort, and calmly smiling, in a half tender, half ironical tone, he replied,—­

“Why, oh, why! do you speak to me of unattainable happiness?  Are you not married?”

“I may be a widow.”

These words from her lips had a fearful meaning.  But Daniel was prepared for them, and said,—­

“To be sure you may.  But, unfortunately, you, also, are ruined.  You are as poor as I am; and we are too clever to think of joining poverty to poverty.”

She looked at him with a strange, sinister smile.  She was evidently hesitating.  A last ray of reason lighted up the abyss at her feet.  But she was drunk with pride and passion; she had taken a good deal of wine; and her usually cool head was in a state of delirium.

“And if I were not ruined?” she said at last in a hoarse voice; “what would you say then?”