“And to think that chance alone has led me to meet this angel!”

A sudden start, involuntary on the part of Daniel, seemed to disturb him; for he resumed his speech, laying great stress upon his words,—­

“Yes, chance alone; and I can prove it to you.”

He settled down in his chair like a man who is going to speak for some length of time; and, in that emphatic manner which so well expressed the high opinion he had of himself, he continued,—­

“You know, my friend, how deeply I was affected by the death of the Countess Ville-Handry.  It is true she was not exactly the companion a statesman of my rank would have chosen.  Her whole capacity rarely rose beyond the effort to distinguish a ball-dress from a dinner-dress.  But she was a good woman, attentive, discreet, and devoted to me; an excellent manager, economical, and yet always sure to do honor to the high reputation of my house.”

Thus, in all sincerity, the count spoke of her who had literally made him, and who, for sixteen long years, had galvanized his empty head.

“In short,” he continued, “the loss of my wife so completely upset me, that I lost all taste for the occupations which had so far been dear to me; and I set about to find distractions elsewhere.  Soon after I had gotten into the habit of going frequently to my club, I fell in with M. Thomas Elgin, and, although we never became intimate, we always exchanged a friendly greeting, and occasionally a cigar.

“Sir Thorn, as they call him, is an excellent horseman, you know, and used to ride out every morning at an early hour; and as the physicians had recommended to me horseback exercise, and as I like it, because I excel in riding, as in every thing else, we often met in the Bois de Boulogne.  We wished each other good-day; and sometimes we galloped a little while side by side.  I am rather reserved; but Sir Thorn is even more so, and thus it did not seem that our acquaintance was ever to ripen into any thing better, till an accident brought us together.

“One morning we were returning slowly from a long ride, when Sir Thorn’s mare, a foolish brute, suddenly shied, and jumped so high, that he was thrown.  I jumped down instantly to help him up again; but he could not rise.  You know nothing ordinarily hurts these Americans.  But it seems, as we found out afterwards, that he had sprained an ankle, and dislocated a knee.  There was no one near the place; and I began to be seriously embarrassed, when fortunately two soldiers appeared.  I called to them, and sent one on my horse to the nearest hack-stand to bring a carriage.  As soon as it came, we raised the invalid, and put him in as well as we could; I got on the box to show the man the way to Sir Thorn’s house.  When we arrived there, I rang the bell, and told the servants to come down to their master.  They got him, with some difficulty, out of the hack; and there they were, carrying him painfully up the stairs, and he groaning feebly, for he suffered terribly.