“Ah! you ask too many questions,” he said at last.  “It was not my duty to watch over M. Maxime.  As for Miss Henrietta, as soon as she is able to move, the serpent!  I tell you I’ll send her off pretty quickly!”

The old merchant shook his head, and said in his softest voice,—­

“My dear sir, you won’t do that, because from today I’ll pay the rent for her room.  And, more than that, if you wish to oblige me, you will be very kind to the poor girl, you hear, and even respectful, if you please.”

There was no misunderstanding the meaning of the word “oblige,” from the manner in which he pronounced it; and yet he was about to enforce the recommendation, when a fretting voice exclaimed on the stairs,—­

“Chevassat! where are you, Chevassat?”

“It’s my wife,” said the concierge.

And, delighted to get away, he said to Papa Ravinet—­

“I understand; she shall be treated as politely as if she were the daughter of the owner of the house.  But excuse me, I must attend to the door; they call me, and I must go down stairs.”

He slipped out without waiting for an answer, and utterly unable to guess why the old merchant should take such a sudden interest in the lodger on the fifth floor.

“The rascal!” said Papa Ravinet to himself,—­“the rascal!”

But he had found out what he wanted to know.  He was alone, and he knew he had no time to lose.

Quickly he drew the teakettle from the fire; and, pulling out Miss Henrietta’s two letters, he held the one that was addressed to M. Maxime de Brevan over the steam of the boiling water.  In a moment the mucilage of the envelope was dissolved, and the letter could easily be opened without showing in any way that it had ever been broken open.  And now the old man read the following words:—­

“You are victorious, M. de Brevan.  When you read this, I shall be no longer alive.

“You may raise your head again; you are relieved of all fears.  Daniel can come back.  I shall carry the secret of your infamy and your cowardice into the grave with me.

“And yet, no!

“I can pardon you, having but a few moments longer to live; but God will not pardon you.  I—­I shall be avenged.  And, if it should require a miracle, that miracle will be done, so as to inform that honorable man who thought you were his friend, how and why the poor girl died whom he had intrusted to your honor.  H.”

The old man was furious.

“The honor of Maxime de Brevan!” he growled with a voice of intense hatred,—­“the honor of Maxime de Brevan!”

But his terrible excitement did not keep him from manipulating the other letter, addressed to Count Ville-Handry, in the same manner.  The operation was successful; and, without the slightest hesitation, he read:—­

“Dear father,—­Broken down with anxiety, and faint from exhaustion, I have waited till this morning for an answer to my humble letter, which I had written to you on my knees.