When he arrived there, he found M. de Brevan standing in his shirt-sleeves before an immense marble table, covered all over with pots and bottles, with brushes, combs, and sponges, with pincers, polishers, and files, making his toilet.

If he expected Daniel, he had not expected him so soon; for his features assumed an expression which seemed to prohibit all confidential talk.  But Daniel saw nothing.  He shook hands with his friend, and, sinking heavily into a chair, he said,—­

“I went to Miss Brandon.  She has made me promise all she wanted.  I cannot imagine how it came about!”

“Let us hear,” said M. de Brevan.

Then, without hesitation, and with all the minutest details, Daniel told him how Miss Brandon had taken him into her little boudoir, and how she had exculpated herself from all complicity with Malgat by showing him the letters written by that wretched man.

“Strange letters!” he said, “which, if they are authentic”—­

M. de Brevan shrugged his shoulders.

“You were forewarned,” he said, “and you have promised all she wanted!  Do you not think she might have made you sign your own death-sentence?”

“But Kergrist?” said Daniel.  “Kergrist’s brother is her friend.”

“I dare say.  But do you imagine that brother is any cleverer than you are?”

Although he was by no means fully satisfied, Daniel went on, describing his amazement when Miss Brandon told him that she did not love Count Ville-Handry.

But Maxime burst out laughing, and interrupted him, saying with bitter irony,—­

“Of course!  And then she went on, telling you that she had never yet loved anybody, having vainly looked in the world for the man of whom she dreamed.  She painted to you the phoenix in such colors, that you had to say to yourself, ‘What does she mean?  That phoenix!  Why, she means me!’ That has tickled you prodigiously.  She has thrown herself at your feet; you have raised her up; she has fainted; she has sobbed like a distressed dove in your arms; you have lost your head.”

Daniel was overcome.  He stammered,—­

“How did you know?”

Maxime could not look him in the face; but his voice was as steady as ever when he replied, in a tone of bitterest sarcasm,—­

“I guess it.  Did I not tell you I knew Miss Brandon?  She has only one card in her hand; but that is enough; it always makes a trick.”

To have been deceived, and even to have been rendered ridiculous, is one of those misfortunes which we confess to ourselves, however painful the process may be; but to hear another person laugh at us after such a thing has happened is more than we can readily bear.  Daniel, therefore, did not conceal his impatience, and said rather dryly,—­

“If I have been the dupe of Miss Brandon, my dear Maxime, you see, at last, that I am so no longer.”

“Ah, ah!”

“No, not in the least.  And that, thanks to her; for she herself has destroyed my illusions.”