And, after having affectionately shaken hands with Maxime, he hurried down to his carriage and drove as fast as he could to Count Ville-Handry’s palace.  The count was at home and alone, walking up and down in the most excited manner.  And certainly he had enough to excite and preoccupy him just now.  It was nearly noon; and he had not yet been in the hands of his valet.  When he saw Daniel, he paused for a moment, and, crossing his arms on his breast, he said, in a terrible tone,—­

“Ah! here you are, M. Champcey.  Well, you are doing nice things!”

“I, count?  How so?”

“How so?  Who else has overwhelmed poor Miss Sarah with insults at the very time when she was trying to explain every thing to you?  Who else, ashamed of his scandalous conduct, has run away, never daring to reappear at her house?”

What had the count been told?  Certainly not the truth.  He went on,—­

“And do you know, M. Champcey, what has been the effect of your brutality?  Miss Brandon has been seized with such a terrible nervous attack, that they had to send the carriage for a doctor.  You unlucky man, you might have killed her!  They would, of course, never have allowed me to enter her own room; but from the reception-room I could at times hear her painful cries and sobs.  It was only after eight o’clock this morning that she could get any rest; and then Mrs. Brian, taking pity on my great grief, granted me the favor to see her, sleeping like an infant.”

Daniel listened, stupefied by amazement, utterly confounded by the impudence of Sir Thorn and Mrs. Brian, and hardly able to understand the count’s astonishing credulity.  He thought to himself,—­

“This is abominable!  Here I am an accomplice of this Miss Brandon.  Must I actually aid her in obtaining possession of this unlucky man?”

But what could he do?  Should he speak?  Should he tell Count Ville-Handry, that if he really heard cries of pain, and sobs, they were certainly not uttered by Miss Brandon?  Should he tell him, that, while he was dying with anxiety, his beloved was driving about Paris, Heaven knows where and with whom.

The thought of doing so occurred to Daniel.  But what would have been the good of it?  Would the count believe him?  Most probably not.  And thus he would only add new difficulties to his position, which was already complicated enough.  Finally, he saw very, clearly that he would never dare tell the whole truth, or show that letter which he had in his pocket.  Still he tried to excuse himself, and began,—­

“I am too much of a gentleman to insult a woman.”

The count interrupted him rudely, saying,—­

“Spare me, I pray, a rigmarole which cannot affect me.  Besides, I do not blame you particularly.  I know the heart of man too well not to be sure, that, in acting thus, you have followed much less the inspirations of your own heart than the suggestions made by my daughter.”