“Yes, it is better so. It is much better to leave Miss Brandon in
uncertainty. She cannot even suspect that her driving out this morning
has enlightened me. She thinks I am still in the dark; let her believe
it.”
Still this letter of hers seemed to prepare some new intrigue, which
troubled Daniel excessively. Miss Brandon was certain of achieving her
end; what more did she want? What other mysterious aim could she have in
view?
“Ah! I cannot make it out,” sighed Daniel. “I must consult Brevan.”
On his writing-table he found that important and urgent work which the
minister had intrusted to his hands still unfinished. But the minister,
the department, his position, his preferment,--all these considerations
weighed as nothing in comparison with his passion.
He went down, therefore; and, while his carriage drove to his friend’s
house, he thought of the surprise he would cause Maxime.
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”--