“You forget, my dear friend, that this is, perhaps for many years, the
last time we shall ever be alone together. Let us think of the future.
I have secured the confidence of one of my waiting-women, and to her you
must direct your letters. Her name is Clarissa Pontois. If any grave and
unforeseen necessity should arise, and it becomes absolutely necessary
for me to see you, Clarissa will bring you the key of the little
garden-gate, and you will come.”
Both of them had their eyes filled with tears; and their hearts felt
increasing anguish as the hand on the dial advanced. They knew they
would have to part. Could they hope ever to meet again?
It struck four o’clock. Count Ville-Handry reappeared. Stung to the
quick by what he called the insulting remarks of his daughter, he
had stimulated the zeal of his valet; and that artist had evidently
surpassed himself in the arrangement of the hair, and especially in the
complexion.
“Well, Henrietta?” he asked.
“My decision remains unchanged, father.”
The count was probably prepared for this answer; for he succeeded in
controlling his fury.
“Once more, Henrietta,” he said, “consider! Do not decide rashly,
relying simply upon odious slanders.”
He drew from his pocket a photograph, looked at it lovingly, and,
handing it to his daughter, he added,--
“Here is Miss Brandon’s portrait. Look at it, and see if she to whom
God has given such a charming face, such sublime eyes, can have a bad
heart.”
For more than a minute Henrietta examined the likeness; and then,
returning it to her father, she said coldly,--
“This woman is beautiful beyond all conception. Now I can explain to
myself that new society of which you are going to be director-general.”
Count Ville-Handry turned pale under this “juncture,” and cried in a
terrible voice,--
“Unhappy child! Unhappy child! You dare insult an angel?”
Maddened with rage, he had lifted up his hand, and was about to strike
his daughter, when Daniel seized his wrist in his iron grasp, and
threateningly, as if he himself was about to strike, he said,--
“Ah, sir, have a care! have a care!”
The count cast upon him a look of concentrated hatred; but, regaining
his self-control, he freed himself, and, pointing at the door, he said
slowly,--
“M. Champcey, I order you to leave this house instantly; and I forbid
your ever coming back to it again. My servants will be informed, that,
if any one of them ever allows you to cross the threshold of this house,
he will be instantly dismissed. Go, sir!”