Twenty-four hours after Daniel had thus left Count Ville-Handry’s
palace, pale and staggering, he had not yet entirely recovered from
this last blow. He had made a mortal enemy of the man whom it was his
greatest interest to manage; and this man, who of his own accord would
have parted with him only regretfully, had now turned him disgracefully
out of his house.
He could hardly account to himself for the way in which this had come
about. Nay, more; retracing step by step, his conduct during the last
few days, it appeared to him pitiful, absurd. And then all that had
happened seemed to have turned against him.
He accused Fate, that blind goddess, who is always blamed by those who
have not the courage to blame themselves. He was in this state of mind
when there came to him, to his great surprise, a letter from Henrietta.
Thus it was she who anticipated him, and who, sure that he would be
desperate, had the feminine delicacy to write to him almost cheerfully.
“Immediately after your departure, my dear Daniel, father ordered me up
stairs, and decided that I should stay there till I should become more
reasonable. I know I shall stay here a long time.”