“A good idea! And from your convent you would at once write to everybody
and everywhere, that my wife had turned you out of the house; that you
had been obliged to escape from threats and bad treatment; you would
repeat all the well-known elegies of the innocent young girl who is
persecuted by a wicked stepmother. Not so, my dear, not so!”
The breakfast-bell, which was ringing below, interrupted him.
“You hear, Henrietta,” he said. “Consult your stomach; and, according to
what it tells you, come down, or stay here.”
He went out, manifestly quite proud at having performed what he called
an act of paternal authority, without vouchsafing a glance at his
daughter, who had sunk back upon a chair; for she felt overcome, the
poor child! by all the agony of her pride. It was all over: she could
struggle no longer. People who would not shrink from such extreme
measures in order to overcome her might resort to the last extremities.
Whatever she could do, sooner or later she would have to succumb.
Hence--why might she not as well give way at once? She saw clearly,
that, the longer she postponed it, the sweeter would be the victory to
the countess, and the more painful would be the sacrifice to herself.
Arming herself, therefore, with all her energy, she went down into the
dining-room, where the others were already at table.
She had imagined that her appearance would be greeted by some insulting
remark. Not at all. They seemed hardly to notice her. The countess, who
had been talking, paused to say, “Good-morning, madam!” and then went on
without betraying in her voice the slightest emotion.
Henrietta had even to acknowledge that they had been considerate. Her
plate had not been put by her mother-in-law. A seat had been kept for
her between Mrs. Brian and M. Elgin. She sat down, and, while eating,
watched stealthily, and with all her powers of observation, these
strangers who were henceforth the masters of her destiny, and whom she
now saw for the first time; for yesterday she had hardly perceived them.
She was at once struck, painfully struck, with the dazzling, marvellous
beauty of Countess Sarah, although she had been shown her photograph by
her father, and ought thus to have been prepared. It was evident that
the young countess had barely taken time to put on a wrapper before
coming down to breakfast. Her complexion was more animated than usually.
She exhibited all the touching confusion of a young bride, and was
constantly more or less embarrassed.
Henrietta comprehended but too well the influence such a woman was
likely to have over an old man who had fallen in love with her. It made
her tremble. But grim Mrs. Brian appeared to her hardly less formidable.
She could read nothing in her dull, heavy eye but cold wickedness;
nothing in her lean, yellow face but an implacable will; all the
wrinkles seemed to be permanently graven in wax.
She thought, after all, the least to be feared was tall, stiff M.
Thomas Elgin. Seated by her, he had shown her discreetly some little
attentions; and, when she observed him more closely, she discovered in
his eyes something like commiseration.
“And yet,” she thought, “it was against him that M. de Brevan warned me
particularly.”
But breakfast was over. Henrietta rose, and having bowed, without saying
a word, was going back to her room when she met on the stairs some
of the servants, who were carrying a heavy wardrobe. Upon inquiry she
learned that, as Sir Thorn and Mrs. Brian were hereafter to live in the
palace, they were bringing up their furniture.
She shook her head sadly; but in her rooms a greater surprise was
awaiting her. Three servants were hard at work taking down her
furniture, under the direction of M. Ernest, the count’s valet.
“What are you doing there?” she asked, and “Who has permitted you?”
“We are only obeying the orders of the count, your father,” replied M.
Ernest. “We are getting your rooms ready for Madam Brian.”