eyes; but the whole expression of her countenance, due
north, confirmed the meaning he could no longer mistake in her words.

"Pardon me, madame," he said, rising. "I was not aware that the future
and the reputation of Monsieur de Sallenauve had become indifferent to
you. Only a moment ago, in your antechamber, when your servant hesitated
to take in my name, Mademoiselle, your daughter, as soon as she heard I
was the friend of Monsieur de Sallenauve, took my part warmly; and I
had the stupidity to suppose that such friendliness was the tone of the
family."

After this remark, which gave Madame de l'Estorade the full change for
her coin, Jacques Bricheteau bowed ceremoniously and was about to
leave the room, when a sudden contradiction of the countess's comedy of
indifference appeared in the person of Nais, who rushed in exclaiming
triumphantly,--

"Mamma, a letter from Monsieur de Sallenauve!"

The countess turned crimson.

"What do you mean by running in here like a crazy girl?" she said
sternly; "and how do you know that this letter is from the person you
mention?"

"Oh!" replied Nais, twisting the knife in the wound, "when he wrote you
those letters from Arcis-sur-Aube, I saw his handwriting."

"You are a silly, inquisitive little girl," said her mother, driven by
these aggravating circumstances quite outside of her usual habits of
indulgence. "Go to your room." Then she added to Jacques Bricheteau, who
lingered after the arrival of the letter,--

"Permit me, monsieur."

"It is for me, madame, to ask permission to remain until you have
read that letter. If _by chance_ Monsieur de Sallenauve gives you any
particulars about his journey, you will, perhaps, allow me to profit by
them."

"Monsieur de Sallenauve," said the countess, after reading the letter,
"requests me to inform my husband that he has gone to Hanwell, county of
Middlesex, England. You can address him there, monsieur, to the care of
Doctor Ellis."

Jacques Bricheteau made a second ceremonious bow and left the room.

"Nais has just given you a taste of her quality," said Madame de Camps;
"but you deserved it,--you really treated that poor man too harshly."

"I could not help it," replied Madame de l'Estorade; "the day began
wrong, and all the rest follows suit."

"Well, about the letter?"

"It is dreadful; read it yourself."

Madame,--I was able to overtake Lord Lewin, the Englishman of whom
I spoke to you, a few miles out of Pari