"No. She shall never know how much I suffer!"

Ringing, then, for Clarissa, who had come back, she said,--

"Come, quick, dress me!"

And in less than five minutes she had arranged her beautiful hair, and
put on one of her most becoming dresses. While changing her dress, she
noticed the rustling of paper.

"Ah!" she said to herself, "my letter to Daniel. I had forgotten it."

Was it already too late to send it to M. de Brevan? Probably it was. But
why might she not try, at least? So she gave it to Clarissa, saying,--

"You will take a cab, and take this letter immediately to M. de Brevan,
Rue Laffitte, No. 62. If he is out, you will leave it, telling the
people to be sure to give it to him as soon as he comes in. You can find
some excuse, if they should ask you why you are going out. Be discreet."

She herself went down stairs, so determined to conceal her emotion, that
she actually had a smile on her lips as she entered the dining-room.
The fever that devoured her gave to her features unwonted animation,
and to her eyes a strange brilliancy. Her beauty, ordinarily a little
impaired, shone forth once more in amazing splendor, so as to eclipse
almost that of the countess.

Even Count Ville-Handry was struck by it, and exclaimed, glancing at his
young wife,--

"Oh, oh!"

Otherwise, this was the only notice which was taken of Henrietta. After
that, no one seemed to mind her presence, except M. Elgin, whose eye
softened whenever he looked at her. But what was that to her? Affecting
a composure which she was far from possessing, she made an effort to
eat, when a servant entered, and very respectfully whispered a few words
in the ear of the countess.

"Very well," she said; "I'll be there directly."

And, without vouchsafing an explanation, she left the table, and
remained perhaps ten minutes away.

"What was it?" asked Count Ville-Handry, with an accent of tenderest
interest, when his young wife reappeared.

"Nothing, my dear," she replied, as she took her seat again,--"nothing,
some orders to give."

Still Henrietta thought she noticed under this apparent indifference of
her step-mother an expression of cruel satisfaction. More than that, she
fancied she saw the countess and Mrs. Brian rapidly exchange looks, one
saying, "Well," and the other answering, "All right."

The poor girl, prejudiced as she was, felt as if she had been stabbed
once more to the heart.

"These wretches," she thought, "have prepa