d in an accent of coldest,
bitterest irony,--

"Look at this, doctor. Here is the explanation of the strange ill luck
that has pursued me ever since I left France."

At a glance the doctor read Henrietta's warning, which came, alas! so
much too late.

"You ought to remember this, also, that M. de Brevan could not foresee
that the assassin he had hired would be caught."

This was an unexpected revelation; and Daniel was all attention.

"What?" he said. "The man who fired at me has been arrested?"

Lefloch was unable to restrain himself at this juncture, and replied,--

"I should say so, lieutenant, and by my hand, before his gun had cooled
off."

The doctor did not wait for the questions which he read in the eyes of
his patient. He said at once,--

"It is as Lefloch says, my dear lieutenant; and, if you have not been
told anything about it, it was because the slightest excitement would
become fatal. Yesterday's experience has only proved that too clearly.
Yes, the assassin is in jail."

"And his account is made up," growled the sailor.

But Daniel shrugged his shoulders, and said,--

"I do not want him punished, any more than the ball which hit me. That
wretched creature is a mere tool. But, doctor, you know who are the real
guilty ones."

"And justice shall be done, I swear!" broke in the old surgeon, who
looked upon the cause of his patient with as much interest as if it were
his own. "Our lucky star has sent us a lawyer who is no trifler, and
who, if I am not very much mistaken, would like very much to leave
Saigon with a loud blast of trumpets."

He remained buried in thought for a while, watching his patient out of
the corner of his eye, and then said suddenly,--

"Now I think of it, why could you not see the lawyer? He is all anxiety
to examine you. Consider, lieutenant, do you feel strong enough to see
him?"

"Let him come," cried Daniel, "let him come! Pray, doctor, go for him at
once!"

"I shall do my best, my dear Champcey. I will go at once, and leave you
to finish your correspondence."

He left the room with these words; and Daniel turned to the letters,
which were still lying on his bed. There were seven of them,--four from
the Countess Sarah, and three from Maxime. But what could they tell
him now? What did he care for the falsehoods and the calumnies they
contained? He ran over them, however.

Faithful to her system, Sarah wrote volumes; and from line to line, in
some way or other