Both of them had their eyes filled with tears; and their hearts felt increasing anguish as the hand on the dial advanced. They knew they would have to part. Could they hope ever to meet again?
It struck four o’clock. Count Ville-Handry reappeared. Stung to the quick by what he called the insulting remarks of his daughter, he had stimulated the zeal of his valet; and that artist had evidently surpassed himself in the arrangement of the hair, and especially in the complexion.
“Well, Henrietta?” he asked.
“My decision remains unchanged, father.”
The count was probably prepared for this answer; for he succeeded in controlling his fury.
“Once more, Henrietta,” he said, “consider! Do not decide rashly, relying simply upon odious slanders.”
He drew from his pocket a photograph, looked at it lovingly, and, handing it to his daughter, he added,—
“Here is Miss Brandon’s portrait. Look at it, and see if she to whom God has given such a charming face, such sublime eyes, can have a bad heart.”
For more than a minute Henrietta examined the likeness; and then, returning it to her father, she said coldly,—
“This woman is beautiful beyond all conception. Now I can explain to myself that new society of which you are going to be director-general.”