Sacrificed, however, she really had been; for never did woman suffer what the countess endured from the day on which her lover’s suicide added bitter remorse to all her former grief. What would have become of her, if her child had not bound her to life! But she resolved to live; she felt that she was bound to live for Henrietta’s sake.
Thus she struggled on quite alone, for she had not a soul in whom she could confide, when one afternoon, as she was going down stairs, a servant came to tell her that there was a young man in naval uniform below, who desired to have the honor of waiting upon her.
The servant handed her his card; she took it, and read,—
“Daniel Champcey.”
It was Daniel, Peter’s brother. Pale as death, the countess turned as if to escape.
“What must I say?” asked the servant, rather surprised at the emotion shown by his mistress.
The poor woman felt as if she was going to faint.
“Show him up,” she replied in a scarcely audible voice,—“show him up.”
When she looked up again, there stood before her a young man, twenty- three or twenty-four years old, with a frank and open face, and clear, bright eyes, beaming with intelligence and energy.
The countess pointed at a chair near her; for she could not have uttered a word to save her daughter’s life.