“And yet, Henrietta,” here broke in Daniel, “I had handed that man all my money to be placed at your disposal in case of any accident.”
“What!” exclaimed the old dealer, “you had”—
He did not finish, but looked at the young officer with an utterly amazed air, as if he were an improbable phenomenon, never seen before.
Daniel shook his head sadly.
“Yes,” he said, “I know it was an insane thing. But it was less insane than to intrust my betrothed to his care. I believed in the friendship of that man.”
“And besides,” remarked Mrs. Bertolle, “how could you suppose such atrocious treachery? There are crimes which honest hearts never even conceive.”
Henrietta continued, describing her sensations when she found herself for the first time in her life harassed by want, destitution, hunger. But, when she came to the disgusting ill-treatment she received at the hands of the concierge’s wife, Daniel cried out,—
“Stop!”
And, fearfully excited, he asked her,—
“Did I hear right? Did you say the concierge of that house in Water Street, and his wife, were called Chevassat?”