“Could the Countess Sarah be in love with you, M. Champcey?”
Daniel’s face turned crimson. He had not forgotten that fatal evening, when, in the house in Circus Street, he had held Sarah Brandon in his arms; and the intoxicating delirium of that moment had left in his heart a bitter and undying pang of remorse. He had never dared confess to Henrietta that Sarah had actually come to his rooms alone. And even to-night, while giving very fully all the details of his passage out, and his residence in Saigon, he had not said a word of the letters which had been addressed to him by the countess.
“Sarah Brandon in love with me?” he stammered. “What an idea!”
But he could not tell a falsehood; and Henrietta would not have been a woman, if she had not noticed his embarrassment.
“Why not?” she asked.
And, looking fixedly at Daniel, she went on,—
“That wretched woman impudently boasted to my face that she loved you; more than that, she swore that you, also, had loved her, and were still in love with her. She laughed at me contemptuously, telling me that she had it in her power to make you do anything she chose, and offering to show me your letters”—
She paused a moment, turned her head aside, and said with a visible effort,—
“Finally, M. Thomas Elgin assured me that Sarah Brandon had been your mistress, and that the marriage with my father took place only in consequence of a quarrel between you.”
Daniel had listened to her, trembling with indignation. He now cried out,—