She was aroused at length by a rap at her chamber-door.
She started, shuddering, to her feet, and spasm after spasm shook her galvanized frame, as she picked up her letter, found a match, drew it, set fire to the paper, threw it, blazing, down upon the marble hearth, and watched it until it was consumed to a little heap of light ashes.
"There! That can never fall into the Duke of Hereward's hands now!" she said with a bitter laugh.
Meanwhile the rapping continued.
"Well! well! well! well! Can't you be patient!" she exclaimed, very impatiently, as she tottered tremblingly across the room and opened the door.
Her dressing-maid, Mademoiselle Desiree, was there.
"Pardonnez moi, madame; but you ordered me to come to dress you for a drive at twelve. The clock has just struck, madame," said the girl deprecatingly.
Valerie put her hand to her head in a bewildered way, and stared at the speaker a full minute before she could recollect herself sufficiently to reply.
"Yes—yes—yes—yes—I believe so. You can come in."
The girl entered and stood waiting for orders. Receiving none, she ventured to inquire: