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Updated: May 4, 2025
She was carried to her bed; and in less than ten minutes she was dead: she had never uttered another word. Henrietta and Mrs. Bertolle were kneeling by the side of the bed, and the count was sobbing in a corner of the room, when a police-sergeant entered. "The woman Brian is not to be found," he said; "but M. Elgin has been arrested. Where is the Countess Ville-Handry?"
We ought, therefore, in prudence, comply with his wishes." They agreed, therefore, at once on their arrangements; and the next day Mrs. Bertolle went out to purchase whatever might be necessary, ready-made dresses for Henrietta, shoes, and linen.
"And he rushed out, pursued by the insulting laugh of the wretches." Amazed at the inconceivable boldness of this atrocious plot, Daniel and Henrietta were shuddering with horror. As to Mrs. Bertolle, she had sunk into a chair, trembling in all her limbs. The old gentleman, however, continued with evident haste, "Whether Malgat did, or did not, commit suicide, he was never heard of again.
"Is anything the matter, sir?" He did not make any reply; but his sister, Mrs. Bertolle, said, "No, there is nothing the matter with my brother;" and she looked at him with a nod of encouragement. "I am all right," he said, like an echo. Then, making a great effort, he continued,
Bertolle, my dearly beloved sister Mary, a widow, and a saint, who has devoted herself to her brother, and who has sacrificed to him every thing, her fortune, her peace, and her life." Ah! there was no mistaking the look with which the old man caressed the old lady: he worshipped her. But she interrupted him, as if embarrassed by his praise, saying,
Wait till my sister has made sure that there is nobody watching you." Mrs. Bertolle at once went out; but she noticed nothing suspicious, and found all the passages silent and deserted. The spy had probably gone to make his report to his employers.
He showed his weariness in his face; and his voice very nearly gave out. Still it was in vain for Daniel, Henrietta, and Mrs. Bertolle herself to unite in begging him to go and lie down for a few moments. "No," he replied, "I will go to the end. You do not know how important it is that M. Champcey should be in a position to act to-morrow, or rather to-day.
Ill-bred and coarse in Water Street, amid the thousand articles of his trade, he became a very different man as soon as he reached his sister's house. As to the Widow Bertolle, she was evidently a woman of superior intellect and education. How had they both been reduced to this more than modest condition? By reverses of fortune. That accounts for everything, but explains nothing.
I also know that my friend, the proud nobleman, Maxime de Brevan, who has been received in the most aristocratic salons of Paris, has been a galley-slave, condemned for forgery." Henrietta had risen, filled with terror. "Then," she stammered, "this wretched man was" "Chevassat's son; yes, madam," replied Mrs. Bertolle. "Oh!" exclaimed the poor girl, "oh!"
"You need not fear anything, Miss Henrietta; we are not going away from M. Champcey, very far from it. Here, you see, he could not have come twice without betraying the secret of your existence." "But where are we going?" asked Mrs. Bertolle. "To the Hotel du Louvre, dear sister, where you will take rooms for Mrs. and Miss Bertolle. Be calm; my plans are laid."
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