She entered into the parlor, and he came with her.  For about a minute they remained there alone, standing face to face,—­she trying to keep up her spirits, although blushing deeply; he, apparently so overcome, that he had lost the use of his voice.  At last, all of a sudden, and as if making a supreme effort, Sir Thorn began in a breathless voice to declare, that, according to Henrietta’s answer, he would be the happiest or the most unfortunate of mortals.  Touched by her innocence, and the persecutions to which she was exposed, he had at first pitied her, then, discovering in her daily more excellent qualities, unusual energy, coupled with all the charming bashfulness of a young girl, he had no longer been able to resist such marvellous attractions.

Henrietta, still mistress of herself, because she was convinced that M. Elgin was only playing a wretched farce, observed him as closely as she could, and, when he paused a moment, began,—­

“Believe me, sir”—­

But he interrupted her, saying with unusual vehemence,—­

“Oh!  I beseech you, madam, let me finish.  Many in my place would have spoken to your father; but I thought that would hardly be fair in your exceptional position.  Still I have reason to believe that Count Ville-Handry would look upon my proposals with favor.  But then he would probably have attempted to do violence to your feelings.  Now I wish to be indebted to you only, madam, deciding in full enjoyment of your liberty; for”—­

An expression of intense anxiety contracted the features of his usually so impassive face; and he added with great earnestness,—­

“Miss Henrietta, I am an honorable man; I love you.  Will you be my wife?”

By a stroke of instinctive genius, he had found the only argument, perhaps, that might have procured credit for his sincerity.

But what did that matter to Henrietta?  She began, saying,—­

“Believe me, sir.  I fully appreciate the honor you do me; but I am no longer free”—­

“I beseech you”—­

“Freely, and among all men, I have chosen M. Daniel Champcey.  My life is in his hands.”

He tottered as if he had received a heavy blow, and stammered with a half-extinct voice,—­

“Will you not leave me a glimpse of hope?”

“I would do wrong if I did so, sir, and I have never yet deceived any one.”

But the Hon. M. Elgin was not one of those men who despair easily, and give up.  He was not discouraged by a first failure; and he showed it very soon.  The very next day he became a changed man, as if Henrietta’s refusal had withered the very roots of his life.  In his carriage, his gestures, and his tone of voice, he betrayed the utmost dejection.  He looked as if he had grown taller and thinner.  A bitter smile curled on his lips; and his magnificent whiskers, usually so admirably kept, now hung down miserably on his chest.  And this intense melancholy grew and grew, till it became so evident to all the world, that people asked the countess,—­