"Admit him." In a few moments Bahuchet bowed to the floor before the count. On recognizing the little clerk, his messenger to Valentine, Léodgard was conscious of a thrill of emotion; memories of the past awoke in his heart; and he put Blanche on the floor, saying: "Go, my child, go to your mother; you may come back to me later." "Yes, papa!--Oh! what an awfully ugly man!" And the little girl left the room, taking care to avoid Bahuchet, whose presence seemed almost to terrify her. "So it is you, messenger of disaster!" said Léodgard, when he and the little clerk were alone; "why have you come here? I did not send for you, I no longer require your services. Tell me--what do you want? Speak!" "Deign to excuse me for coming, monseigneur; you will understand that it is only because I was requested, even implored, to do so." "By whom?" "Does not monsieur le comte divine? By Madame la Marquise de Santoval." "That woman again! What! after causing me to fight with her husband! after turning me to ridicule so abominably! she dares again---- Well! what does she want with me?" "This letter will tell you, monseigneur, I do not doubt." "A letter from her! Ah! this is too much!--Let us see; I am curious to know what she can have to write to me." Léodgard took the letter, and Bahuchet discreetly withdrew to the other end of the room. Having hastily broken the seal, Léodgard read these words, written by Valentine: "You have showered the most terrible epithets upon me, doubtless; I deserve them; I made a mock of you, it is true; but do you, in your turn, recall your conduct: I was to have been your wife, you preferred a bath keeper's daughter to me! I determined to be revenged, because I loved you in secret, because that love made even deeper the wound you had inflicted on me. I married the Marquis de Santoval, whom I did not love; but I knew his temperament, and I desired an avenger. Since that duel, in which he narrowly missed killing you, I have been unable to endure the marquis's presence; I can live with that man no longer--he is hateful to me.--Léodgard, you know every part of my conduct; if you had died of your wound, I should have killed myself in order not to survive you; for I love you still. Tell me that you forgive me, tell me that you will take me away from the Marquis de Santoval. I wish to see you, to speak with you. In pity's name, write me a few words in reply, and appoint a rendezvous for to-morrow, though it be but for a few minutes; do not refuse me! "VALENTINE." The perusal of this letter threw Léodgard's mind into confusion; dark clouds gathered on his brow, where something like tranquillity had reigned of late. He rose and paced the floor, in the most intense agitation; it was evident that a battle was raging in the depths of his heart. He read Valentine's letter once more, then seemed to be lost in thought.