Her excitement was so extreme that she spoke aloud, forgetting that the door was open, and that the lackey in the ante-room could hear all she said.

Luckily Hortebise did not lose his presence of mind, and, with the ease of a leading actor repairing the error of a subordinate, he closed the door.
"What have you lost ?" asked he.
"My letters; they are all gone." She staggered on to a couch, and in broken accents went on.

"And yet these letters were in an iron casket closed by a secret spring; that casket was in a drawer, the key of which never leaves me." "Good heavens!" exclaimed Hortebise in affected tones, "then Tantaine spoke the truth." "He did," answered the Countess hoarsely.

"Yes," she continued, "I am the bondslave to people whose names I do not even know, who can control my every movement and action." She hid her face in her hands as though her pride sought to conceal her despair.
"Are these letters, then, so terribly compromising ?" asked the doctor.
"I am utterly lost," cried she.

"In my younger days I had no experience; I only thought of vengeance, and lately the weapons I forged myself have been turned against me.