conceal the noise of his footsteps. They listened; he went into his
sleeping-room, and fastened the door inside. Madame Morrel sent her
daughter to bed, and half an hour after Julie had retired, she
rose, took off her shoes, and went stealthily along the passage, to
see through the keyhole what her husband was doing. In the passage
she saw a retreating shadow; it was Julie, who, uneasy herself, had
anticipated her mother. The young lady went towards Madame
Morrel.
"He is writing," she said. They had understood each other
without speaking. Madame Morrel looked again through the keyhole,
Morrel was writing; but Madame Morrel remarked, what her daughter
had not observed, that her husband was writing on stamped paper.
The terrible idea that he was writing his will flashed across her;
she shuddered, and yet had not strength to utter a word. Next day
M. Morrel seemed as calm as ever, went into his office as usual,
came to his breakfast punctually, and then, after dinner, he placed
his daughter beside him, took her head in his arms, and held her
for a long time against his bosom. In the evening, Julie told her
mother, that although he was apparently so calm, she had noticed
that her father's heart beat violently. The next two days passed in
much the same way. On the evening of the 4th of September, M.
Morrel asked his daughter for the key of his study. Julie trembled
at this request, which seemed to her of bad omen. Why did her
father ask for this key which she always kept, and which was only
taken from her in childhood as a punishment? The young girl looked
at Morrel.
"What have I done wrong, father," she said, "that you should
take this key from me?"
"Nothing, my dear," replied the unhappy man, the tears starting
to his eyes at this simple question, — "nothing, only I want it."
Julie made a pretence to feel for the key. "I must have left it in
my room," she said. And she went out, but instead of going to her
apartment she hastened to consult Emmanuel. "Do not give this keyapartment she hastened to consult Emmanuel. "Do not give this key
to your father," said he, "and to-morrow morning, if possible, do
not quit him for a moment." She questioned Emmanuel, but he knew
nothing, or would not say what he knew. During the night, between
the 4th and 5th of September, Madame Morrel remained listening for
every sound, and, until three o'clock in the morning, she heard her
husband pacing the room in great agitation. It was three o'clock
when he threw himself on the bed. The mother and daughter passed
the night together. They had expected Maximilian since the previous
evening. At eight o'clock in the morning Morrel entered their
chamber. He was calm; but the agitation of the night was legible in
his pale and careworn visage. They did not dare to ask him how he
had slept. Morrel was kinder to his wife, more affectionate to his
daughter, than he had ever been. He could not cease gazing at and
kissing the sweet girl. Julie, mindful of Emmanuel's request, was
following her father when he quitted the room, but he said to her
quickly, — "Remain with your mother, dearest." Julie wished to
accompany him. "I wish you to do so," said he.
This was the first time Morrel had ever so spoken, but he said
it in a tone of paternal kindness, and Julie did not dare to
disobey. She remained at the same spot standing mute and
motionless. An instant afterwards the door opened, she felt two
arms encircle her, and a mouth pressed her forehead. She looked up
and uttered an exclamation of joy.
"Maximilian, my dearest brother!" she cried. At these words
Madame Morrel rose, and threw herself into her son's arms.
"Mother," said the young man, looking alternately at Madame Morrel
and her daughter, "what has occurred — what has happened? Your
letter has frightened me, and I have come hither with all
speed."
"Julie," said Madame Morrel, making a sign to the young man, "go
and tell your father that Maximilian has just arrived." The young
lady rushed out of the apartment, but on the first step of thelady rushed out of the apartment, but on the first step of the
staircase she found a man holding a letter in his hand.
"Are you not Mademoiselle Julie Morrel?" inquired the man, with
a strong Italian accent.
"Yes, sir," replied Julie with hesitation; "what is your
pleasure? I do not know you."
"Read this letter," he said, handing it to her. Julie hesitated.
"It concerns the best interests of your father," said the
messenger.
The young girl hastily took the letter from him. She opened it
quickly and read: —
"Go this moment to the Allees de Meillan, enter the house No.
15, ask the porter for the key of the room on the fifth floor,
enter the apartment, take from the corner of the mantelpiece a
purse netted in red silk, and give it to your father. It is
important that he should receive it before eleven o'clock. You
promised to obey me implicitly. Remember your oath.
"Sinbad the Sailor."
The young girl uttered a joyful cry, raised her eyes, looked
round to question the messenger, but he had disappeared. She cast
her eyes again over the note to peruse it a second time, and saw
there was a postscript. She read: —
"It is important that you should fulfil this mission in person
and alone. If you go accompanied by any other person, or should any
one else go in your place, the porter will reply that he does not
know anything about it."
This postscript decreased greatly the young girl's happiness.
Was there nothing to fear? was there not some snare laid for her?
Her innocence had kept her in ignorance of the dangers that might
assail a young girl of her age. But there is no need to know danger
in order to fear it; indeed, it may be observed, that it is usually
unknown perils that inspire the greatest terror.
Julie hesitated, and resolved to take counsel. Yet, through a
singular impulse, it was neither to her mother nor her brother that
she applied, but to Emmanuel. She hastened down and told him what
had occurred on the day when the agent of Thomson & French had