“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 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 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.