“Anna was to have breakfast in her own room, he said, and be waited on by Celine, and then about ten o’clock he would see her alone, for he must be off that night for Paris. “It was a very dainty breakfast of chocolate, and fruits, and French rolls, and limpid honey and eggs which Celine took to her mistress, whom she had dressed becomingly in a white cashmere wrapper, with broad blue sash, knotted at the side, and a blue silk, sleeveless jacket. In spite of the weary night, Anna was very beautiful that morning, though a little pale and worn, with a shadow about the eyes, which were lifted so timidly and questioningly to Haverleigh when at last he entered the salon and closed the door behind him. “‘Oh, Ernest, husband!’ she began; but she never called him by either of those names again, and half an hour later she lay on her face among the silken cushions of the couch, a terrified, bewildered, half-crazed creature, to whom death would have been a welcome relief just then. “He had succeeded in making her comprehend her position fully, and in some degree to comprehend him. He was a man who never forgot and who never forgave. He had loved her, he believed; at least, he had conferred upon her the great honor of becoming his wife—had raised her from nothing to a high and dazzling position, because he liked her face and fancied she liked him. She had certainly made him think so, and he, whom many a high-born damsel of both Scotland and England had tried to captivate, had made a little Yankee shoe-stitcher Mrs. Haverleigh, and then had heard from her own lips that she loathed him, that she shrank from his touch, that she married him for money, for fine dresses, and jewelry, and furniture, and horses, and carriages, and servants—and he added with an oath: ‘You shall have all this. You shall have everything you married me for, except your freedom, and that you never shall have until I change my purpose;’ then, without giving her a chance to speak in her own defense, he went on to unfold his plan formed on the instant when he stood by the door in New York and heard her foolish speech to Mrs. Fleming. She was to remain at Chateau d’Or, where every possible luxury was to be hers, and where the servants were to yield her perfect obedience, except in one particular. She was never to go unattended outside the grounds, or off the little island on which the chateau stood. Monsieur Brunell, who kept the gate, would see this law enforced, as he would see to everything else. All letters which she wished to send to him or her friends would be given to Brunell’s care. No other person would dare touch them, and it would be useless for her to try to persuade or bribe them, as they all feared him and would obey his orders. For society she would have Madame Verwest, and plenty of books in the library, and a splendid piano, which she would find in the same room, with a small cabinet organ for Sunday use, ‘as you New Englanders