“You are sure, miladi, you have told me all the cause of disagreement?” “Yes,” unblushingly. “Monsieur will not believe you are innocent?” “No; he is so furious with anger, so blinded with jealousy, he will not listen to one word.” “And he will sue for a divorce on grounds of a guilty flirtation with milord?” “Yes.” “You will plead not guilty?” “Of course.” “Then you will file one counter-charge against _votre mari_--infidelity, of course, and cruel outrage, bringing dat child--dat illegitimate--under your roof, refusal to take it away, brutal disregard of your tender feelings,” Finette mused, softly; and there was silence for a few moments. Then Camille said, petulantly: “But I do not see how that is to prevent the divorce. I--I--do not want to villify my husband publicly. I would rather make up our quarrel quietly. I have been hard upon him always. I can see that now, and I can hardly blame him for resenting it at last. Oh, God! I will humble myself in the dust at his feet--I will hear anything rather than to be put away from him forever.” “Even to a temporary separation?” Finette hazarded. “Even that--so it should be temporary alone,” agreed Camille. “Then, miladi, I think we can manage it.” “How?” “You must write m’sieur a letter. Plead all your love and innocence. Tell him you will consent to a separation, but not a divorce. Threaten to make a scandal about the child, and blacken his name unless he agrees to your terms. You know his family pride. He will shrink from exposure--he will agree to your terms.” “Clever Finette! Oh, what a brain you have! But after--what then?” “We will go abroad, you and I. We will let your boy-husband severely alone for a little while. He adored you once--he will not forget you. The scandal will die out, and you will lead a nun’s life. He will be touched, sorry; he will hear of you at last breaking your heart in seclusion for him, and, _voilà!_ there will be a reconciliation.” Finette had poured out those sentences excitedly, with a mixture of French gestures and phrases impossible to translate. Camille listened breathlessly, her eyes on fire, her cheeks aglow. “Oh, you give me new hope, you clever creature! Only help me to bring it about as you say, and I will make you rich!” she repeated, appealing to the maid’s ruling passion. CHAPTER XXI. “But, Norman, you will forgive her. Surely it can not be so bad as you think. These flirtations of married women are so distressingly common in high society, and Camille is too proud to run any risk of her good name. Besides, she loves you.” Mrs. de Vere looked distressfully into the white, drawn face of her handsome son as she pleaded eagerly for Camille, but by the way in which he shook his head she knew it was all in vain.