Lena Lavarre had washed from her face and hands the brown dye she had assumed when she answered Harold Castello’s advertisement for a French maid for his bride, and with her fair complexion, rich golden hair, and large brown eyes, appeared so beautiful that Violet did not wonder at Harold Castello’s infatuation with the dazzling coquette. Even now, with the pensive shade of a tragedy on her exquisite face, she was very charming. But Lena no longer exulted in the beauty that had brought her so much sorrow. When she went abroad on simple domestic errands for her mother, she always wore a thick vail that obscured her face, and she appeared unconscious of the admiring glances that rested on her queenly form and graceful carriage. The zest for flirtation was over now, for her proud heart was broken, and Lena would be glad when death released her from her undying remorse for her ruined life and her father’s untimely death. One day her mother sent her into the heart of the city on an errand, and when she returned they saw by the expression of her face that something startling had happened. “What is it, my poor Lena? What has grieved you so much, and washed out all the light of your eyes in tears?” cried the anxious mother. Lena had, indeed, been weeping bitterly all the way home. Her thick vail was wet with the tears she had shed. With a stifled sob, she threw off her hat and wrap, and sank wearily into a chair, while Violet and her mother hung about her in surprise and sympathy. “Oh, Lena, what is the matter? What new sorrow has come to your poor heart?” cried Violet. Lena lifted her beautiful streaming eyes to her sweet friend, crying, bitterly: “My poor darling, it is for you that I weep so bitterly! I had hoped--hoped--but all is over now. I have seen Jacques, the valet. I know all the bitter truth!” and clasping Violet’s hand, she pressed it to her feverish lips in passionate sympathy. “You have seen Jacques Brown, Harold Castello’s servant? When? Where?” exclaimed Mrs. Lavarre, in keen agitation. CHAPTER XL. “VIOLET, PLEASE COME HOME!” Violet had fallen back in agonized silence, guessing the fatal truth from Lena’s incoherent speech. Her eyes grew dim, her face pale, and a hand of steel seemed to clutch her throat, pressing out all the joy and hope and life. She waited in dumb despair for Lena’s reply to her mother’s words. “Look to Violet, mamma; she is almost fainting! Yes, that is right--make her lie down on the sofa and listen, for I have that to tell that will almost break her heart!” sobbed Lena. When Violet was listening quietly on the sofa, her burning gaze devouring Lena’s tear-wet face, the speaker continued, hoarsely: