“You are a silly girl to wish to exchange a rich husband for a poor one. No girl in her senses would do that, Mrs. Castello. Beauty like yours, madame, so fine and rare, should be beautifully arrayed. That beautiful form was made to be draped in rich attire; that ivory-white neck, those finely molded wrists to be encircled in pearls and diamonds, such as Monsieur Castello can give you. It were a shame that a beauty like you should wed a poor man. Oh, think, miladi, you would have to wear common calico and cook your own food; your lovely little white hands would be soiled with dish-washing and sweeping, and soon you would grow to hate the man who had sunk you into poverty! Perhaps there would be little children clinging round your knees, and you would have to toil for them, perhaps take in sewing or washing to buy bread for them, and----” “Hush! No more; I will not listen!” Violet cried, indignantly; then her voice sank to a pleading cadence as she added: “Once more, Suzanne, will you pity me? Will you help me to escape?” “Certainly not, madame,” the woman replied, bluntly, taking up the rejected tray of food to leave the room. “Certainly not,” echoed Harold Castello, gayly, as he abruptly entered again, having listened outside to the whole conversation. CHAPTER XXVIII. SAVED BY FIRE. “Suzanne!” called her young mistress, sharply. The woman halted on the threshold and looked back questioningly. “I wish you to return and spend the night in my room.” “_Oui_, madame,” answered the woman, retiring. Then Violet turned passionately on the intruder. “Leave the room, Harold Castello! I will not endure your presence!” she cried, angrily. His answer was a mocking laugh. “Obey me!” she exclaimed, imperiously, her blue eyes flashing scorn. He stood immovable, his arms folded over his breast, his dark eyes fixed on her admiringly. “What a magnificent beauty you are, Violet, especially when you get in a rage! But I like you all the better for your fire and spirit. There will be a zest in taming such a pretty tigress!” he laughed, insolently. Her face became dead white; the lightnings of her indignant eyes might have blasted him where he stood. In a voice that vibrated with scorn and loathing, she cried: “You are mad--mad! How can you dream that I will ever tolerate you? Why, I shrink from you in abhorrence too deep for words! Can I forget that a young girl’s ruin lies at your door, dastard? Can I forget that your hand is red with her father’s blood--murderer? Can I ever forgive myself that I did not risk the worst and denounce you to the law for your fiendish crime? Ah, had I not been such a coward, had I only done my duty and faced the consequences, I had never come to this terrible pass!” “Hush! hush! the walls have ears!” he hissed, with a stifled oath, and the dew of deadly terror started out on his brow beneath the loose waves of his jetty hair.