"Marie, await me in my room!" commands Natalie. In five minutes the roll of rubber-tired wheels proves that madame and the count have gone out. "To the opera?" "To the theatre?" The sly maid does not follow them. Her brain burns with a mad thirst for vengeance. Her hoard must now be completed. "Has she been tricked?" "Thousand devils, no!" Softly moving over the driveway, Natalie eagerly pleads with Villa Rocca. Her perfumed hair brushes his cheek. Her eyes gleam like diamonds, as they sweep past the brilliantly lighted temples of pleasure. She is Phryne and Aspasia to-night. Villa Rocca is drunk with the delirium of passion. His mind reels. "I will do it," he hoarsely murmurs. Arrived at the "porte cochŠre," the count lifts his hat, as madame reenters her home. There is a fatal glitter in Natalie's eyes, as she enters alone her robing room. When madame is seated in the freedom of a wonderful "robe de chambre," her face is expectant, yet pleasant. Marie has fulfilled every duty of the evening. "You may go, Marie. I am tired. I wish to sleep," remarks the lady, nonchalantly. "Will madame pardon me?" Marie's voice sounds cold and strange. Ah, it has come, then! Natalie has expected this. What is the plot? Natalie looks her squarely in the eyes. "Well?" she says, sharply. "I hope madame will understand that I close my duties here to-night!" the maid slowly says. "Indeed?" Madame lifts her eyebrows. "I would be glad to be permitted to leave the house to-morrow." "Certainly, Marie!" quietly rejoins Natalie. "You may leave when you wish. The butler will settle your account. I shall not ring for you to-morrow." She leans back. Checkmate! "Will madame excuse me?" firmly says the maid, now defiantly looking her mistress in the eyes. "The butler can probably not settle my little account." "What is it?" simply asks Madame de Santos. "It is one hundred thousand francs," firmly replies the woman. "I shall not pay it! decidedly not!" the lady answers. "Very good. Judge Hardin might!" The maid moves slowly to the door. "Stay!" commands Natalie. "Leave my house before noon to-morrow. You can come here with any friend you wish at this hour to-morrow night. You will have your money. How do you wish it?" "In notes," the maid replies, with a bow. She walks out of the room. She pauses at the threshold. "Will madame ask Georgette to look over the property of madame?" "Certainly. Send her to me!" Marie B‚rard leaves her world-wearied mistress, forever, and without a word. When the other maid enters, madame finds need for the assistant. "You may remain in my apartment and occupy the maid's couch. I may want you. I am nervous. Stay!" The under-maid is joyous at her promotion. Madame de Santos sleeps the sleep of the just. Happy woman! Marie B‚rard rages in her room, while her mistress sleeps in a bed once used by a Queen of France. The ticking clock drives her to madness. She throws it into the court-yard. Spurned! foiled! baffled!