She bowed her head in speechless acquiescence. Where were the wild words, the matchless eloquence with which she meant to plead her cause, to implore for pardon when this dark hour came upon her? That love and beauty which she had deemed such powerful agents to hold his heart and win his clemency, of what avail were they now? His icy scorn, his proud, decisive, determination left no room for dissent or appeal. The terrible weight of her sin had fallen upon her and crushed her. "I think you understand me," he said. "The wife I loved is as one dead to me. She never existed save in my imagination. You must accept this as your punishment, if indeed you can feel any remorse for your falsehood and deceit. Now go to your room and let your maid attend you there. I presume you will not care to meet our guests again. I am quite sure they will not wish to see you. Remain in seclusion. To-morrow I will make all needful arrangements for our separation, and they shall be duly communicated to you." She lifted her head and gave one long, grave look from her heavy, somber eyes at the handsome, haughty face, bowed slowly, and went out of the room. The slow swish of her trailing satin robe echoed drearily in his hearing as he stood there pale and statue-like, but he did not turn his head for one farewell glance at the girl who was his wife and who had so terribly deceived him. She went to her room and sunk down wearily upon her sofa. Marie the maid came in presently. Her face showed that she knew all. "Marie," she said, "go and ask Mrs. Le Roy if she will permit me to come to her for a few moments." The maid returned in a moment. "Mr. Le Roy is with his mother. He desires that you will not disturb her," she said. Laurel answered quietly. "You may go away, and leave me now, Marie, I wish to be alone for awhile." When the maid had gone she went to the window, drew back the rich curtains of silk and lace and gazed out upon the scene. Night had fallen--the beautiful moonlit summer night. The perfume of roses and honeysuckles came floating heavily on the soft air, the wide expanse of the Hudson shone like a silver sea. "I must go away from Eden," said the girl-wife to herself, drearily. "What shall I do with my empty, ruined life?" Strangely enough there came to her a memory of the day she had first met St. Leon Le Roy--the questions she had asked him and his strange reply: "I believe I should throw myself into yonder beautiful river and so end all," he had said. CHAPTER XLIII. Mlle. Marie was very glad to get away from attendance on her mistress for a few hours. There is nothing happens in the parlor, but is immediately communicated to the kitchen, so the _dénouement_ in high life had immediately become the sensation in low life below stairs. The maid was eager to join the gossips.