But the idea had taken complete possession of Una. "Eliot, it maddens me to hear your brother's wife always flinging that slur upon me--a little nobody! Let us force Madame Lorraine to tell the truth to-night. She is in your power, for although her conspiracy against your life failed, she is amenable to the law for the wicked attempt. Let us seek a private interview with her, Eliot. Let us threaten her, frighten her into the confession of my origin, however humble," pleaded Una, with impassioned fervor. CHAPTER XXXVIII. Mme. Lorraine wormed Una's story out of Mrs. Van Zandt with the greatest ease, Sylvie's spite making it an actual labor of love to place her sister-in-law in the worst possible light before the great actress who had deigned to express admiration for her beauty. In a little while the wicked woman knew that which thrilled her with cruel joy--that beautiful Una, living in the same house with Eliot and bearing his name, had never been aught to him but his wife in name only. "He never loved her, and would be glad if he had never seen her," Sylvie said, lying unblushingly in her hatred of Una. Mme. Lorraine condoled with her in politest phrases, hiding her exultation under an appearance of calmness. She said to herself: "His wife in name only! It is not so bad as I thought. It will be easy to part them now." Her opportunity soon came without an effort of her own, through Una's eagerness to find out the secret of her origin. Eliot had consented to Una's wish, and immediately after the elegant supper, which had been provided by the best caterer in Boston at Sylvie's expense, he sought an opportunity to speak to her alone. "Will Madame Leonie permit me the pleasure of showing her through our little conservatory? We have a rare plant in bloom there--a night-blooming cereus," he said. Madame protested she would be delighted; slipped her jeweled hand through his arm, and glided from the drawing-room by his side. The night-blooming cereus was not a feint. It was really there, but so also was Una standing by its side, pale and agitated, yet withal so lovely, that madame said to herself, with something like contempt for her companion: "He must be cold-hearted, indeed, to withhold love from one so beautiful." Eliot began abruptly: "Madame Lorraine, of course you know we recognized you immediately to-night?" The beautiful actress bowed mockingly. "Of course." He continued gravely: "Then, perhaps you can guess why I have brought you here?" Glancing maliciously from the pale, grave face of Eliot to the agitated one of his wife, madame said, scoffingly: "To congratulate you and your bride on your happiness, no doubt, monsieur!"