Thea saw it, but she did not falter. A sudden courage had come to her in this moment which she subtly felt to be full of some unexplained peril to herself. She gazed fixedly at the foremost woman, a tall, graceful creature, clothed in soft, lusterless silk, with a bonnet of shining jet set lightly on a head of beautiful wavy red hair. The handsome face beneath was no longer young, but Thea thought it looked like the faces of women she had seen in Paris, enameled and made up to be beautiful forever by the artistes in that profession. But the great reddish-hazel eyes had a fire all their own, and they glared upon the beautiful young wife as if they would destroy her with their baleful light. “The child is yours?” she uttered, in a low and hissing voice. “And you?” “I am Mrs. de Vere,” was the proud reply. “Norman de Vere’s wife?” “Yes.” The handsome, stately woman threw back her haughty head with an insolent movement that made the jets in her bonnet glitter. “Ha! ha!” she laughed, scornfully; and the creature behind her, yellow-faced and with beady black eyes, evidently her maid, echoed her insolent mirth: “Ha! ha!” Thea’s lovely face crimsoned with anger, and she asked, haughtily: “Who are you, madame, and why have you entered my house in this bold manner?” The woman came a step nearer, and held out to her a slip of cardboard. “Read!” she said, imperatively; and, without touching it, Thea obeyed. On the white card was written, in the same small, feminine characters as the letter she had found among her toys but yesterday, a name: “CAMILLE DE VERE.” One moment Thea gazed in awful, statue-like quiet at the fatal card, then, with a cry of fear, she fled toward Alan’s crib for protection. She believed that she was gazing upon a ghost. But how horribly real it all seemed--the two women, their faces, their voices. A shuddering horror overpowered her, and with the echo of her startled cry in their ears they saw her slip down senseless at their feet. But baby Alan slept on peacefully in the soft, downy nest, his round cheeks softly flushed, the gold rings lying in shining disorder on the noble white brow, heedless of the hapless mother lying there upon the floor a crumpled heap of pale-blue cashmere and golden curls while her enemies bent gloatingly above her, noting with fierce loathing every young and tender charm. “I could kill her, Finette,” Camille breathed fiercely, her fingers working with convulsive eagerness, her throat swelling. “Hush, miladi! Life will be more cruel to her than death. And how young she is! Think how long she will have to live to bear her deep disgrace!” She unstoppered the silver vinaigrette that swung from her belt, and held it to Thea’s nostrils. A minute more and the girl sighed faintly, then the blue eyes flared wide open upon Finette’s curious face.