There in Sweetheart’s sacred boudoir, from among the dainty furnishings of blue and gold framed to shrine her fair and youthful beauty, there glared upon him two darker faces, both distorted by fiendish triumph--the face of Camille, beautiful still in an artificial way, breathing, living, and behind her Finette--the artful maid. CHAPTER LX. Camille began to tremble with nervous excitement when she beheld the man she had wronged so cruelly, but she rose immediately and made a step toward him, crying out in a tone that was half pleading, half defiant: “Norman, I have come back, you see. I could not bear my life away from you any longer.” He clutched the back of a chair for support, and stood like a statue gazing at her with dark, despairing eyes, dazed by the suddenness of the blow that had fallen upon him. This was Camille, he knew, although more than four years ago he had gazed on her dead face, as he thought, and looked down upon a new-made grave where he believed she slept in peace after her stormy life. He realized now that he had been fooled, duped--that a clever plot had been devised to ward off the divorce with which he had threatened Camille. She was here again, intent on dashing from his lips the cup of happiness--eager to make of his life a hell equal to that of her own. For a moment he could not speak. A strong despair seized upon him; he could only stand and stare in abhorrence and disgust at the two women before him. Camille waited a moment, then moved a little nearer to him. Her hazel eyes began to glow with passion, and her old alluring beauty seemed to return in the tender smile that parted the rich red lips. Her white plush dress, falling in long, straight lines about her and trailing far behind upon the floor, lent her a statuesque grace as she extended her round, white arms with a yearning cry: “Oh, Norman, say that you are glad to have me back! You loved me once, and the old love can not all be gone. You must have felt a pang when you thought me dead, knowing how madly I had loved you in the old days when you loved me, too. Oh, forgive the past! I have suffered so much I have surely atoned for everything. Oh, pity me--love me--take me back to your heart!” When she advanced toward him, he recoiled in disgust, when she flung herself on her knees and clasped his feet in her mad longing to regain her old power over him, he spurned her firmly though not rudely, and made a gesture to Finette. “Take her away!” “Monsieur, you are cruel!” the maid cried, malevolently. “Obey me!” he repeated, sternly; and the fire in his eyes cowed her so that she dared not refuse. She bent over Camille, who was taking refuge in hysterics as usual, and putting her arms about her, drew her gently to a sofa, begging her to be calm. Camille lay still for a moment, her hand over her eyes, breathing heavily, and Norman turned to Finette.