Camille was rather inclined to believe that Norman, weary of the conflict in which she always came off triumphant, had at last capitulated to the force of circumstances. “He gives up the contest. Fate and a woman’s cunning have been too strong for him,” she declared, maliciously; and she sent Finette to her mother-in-law’s room to inquire if she might come in and congratulate her on her recovery. “Her son was with her, and he said his mother begged leave to decline the honor,” reported Finette, on returning. “_N’importe!_ They can not stay under the same roof with me long and carry such stiff necks. Their very return to Verelands, under the circumstances of the case, shows that they have found out that conciliation is their best policy,” declared Camille, undaunted. “Pour me out some wine to brace my nerves, Finette, and then dress me handsomely in velvet and diamonds. I am going down to sit in the drawing-room, as it is very probable that my humbled husband will seek an interview with me soon,” she declared, as she tossed off the glass of wine with the air of one habituated to its use. CHAPTER LXXI. Camille had been in the drawing-room but a few minutes, when the door-bell rang loudly, and sent a nervous tremor through her whole frame. “Some callers,” she thought, wondering why that strange presentiment of evil trembled along her nerves. She shook it off, congratulating herself that the drawing-room was well lighted and her costume elegant. “I may as well receive them, for I must soon take my old place in society,” she decided, as she heard a bustle in the hall, and knew that the visitors were being admitted. Norman de Vere and his mother had come down into the hall a few moments before, and had been waiting most impatiently the signal to enter the grand drawing-room. At the ringing of the door-bell he gave his mother his arm, and with a stately step led her into the presence of Camille; but ere the astonished woman could utter a word, the door opened again, admitting visitors, at sight of whom Norman uttered a cry of joy and sprung forward. He had caught sight of Thea on Lord Stuart’s arm, and no power on earth but death could have hindered him from catching her in his arms and straining her to his heart in a passionate embrace. “Oh, my love, my darling, my wife!” he cried, wildly--but Lord Stuart gently but firmly put them apart. “Here is little Alan, my friend; give him your caresses just now,” he said, as he placed the half-fainting Thea in a seat, and taking Baby Alan from his sister, placed him in Norman’s arms. Then he greeted Norman’s mother, and presented his sister and Dr. Hinton. Camille stood like a statue, with dilated eyes gazing at the scene before her. There was no greeting for her. No one seemed to see her as she stood a little apart in her dark trailing velvet and glittering diamonds, tall and elegant, with an angry sneer upon her thin lips.