“My God, and this is the home-coming to which I have looked forward so longingly for two long weeks!” he muttered, with a laugh that was half self-mockery, half despair. Then a moment later: “Why did I battle so eagerly for life that night? Was it worth it?” CHAPTER VI. When Norman de Vere turned away from his wife’s door the maid locked it quickly, and crossed the room to the bedside of her mistress. Mrs. de Vere had half risen from the luxurious nest of linen and lace, and with her wavy red locks falling backward like a veil, was leaning on her white elbow listening eagerly. “He did not ask to see me, Finette?” she whispered, half longingly. “_Non, miladi_--only about your health.” “You told him I was asleep--that you were ordered to remain by me all night?” “_Oui, madame._” “Finette, I wish you would quit your bad habit of falling into French. It is annoying, after the pains I took to have you taught good English years ago!” Mrs. de Vere cried out petulantly. “Pardon, madame. _C’est_--that is, ’twas slip of the tongue,” Finette replied, meekly. “Very well. Try to command your tongue. Now, tell me, what of the brat?” “He left it with the old lady, madame, as I told you.” “You heard nothing of what they said when you listened at the door?” Finette’s beady black eyes glistened malevolently. “Not vair mooch--they spoke too low,” she said. “As well as I could understand English--which I speak but imperfectly, madame--my master he complained bitterly of you. His mother she said it was one vair great shame you was so jealous and so cruel to him.” The hazel eyes shot forth red lights of fury. “Very well; I will pay her out for her interference!” she cried, in a hissing tone of rage; then she lay back on her pillow, gasping with anger. “Oh, madame! these moder-in-laws they be marplots between the young married ones,” cried Finette, lugubriously. Having cast this lighted match into the gunpowder of her lady’s wrath, the artful and malicious French maid became discreetly silent. Her mistress too was very quiet. She was divided between bitter wrath and inconsistent pique. She had forbidden her husband’s presence, yet she fiercely resented the fact that he had not insisted on coming into the room--that he had taken her dismissal so calmly and gone away. “If he had really loved me, he would have insisted on seeing me,” she burst out, bitterly, and the wily French maid answered: “Madame, he loves you--be sure of that. But he is too young; that is my master’s great fault. He is just from his books; he understands not, like a man of the world, the caprice of the woman. He knows not that her no means yes, and that her stay out means come in.” Mrs. de Vere flushed at hearing herself so correctly analysed by the crafty French maid, but she did not contradict her. She remained silent for a few minutes, and Finette waited patiently. At last: