“He defies me; his mother defies me; the ungrateful beggars that I raised from penury to wealth and luxury!” Mrs. de Vere burst forth, wrathful, unheeding the presence of the attendant. “They keep the little wretch here, despite the fact that I ordered him to take it away! Strange! Strange! But I will show them what stuff Camille de Vere is made of! Finette!” “Madame!” “Do you not believe with me that this mysterious child is Norman de Vere’s own?” Finette shrugged her narrow shoulders expressively. “Dear madame, if I agree to any of the hard things you uttaire against your husband now, you will be indignant with poor Finette when you make up your love quarrel with him.” Finette had not attained the age of forty years without becoming a clever student of feminine nature. She was too astute to abuse her master. She knew well that the capricious woman before her would like her better for defending him. Mrs. de Vere bit her lip and answered sharply: “You are too pert, Finette; but it matters not what you believe--I have my own opinion, and it is unchangeable.” “Pardon, dear madame,” replied the polite and indefatigable maid. Mrs. de Vere scowled at her, but smiled a minute after, and asked eagerly: “Finette, would you like to earn a hundred dollars to-night?” “Only tell me how, madame!” cried the woman, her small black eyes glittering avariciously. “Very well. Steal that child from my mother-in-law’s room, take it away from here and place it with some one who will keep it forever away from Norman de Vere, and I will pay you a hundred dollars in the morning.” “But, madame, it is so late! It is now long past the midnight hour. There is scarce time.” “‘Where there is a will there is a way,’” Mrs. de Vere replied, sagely. “Let me think,” said Mlle. Finette. She stood so long with down-dropped eyes that Mrs. de Vere cried impatiently: “I will make it two hundred if you will consent, Finette, and I will always be grateful to you for helping me to outwit these tyrants who have tried to impose upon me with their infamous plot.” Finette smiled. “I will try,” she said. Mrs. de Vere showered praises upon her confederate, and then Finette bent down, whispering a question that made her mistress recoil with blanched cheeks. “Ah, no, no! not that!” she cried, with a horrified gesture of her white hand. “Only let me be rid of her--that is all I ask.” “Very well, madame--as you wish it, of course. I think I know the woman that will do what you want--a wretched old miser of a rag-picker. But she lives a long way from here. If I might have your saddle-horse--” “You are welcome to it.” “Oh, many thanks, madame! The little one will be asleep, you see. I shall have to chloroform both her and the old lady to get her, you know.” “Do not annoy me with the details. Only do your task as silently and efficiently as possible, and look to me for your reward as soon as you return!” Mrs. de Vere exclaimed, with haughty impatience.