The wicked significance of her looks and tones were most insulting to her mistress. Mrs. de Vere flushed burning red up to her temples. “Be silent, you miserable wretch! How dare you traduce my husband?” she exclaimed. “You traduced him yourself last night,” muttered Finette, sulkily. Mrs. de Vere chose not to hear the retort, and continued: “Nance did not know my husband was in the arbor.” “Oh, certainly not, madame,” Finette replied, with a sneer; but her mistress took no notice and went on: “Mr. de Vere was so indignant at your treachery that he came at once to tell me, and he desired me to send you away this morning.” “Monsieur is very kind,” said Finette, with a ghastly smile. “I will try to forgive him. I will repay good for evil.” Mrs. de Vere gave a slight start--the tone was so significant. “When does monsieur wish me to go?” added Finette, plaintively. “To-day,” curtly. “And you, madame?” more plaintively still. “I agree with my husband,” Mrs. de Vere replied, still smarting under the pangs of wounded pride, and quite ignoring the gratitude she had professed for Finette last night. She could remember nothing but the fierce shame and anger that had thrilled her when she heard how Finette had held her up to the coarse ridicule of her negro servant. “Very well,” said Finette, courtesying with pretended meekness; then she whimpered: “Oh, madame! let me stay. I will never tattle again.” “I wish you to go. No pleading will move me to retain you in my service after your treachery of last night,” was the cold reply. A malicious light crept into the beady black eyes beneath the downcast lids, and Finette crept servilely toward the door. “I am very sorry,” she murmured, audibly; then, as if struck by a sudden thought: “Oh, I think I can undo some of my bad work of last night. I will go to monsieur; I will confess--” “What?” quavered a frightened voice close beside her, and Mrs. de Vere clutched her arm. “What is it you are going to confess to my husband?” she demanded. Finette turned upon her boldly. “The abduction of his child at your instigation, miladi,” she replied, with insolent triumph, and she felt herself well revenged for Mrs. de Vere’s contempt when she saw how she had frightened the proud beauty. The haughty woman recoiled in horror, her cheek grew ashen pale, her hazel eyes darkened and dilated with fear. Finette smiled maliciously when she saw that she had reduced her domineering mistress to a condition of speechless fear and indignation. She waited a moment, and then continued, coolly: “You see you are in my power, madame. Turn me away, and you make me desperate. I have always pitied monsieur for the match he made, and I will do him one good turn before I go by telling him what you made me do last night.” “I paid you well--you promised to keep it a secret forever!” Mrs. de Vere uttered, reproachfully. “‘A bad promise is better broken than kept,’” quoted Finette, with airy unconcern and audacity.