Florine Dabol had promised heartless Louise Barry that she would poison the hapless creature before her; but, as she gazed at the lovely sleeping face, so like that of a grieved child that has sobbed itself to sleep, a twinge of keen remorse tore her heart. She was crafty and deceitful and fond of intrigues, like all French maids; but she had never committed a crime in her life, and she began to tremble now at the enormity of what she had promised to do. Vain and pretty, fond of finery, ease, and pleasure, Florine’s god was money; and upon her avarice Louise had cleverly worked, dazzling her with the promise of five hundred dollars in gold when she should come and tell her that deed of crime was accomplished and Cecil Laurens’ young wife dead. In Florine’s pocket was the tiny powder that, placed in Molly’s glass, was to accomplish the deed; and Louise, with the powder, had given the maid a note that was such a perfect copy of Molly’s writing that, when found in her room next morning, it would be enough to convince every one that Molly had committed suicide. It was a clever plan, and there was nothing to prevent its being carried out successfully. Molly lay there, weak and helpless, in her enemy’s power. Yet in that very helplessness lay her defense against the powers of evil. For Florine Dabol, as she stood there fingering the poison in her pocket and gazing at the lovely, sorrowful face, felt moved and troubled, and her feeling of her mistress’ helplessness found expression in an exclamation of profound remorse and pity: “Poor baby!” For Molly, in her youth, innocence, and grief, seemed like an infant, in the eyes of the maturer maid, and an intense repugnance to her contemplated horrible deed rushed over her soul. She turned away and went into the dressing-room, dropping softly into a chair, that she might not awake the sleeper. “I can’t--I can’t do it! I must find some other way to earn the money. I can’t have that poor thing’s blood on my soul! She would haunt me, and I should get no rest from those hollow black eyes!” she muttered, fearfully. Evidently Florine’s good angel was pleading with her, for she sat there wrapped in thought while in the next room Molly slept sweetly, unconscious of the danger hovering near her in such deadly form. An hour passed and Florine still sat in her chair, and now and then muttered words escaped her lips. “She is so good and sweet and patient. She has never given me a cross word for all the dreadful lies I’ve told her about her splendid husband. How can I kill the gentle creature?” She thought, suddenly: “If I could only tell her something very dreadful, that would make her go away from The Acacias forever, it would be the same as killing her.” Poor Molly! Yes, it would be the same, for to that devoted heart life without her husband would be death far worse than death. Florine rose up and went noisily into the next room.