“Oh, Florine, you are mistaken. He is angry with me, but if I am only patient he will pity and forgive me soon, I hope. And--and--he is going to take me home next week that--our child may be born at his old ancestral home,” Molly cried, piteously. Florine gazed at her in expressive silence a moment. “You see he does not hate me as bad as you think,” Molly cried eagerly, and Florine sighed aloud. Then she asked gravely: “My poor young lady, who told you he was going to take you home?” Molly answered: “Mrs. Laurens, his mother.” “Oh, how cruel!” the maid cried warmly. “They have deceived you, madame. I have taken pains to find out their plans and now I will give them to you. It is not Mr. Cecil who will take you home. You are to go with the old folks and the daughters. He--your husband--remains behind with the Barrys, and they all three go immediately to Paris. Ah, madame, Paris is so wicked! And the aunt, the chaperone, she is so old, blind, deaf, she will see but little of the goings-on!” Florine’s shrugs and glances conveyed even more evil than her words. “Florine, are you sure, quite sure, of all you have told me?” Molly asked in a dejected voice. “Madame, I am willing to take an oath,” Florine replied glibly, and for a moment there was a deep silence. The maid was afraid that her mistress was going to faint, but Molly sat upright as a statue. Presently she spoke. “No one could blame me if I went away to my own friends and left him forever, could they, Florine?” “No one, madame, for you have had provocation enough to drive you desperate; but your friends, where are they?” curiously. “No matter. I am not utterly friendless, Florine, and since they are trying to drive me desperate, why should I go back to America to please them?” angrily. “Why not stay here with my kindred and spare myself the torture of trying to win back a heart that has passed from my keeping forever?” She spoke rather to herself than to the maid, but Florine said eagerly: “Ah, madame, you begin to talk sensibly now, for I tell you plainly that if you stay here much longer, Miss Barry will find means to remove you from her path. Oh, I am so sorry for you, my sweet young mistress, or I would not tell you this. But I am frightened for you, madame, and I know when you go back to America, where I can not go with you, you will have no one to watch over you like your poor Florine!” It was all very genuine, all very eloquent, as Florine poured it out, and Molly’s heart warmed to the maid whom she had once distrusted. “Florine, you are very good to me,” she exclaimed, gratefully. She pulled a pretty ruby ring from her finger, and holding it out to her, said, in a voice choked with misery: “Take this to remember me when I am gone.” The treacherous woman took the gift with profuse thanks and inward joy, for Molly’s last words had assured her that her scheme had succeeded.