He turned on her fiercely. “Woman, you must be mad! She can not have left the house. Go and seek her at once.” But at that moment his eyes fell on the note. He snatched it up hurriedly and read: “MR. LAURENS,--You have said that you would read nothing from me, but doubtless you will make an exception of this welcome note that tells you that I have gone away out of your path forever. “I have learned that I am to be sent to your home in America next week, while you remain behind to enjoy the companionship of the wicked woman you love. The ostensible reason is that my child may be born at Maple Shade. I prefer to go to my own friends, where the blessing that is coming into my blighted life may come into the world under the same English skies where my forefathers first saw the light. If I stayed with you, you would hate both me and the little one, so we will go where we shall be sure of a little love and kindness. “Farewell--a long farewell. MOLLY.” CHAPTER XLI. Cecil Laurens turned sternly upon the deceitful maid. “You say that you expected, feared this. Why did you not warn me?” He exclaimed in a voice whose stern impatience did not hide its key-note of agony. “_Ma foi_, monsieur, I thought you did not care,” Florine replied insolently. “What do you mean?” he stormed; and she answered with pretending humility: “Monsieur neglected his wife and she was wretched. She cried out often that there was one in her own land who loved her, and that she repented now that she had left him for Monsieur Laurens! If only she could find him again--” “Stop!” Cecil thundered angrily. She paused obediently. “Who has tutored you to this falsehood?” he exclaimed. Florine muttered cringingly: “I am sorry monsieur is angry, but it is the truth I speak. Madame was lonely and dissatisfied. What more natural than that she should fly from a cold husband to a devoted lover in her own land?” An impulse came over him to strike down the impudent woman at his feet for those maddening words. He restrained himself with difficulty. “She is foolish and ignorant,” he said to himself, and flung the letter toward her. “Read that and see how you have misjudged your mistress!” he exclaimed. He watched her closely, and he saw the plainest incredulity upon her face. “What do you think now?” he asked. “Monsieur does not wish my real opinion?” reluctantly. “Yes.” “Very well. I should believe this letter only that Madame Laurens made me bring her the daily paper today and read aloud the shipping news. There was one steamer that sailed tonight just before midnight.” “That proves nothing,” he said curtly. “No, nothing,” agreed Florine. Then with a deep-drawn sigh: “Only madame wept so bitterly, and exclaimed, ‘No one could blame me if I left my unloving husband and went back to my friend!’” He looked at her sternly, as if trying to pierce the secrets of her false breast, but she continued unfalteringly: