ards with
wonderful coolness.

"You're not going to tear my hair out, are you, Rose? You see the way of
it was this: Coming from the office where I have the honour to be
clerk--thanks to my marriage--I met Madame Millefleur, that most
bewitching and wealthy of French widows. She is in love with me, my
dear. It may seem unaccountable to you how any one can be in love with
me, but the fact is so. She is in love with me almost as much as pretty
Rose Danton was once upon a time, and gave me an invitation to accompany
her to the opera last night. Of course I was enchanted. The opera is a
rare luxury now, and la Millefleur is all the fashion. I had the
happiness of bending over her chair all the evening--don't glare so, my
love, it makes you quite hideous--and accepted a seat beside her in the
carriage when it was all over. A delicious _petit souper_ awaited us in
Madame's bijou of a boudoir; and I don't mind owning I was a little
disguised by sparkling Moselle when I came home. Open confessions are
good for the soul--there is one for you, my dear."

Her face was livid as she listened, and he smiled up at her with a smile
that nearly drove her mad.

"I hate you, Reginald Stanford!" was all she could say. "I hate you! I
hate you!"

"Quite likely, my love; but I dare say I shall survive that. You would
rather I didn't come here any more, I suppose, Mrs. Stanford?"

"I never want to see your hateful, wicked face again. I wish I had been
dead before I ever saw it."

"And I wish whatever you wish, dearest and best," he said, with a
sneering laugh; "if you ever see my wicked, hateful face again, it shall
be no fault of mine. Perhaps you had better go back to Canada. M. La
Touche was very much in love with you last year, and may overlook this
little episode in your life, and take you to his bosom yet. Good
morning, Mrs. Stanford. I am going to call on Madame Millefleur."

He took his hat and left the room, and Rose dropped down in her chair
and covered her face with her hands.

If Kate Danton and Jules La Touche ever wished for revenge, they should
have seen the woman who so cruelly wronged them at that moment.
Vengeance more bitter, more terrible than her worst enemy could wish,
had overtaken and crushed her to the earth.

How that long, miserable day passed, the poor child never knew. It came
to an end, and the longer, more miserable night followed. Another
morning, another day of unutterable wretchedness, and a second