nging her long dark hair;
she wore a silver-white dressing-robe, bordered around with soft
white swan's-down and her dainty white satin-slippered feet rested on
a crimson velvet hassock.

"How beautiful she is!" thought the poor little child-wife, wistfully
gazing at her fair, false enemy. "I can not wonder Rex is dazzled by
her peerless, royal beauty. I was mad to indulge the fatal, foolish
dream that he could ever love me, poor, plain little Daisy Brooks."

Daisy drew her cloak closer about her, and her thick veil more
securely over her face. As she raised the huge brass knocker her heart
beat pitifully, yet she told herself she must be brave to the bitter
end.

One, two, three minutes passed. Was no one coming to answer the
summons? Yes--some one came at last, a spruce little French maid, whom
Daisy never remembered having seen before.

She laughed outright when Daisy falteringly stated her errand.

"You are mad to think mademoiselle will see you to-night," she
answered, contemptuously. "Do you not know this is her wedding-night?"

"She is not married _yet_?" cried Daisy, in a low, wailing voice. "Oh,
I must see her!"

With a quizzical expression crossing her face the girl shrugged her
shoulders, as she scanned the little dark, dripping figure, answering
mockingly:

"The poor make one grand mistake, insisting on what the rich must do.
I say again, my lady will not see you--you had better go about your
business."

"Oh, I _must_ see her! indeed, I must!" pleaded Daisy. "Your heart,
dear girl, is human, and you can see my anguish is no light one."

Her courage and high resolve seemed to give way, and she wept--as
women weep only once in a lifetime--but the heart of the French maid
was obdurate.

"Mademoiselle would only be angry," she said; "it would be as much as
my place is worth to even mention you to her."

"But my errand can brook no delay," urged Daisy. "You do not realize,"
she gasped, brokenly, while her delicate frame was shaken with sobs,
and the hot tears fell like rain down her face.

"All that you say is useless," cried the girl, impatiently, as she
purposely obstructed the passage-way, holding the doorknob in her
hand; "all your speech is in vain--she will not see you, I say--I will
not take her your message."

"Then I will go to her myself," cried Daisy, in desperate determination.

"What's the matter, Marie?" cried a shrill voice from the head of the
rose-lighted stairway; "what in th