THE RETURN
Madame Floriot's face told its own story of remorse and suffering. The
cheeks had lost their smooth, lovely contour and the dark clouds under
the beautiful eyes spoke of nights spent in tears. The eyes themselves
were now dilated as she gripped the maid's arms until she hurt her and
gazed into her face with searching dread.
"My boy! Raymond!" she gasped, brokenly. "Is it true--has he been ill?"
The maid gently disengaged herself from the clinging arms and glanced
uneasily at the library door. Madame Floriot followed the look and
moved quickly forward as the maid answered: "For more than two weeks,
madame."
The woman timidly pushed the door open and stepped into the library.
She gave a quick gasp of relief when she saw that the room was empty.
"I only heard of--it--yesterday--by accident," she half-whispered, her
hand at her throat. Then as the memory of the hours of grief and dread
swept over her she cried:
"Rose, I must see him!"
The maid looked her alarm.
"Monsieur Floriot is with him, madame!"
"Ah--h!" she stifled a sob.
"Poor little chap!" said Rose, tenderly. "We thought he could never get
over it!"
The tortured mother sank into a chair with a moan of anguish.
"But the danger is over now," continued Rose, gently. "The doctor says
he will soon be well again."
Jacqueline's eyes fell on a photograph of the boy on the table beside
her and she seized it with both hands and held it to her face.
"My Raymond! My laddie!" she sobbed, softly. "How he has grown! How
big--and strong--he looks!"
"He does not look strong now, madame," and Rose shook her head.
"To think--that he might have died! And I should never have seen him
again! My darling, my little laddie!" The face of the picture was wet
with tears and kisses. "I wonder if he will recognize me! Does he
remember me at all?" she cried eagerly.
The maid gave a start and an exclamation of alarm.
"Here's Monsieur Floriot!"
Jacqueline rose unsteadily with a smothered cry and all but reeled
toward the door. In a moment Rose's arm was around her.
"No, no!" she whispered, reassuringly. "I was mistaken! I thought I
heard him coming."
The woman stood with both hands pressed to her breast and Rose watched
her pityingly. She had loved her young mistress dearly and had seen
much in her short married life to which both husband and wife had
been blind. It was several moments before Jacqueline had sufficiently
recovered from the shock to speak.
"How--my heart--beats!" she panted. And then after another pause:
"What--will he say--to me? But I don't care--I don't care what he says
if he will only pardon me enough to let me stay here with my boy. If
he--if he refuses to see me--I don't know what will happen to me!
Rose! Rose!" she cried, piteously, sobbing on the maid's shoulder,
"I--I am afraid!"
Rose patted her shoulder and murmured sympathy until the sobs became
less violent. Then she suggested gently:
"Wouldn't it be better to write to Monsieur Floriot, madame? He
does--he doesn't expect you and--you know how quick-tempered he is."
"I have written to him! I have written three letters in the last three
weeks and he has not answered them."
"He didn't open them," said Rose, very low.
There was another convulsive sob and then Jacqueline straightened and
threw back her head, her eyes shining with feverish resolve.
"I _must_ see him! I _will_ see him!" she cried in a high, unnatural
voice. "He cannot--he _must_ not condemn me unheard! He loved me a
little once--he must hear me now! Does he ever speak of me?"
The maid sadly shook her head.
"Never, madame."
"Never!" she echoed faintly.
"No, madame."
Jacqueline turned away for a moment with a sob of despair.
"What did he say--what did he do when I--left? Do you remember?"
Rose shuddered at the recollection.
"I shall never forget it! He was like a madman! He shut himself up in
his room for days together and wouldn't see anyone. Once he went out
and was gone for twenty-four hours. I used to listen outside his door
and I heard him sobbing and crying. I was so frightened once that in
spite of his orders I went into his room. It was in the evening and he
was sitting by the fire burning your letters and photographs and the
tears were rolling down his cheeks!"
Jacqueline listened white-faced, and as Rose told the story of her
husband's grief a sudden gleam of hope made her dizzy and faint. He had
loved her deeply, after all! He must still love her a little! She had
not lost everything!
"The boy saved his brain, I think," Rose was saying, but she barely
heard her. "He never would let him leave him, night or day. Then he
began to calm down a little and seemed to settle to his work again. He
has worked a little harder than before--that's all. Then we moved out
here," she added.
Jacqueline turned to her and she was more nearly calm than she had been
at any moment since entering the house.
"Rose, I must see him!" she cried, determinedly. "Go and tell him that
a lady wants to speak to him, but do not let him guess who it is!"
"Ah, but----"
"Rose, I beg of you!"
The maid shook her head doubtfully and then with a sigh of resignation,
went out to carry the message. Jacqueline, her knees trembling, dropped
weakly into a chair and strove to compose herself for the terrible
interview to come. In returning she had had no hope of forgiveness, for
she had not believed that her husband had ever truly loved her. But now
that she had gained hope from Rose's story of his grief her emotions
were beyond control.
There was no natural vice in her, and for that reason she had walked in
the purgatory of the fallen who are still permitted to see themselves
with the eyes of the virtuous. Vice breeds callousness. She had been
gay, witty, laughter-loving and emotional. Without love, as she
understood it, she felt herself to be incomplete. She had worshipped
her husband, but at last had come to believe that she was giving
far more than she received. She never knew the heart of the silent,
serious, hard-working man. Her vanity was hurt, and through her vanity
she fell--to be driven away from her husband and her boy.
Her boy! For two years she had thought of little else, had dreamed of
nothing else but the hour when she would be permitted to hold him to
her breast. Surely, even the stem attorney who had loved her once would
not deny her the mother's right to be with her child in his illness! He
must permit her to live where she could see her boy sometimes and watch
him grow to manhood!
She picked up the photograph and kissed it passionately again and again.
"Oh, my darling, my dear one! My laddie!" she half sobbed. "If it were
not for you I----"
A door facing her opened softly and her husband stepped into the room!