Clever Finette found out long before she was summoned to dress her
mistress next morning that a reconciliation had most probably taken
place between the young husband and his jealous wife, and she was
surprised to find her when she entered in one of her most captious
moods. She made herself as disagreeable as possible, and when Finette
was brushing out the splendid lengths of her waving hair, burst out
suddenly:
“If you find another gray hair, Finette, you need not gossip with Nance
over it, taking ungrateful pleasure in ridiculing the mistress to whom
you owe everything.”
“Madame!”
For once the wicked, imperturbable maid was taken by surprise. The
ivory-backed brush fell from her nervous hand, and she recoiled in
fear, realizing that her mistress had found her out for once.
“Madame!” she exclaimed, shrilly, and Mrs. de Vere answered, angrily:
“You understand me. I know all your malicious gossip to the negro
house-maid last night.”
“So Nance has been telling lies on me, madame? I thought you trusted
your faithful Finette better than to listen to those miserable negroes,
my lady,” reproachfully.
“Go on with my hair,” Mrs. de Vere answered, shutting her red lips with
an angry click. She spoke no more until the last hairpin was pushed
into the wavy coil of shining hair.
“Well, did you succeed?” she inquired, in a low, significant voice.
“Yes, madame. The leetle one is far away--far away and safe. Monsieur
will nevaire find her again.”
“That is well. You shall have your reward,” Mrs. de Vere said, coldly.
She waited until Finette, with a rather sulky face, had finished
dressing her in an exquisite morning-dress of soft white mull and lace,
with a quantity of fluttering pale-green ribbons; then she unlocked
a drawer in her dressing-case, and took out a purse from which she
counted out two hundred dollars into the eager hands of the avaricious
maid.
“You are paid now for what you did last night; and remember you are to
hold your tongue about that forever,” she said.
Finette protested that the secret should never pass her lips.
All this time Mrs. de Vere had been trembling with suppressed anger,
which now she could hold in no longer. She turned angrily toward
Finette, and cried:
“Now I am going to pay you a month’s wages in advance and discharge
you!”
“Discharge me, madame? Oh!” cried Finette, in amazement.
“Yes--for your odious tattling last night. You ridiculed me--held
me up to the derision of my own servants--and I shall punish you by
discharging you without a character!” Mrs. de Vere retorted, violently.
“And all for the lies of that black hussy, Nance! Oh, madame! I nevaire
could have believed this, after all my years of faithful service. But
I shall punish the false negress--I will pull the black wool from her
head!” stormed Finette, in a towering rage, and in a mixture of French
and English impossible to transcribe.
“Be silent! How dare you behave so rudely in my presence?” cried Mrs.
de Vere, with a stamp of her slippered foot, her hazel eyes flashing
indignantly.
“But such lies! How can I bear it? Not a word of truth in it! That
Nance envies me--lies to get me out of my place and turned away
homeless. But I will tear her eyes out!” hissed Finette, viciously.
Mrs. de Vere smiled scornfully at the theatrical gestures of the
excited French woman.
“You can spare yourself all these denunciations of the poor
house-maid,” she said, impatiently. “It was not she who betrayed you;
it was my husband, who was sitting in the rose arbor and overheard you
and Nance.”
Finette stared--then leered.
“In the rose arbor! Ah, but that is strange!” she cried. “Why, it was
just outside the rose arbor I met Nance. The hussy! she told me she had
just come from a party. She led me on to talk about you, and all the
time laughing in her sleeve, knowing he was there!”
The wicked significance of her looks and tones were most insulting to
her mistress. Mrs. de Vere flushed burning red up to her temples.
“Be silent, you miserable wretch! How dare you traduce my husband?” she
exclaimed.
“You traduced him yourself last night,” muttered Finette, sulkily.
Mrs. de Vere chose not to hear the retort, and continued:
“Nance did not know my husband was in the arbor.”
“Oh, certainly not, madame,” Finette replied, with a sneer; but her
mistress took no notice and went on:
“Mr. de Vere was so indignant at your treachery that he came at once to
tell me, and he desired me to send you away this morning.”
“Monsieur is very kind,” said Finette, with a ghastly smile. “I will
try to forgive him. I will repay good for evil.”
Mrs. de Vere gave a slight start--the tone was so significant.
“When does monsieur wish me to go?” added Finette, plaintively.
“To-day,” curtly.
“And you, madame?” more plaintively still.
“I agree with my husband,” Mrs. de Vere replied, still smarting under
the pangs of wounded pride, and quite ignoring the gratitude she had
professed for Finette last night.
She could remember nothing but the fierce shame and anger that had
thrilled her when she heard how Finette had held her up to the coarse
ridicule of her negro servant.
“Very well,” said Finette, courtesying with pretended meekness; then
she whimpered: “Oh, madame! let me stay. I will never tattle again.”
“I wish you to go. No pleading will move me to retain you in my service
after your treachery of last night,” was the cold reply.
A malicious light crept into the beady black eyes beneath the downcast
lids, and Finette crept servilely toward the door.
“I am very sorry,” she murmured, audibly; then, as if struck by a
sudden thought: “Oh, I think I can undo some of my bad work of last
night. I will go to monsieur; I will confess--”
“What?” quavered a frightened voice close beside her, and Mrs. de Vere
clutched her arm. “What is it you are going to confess to my husband?”
she demanded.
Finette turned upon her boldly.
“The abduction of his child at your instigation, miladi,” she replied,
with insolent triumph, and she felt herself well revenged for Mrs. de
Vere’s contempt when she saw how she had frightened the proud beauty.
The haughty woman recoiled in horror, her cheek grew ashen pale, her
hazel eyes darkened and dilated with fear.
Finette smiled maliciously when she saw that she had reduced her
domineering mistress to a condition of speechless fear and indignation.
She waited a moment, and then continued, coolly:
“You see you are in my power, madame. Turn me away, and you make me
desperate. I have always pitied monsieur for the match he made, and I
will do him one good turn before I go by telling him what you made me
do last night.”
“I paid you well--you promised to keep it a secret forever!” Mrs. de
Vere uttered, reproachfully.
“‘A bad promise is better broken than kept,’” quoted Finette, with airy
unconcern and audacity.
“What is it that you wish me to do then? Give you a good character when
you leave, that you may deceive some other woman?” inquired Mrs. de
Vere, angrily.
“You will keep me in your service, please,” was the unblushing reply.
“As the price of your silence?”
“As you please, madame,” with a mocking courtesy; and Mrs. de Vere now
realized fully that from henceforth Finette was the mistress, herself
the slave. Her secret had placed her entirely at the unscrupulous
woman’s mercy.
With a sinking heart she cried:
“What am I to tell my husband?”
“Say that Finette begged a thousand pardons, wept, tore her hair,
refused to be comforted until you promised to forgive her and try her
again.”
Mrs. de Vere could not repress a slight smile at the cool impudence of
the creature.
“Stay, then, and try to hold your tongue in future,” she said,
ungraciously, and Finette pretended the most abject gratitude, ending
with:
“After all, dear madame, what could you do without your poor Finette?
Who could dress you so as to set off to the best advantage your
exquisite face?”
Mrs. de Vere knew that Finette spoke the truth. If she had sent her
away she would have sorely missed her, but she was too angry and too
humiliated to own her dependence. She waved her hand without reply, and
swept down-stairs in search of her husband.
He was waiting for her in the breakfast-room. She went up to him and
said:
“I find it impossible to get rid of that treacherous Finette. She has
begged a thousand pardons, and entreated me to try her again. After
all, Norman, I could not do any better if I sent her away. Another
servant would be just as deceitful, and would not have the advantage
that Finette has of knowing all my ways.”
“Please yourself,” he answered, a little coldly.