He began to repent of that cruel letter he had written to Molly,
and to think that it would not be impossible to forgive her for her
treachery. He formed a wistful habit of watching the door behind which
she had hidden herself from angry scrutiny, but it never opened save
for the egress or ingress of Florine who regarded in such surprise the
apparition of Monsieur Cecil in the hall, that he would color up to his
temples and turn away.
Yet the longing to see his wife, to hear her voice, grew upon Cecil
daily, and much of his resentment died. Once or twice he was tempted to
knock boldly at her door, to enter and take her in his arms, and tell
her he forgave everything, because he loved her so well he could not
live away from her presence. There was but one thing that deterred him;
it was the sight every day in his room of the books Molly had sent back
with that maddening message.
The remembrance of that episode kept alive in his breast a tiny spark
of resentment.
“She should not have been so resentful, after all that she had done.
She should have accepted the first overture I made toward peace,” he
thought.
But Louise Barry was not idle. She foresaw all too plainly that the
time was not far distant when Cecil Laurens’ love would break down his
pride, and force him to seek reconciliation with his lovely young wife.
“And when that hour comes I shall be lost, for Molly will betray me as
soon as she can find any one to listen,” she said to herself.
The yellow eyes gleamed with fear and anger.
“It must not be!” she exclaimed, and a cruel purpose entered her mind.
She sent for Florine Dabol that evening, and the maid came to her in
disguise, as she always did.
“Florine, you promised to rid me of that woman!” she exclaimed,
reproachfully.
The maid tossed her head.
“_Ma foi_, what can I do? I have tried to make her desperate, so that
she would run away or kill herself, but she will do neither. Had any
one told me the half I have told her, I should have gone mad with
jealousy. But this girl--I never saw such sadness, such dumb humility.
She means to win him back by sheer humility and patience.”
Louise shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
“I never should have believed it of Molly Trueheart, she was always so
fiery, yet she was good-natured, too, at her best. I could wind her
around my little finger by cajolery.”
“And now, Mademoiselle?”
“I can not move her. She has grown stubborn through her love for him,”
Louise answered, frowning.
In a minute more she asked:
“And the husband, Florine? Has he made any more overtures toward
reconciliation?”
Florine answered with what seemed almost malicious candor:
“It is only by constant strategy I keep them apart. He is dying for
her; one can see that plainly.”
“He is a fool. He does not seem to know that there is another woman in
the world!” exclaimed the heiress, whose clever plans for monopolizing
Cecil had all failed. Molly might be lost to him through her treachery,
but he never thought of Louise or any other.
Florine stayed an hour and they revolved many plans before they decided
on one. Then the maid hurried home, always fearful that Cecil should
catch her off guard and make his way to Molly.
But she found her young mistress alone as usual, for the other members
of the family seldom entered the sick-room.
Molly had fallen asleep on her sofa in her pretty white _négligé_, and
her maid, who had an eye for beauty, gazed at her admiringly for some
moments, noticing that a tear had fallen and was only half dried upon
her cheek.
“How pretty she is! No wonder monsieur is so ready to forgive her and
love her again,” she thought. “I wonder that Miss Barry can have the
heart--I shouldn’t, I know, but for the five hundred dollars. But I
need that so bad, or I wouldn’t, no, I wouldn’t have been tempted to do
such a deed. Whatever happens, I’ll bet all my money he’ll never marry
that wicked Louise!”