“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.