“‘She haunts the room still,’ Celine said; ‘and often on stormy nights, when the wind howls round the old chateau, we hear her voice singing of Normandy. You see, that was her home, and she thought she was going back to see it again. Oh, but she was pretty, much like madame; only she was mademoiselle—no wedding ring, for true—no priest—and she was not lady, like you Americaine. She was people—very people.’
“This was Celine’s version of the story, and that night Anna heard from Madame Verwest more of poor Agatha, who believed herself a wife, and who went really mad when she found that she was not. If anything had been wanting to complete Anna’s loathing and horror of her husband, this story would have accomplished it. That he was a demon in human form, as well as a madman, she had no doubt, and there gradually crept into her heart a fear lest she, too, like Agatha of Normandy, would die in that dreary house. Still youth is hopeful, and Anna was young and cheered by the courage of Madame Verwest, who was to her more like a mother than a servant, she found herself constantly forming plans for escape from the chateau. When she received her husband’s letter, telling her he was coming, her first and predominant feeling was one of horror and dread; but anon there arose in her mind a hope that he might be coming to release her, or at least to take her with him to Paris, and once there she would fall in with Americans or English, and through them obtain her freedom.
“With this end in view she determined to make herself as attractive and agreeable as possible to the man she detested, and on the day when he was expected she suffered Celine to dress her in one of the many Paris gowns which she had never worn, for it had hitherto seemed worse than folly to array herself in laces, and silks, and jewels for her solitary meals. But to-day there was a reason for dressing, and she bade Celine do her best, and when that best was done and she saw herself in the glass, a picture of rare loveliness in blue satin and lace, with pearls on her neck and arms, something of her old vanity awoke within her, and she found herself again wishing that her friends at home could see her.
“In the kitchen below all was bustle and expectation, for whatever Ernest Haverleigh might be to others, he was exceedingly popular with his servants, and not a man or woman of them but would have walked through fire and water to serve him. In the dining salon the table was set for dinner as it never had been laid since the first night of Anna’s arrival at Chateau d’Or, more than five months ago. And Anna glanced in there once as she was passing the door, and felt herself grow sick and faint as she saw the costly array, and remembered what it was for.
“At half-past five the train was due, and just as the little silver clock chimed the half hour, the whistle was heard, and from the window where she had so often watched the sun setting she saw the long train moving off toward Marseilles, and a few moments after the sound of carriage wheels in the court below told her that her husband had come. She did not go to meet him, but with clasped hands and rapidly beating heart stood waiting for him just where he left her months before, terrified, bewildered, crouching upon the couch, with her face hidden in her hands. Now she stood erect, with an unnatural brightness in her blue eyes, and a flush on her cheeks, which deepened to scarlet as her ear caught the sound of heavy footsteps, and she knew he was coming.
“The next moment he opened the door, and started involuntarily, as if he had not been prepared to see her thus. He had not expected to find her so beautiful and so matured. He had left her a timid, shrinking girl; he found her a woman, with that expression upon her face which only experience or suffering brings. His role had been all marked out and arranged. He should find her tearful, reproachful, desperate possibly, and that would suit him well, and make her insanity more probable to his servants, while he would be the patient, enduring, martyr-husband, humoring her like a child, and petting her as he would pet a kitten which scratched and spit at his caresses. How then was he disappointed, when, with a steady step, she crossed the room to meet him, and offered her hand as quietly and self-possessed, to all appearance, as if he had been a stranger seeking audience of her.
“‘Ma precieuse, ma belle reine, how charming I find you, and how delighted I am to see you looking so well,’ he exclaimed, as he encircled her in his arms as lovingly as if she had been the bride of yesterday.
“Oh, how she loathed his caresses, and felt her blood curdling in her veins as he pressed kiss after kiss upon her cheek and lips, and called her his darling and pet, and asked if she were glad to see him again. She could not tell a lie, and she dared not tell the truth, but her eyes told it for her, and he saw it at once, and said in a deprecating tone:
“‘What! not glad to see me when I have lived in the anticipation of this meeting ever since I parted with you last autumn. Why then didn’t I come before? you may ask. Business before pleasure, you know, and then I hoped that perfect quiet in this lovely retreat would go far toward restoring you. Eh, ma petite. How is it, are you any better here?’ And he touched his forehead significantly.
“That exasperated Anna, who, for a moment, lost her self-control, and releasing herself from him, stepped backward, and with a proud gesture of her head, exclaimed: