“‘Oh, you don’t know how lonely.’
“It was long since Eugenie Arschinard had felt a throb of anything like kindly pity for any one; but there was something in Anna’s face and Anna’s eyes which struck a chord she had thought stilled forever, and brought back a wave of memory which shook her, for an instant, like a tempest, and made her grow faint and weak before this woman she had meant to hate. Years ago, before Eugenie Arschinard was the woman she was now, she had loved a young half-sister with all the intensity of her strong, passionate nature, and loved her the more for having had the care of her from the time her first wailing cry echoed through the chamber of the dying mother. For this child Eugenie had toiled and denied herself, and gone without sufficient food that the little one might be daintily clothed and fed on delicacies. Then, in an unlucky hour, Eugenie went to Paris to make her fortune as a milliner, and get a home for the young girl growing each day more and more beautiful. But before that home was made Eugenie’s brilliant beauty had been her ruin, and she would not bring her sister into the tainted atmosphere of her world.
“The glamour of Haverleigh’s love and money was in its freshness, and in her intoxication she forgot everything else until there came a terrible awakening, and she heard that ‘La Petite,’ as she called her sister, had left her home with a stranger, and gone no one knew whither, or whether for good or bad. Then for a time the fairy palace off the Champs d’Elysees was closed, while Eugenie, maddened and remorseful, sought far and near for traces of La Petite, but sought in vain, and after many weeks she returned to her home and life in Paris, gayer, more reckless than ever, but with a pain in her heart which never left her for a moment.
“Time passed on till more than a year was gone, and then she heard from the gray-haired father at home that in a roundabout way, which he nevertheless felt to be reliable, tidings had come to him of La Petite’s death, though how she died or where he did not know.
“These were very uncomfortable days for Ernest Haverleigh, who, never having heard Eugenie mention her sister, did not know she had one, and could not guess of the bitter grief which consumed her day and night, and made her sometimes like a raging animal in her hatred of all mankind.
“It was at that time that Mr. Haverleigh, finding no comfort with Eugenie, had decided to visit America, and leave the lady to herself until she was in a better frame of mind. He had found her better on his return, and furiously jealous of Anna, whom she wished so much to see, and whom, when she saw, she felt herself drawn strangely toward, because of a resemblance to the dear little sister dead, she knew not where.
“Mr. Haverleigh had dreaded this meeting between the eagle and the dove, as he mentally styled the two women who were bound to him, one by the tie of marriage, the other by the so-called tie of honor. Would the eagle tear the dove, he wondered, and he watched them curiously as they met, marveling much at Eugenie’s manner, and the pallor which showed itself even through her paint. Anna had either made a favorable impression, or else Eugenie thought her too insipid to be considered as a rival for a moment. In either case he was pleased to know that there was not to be war between the two ladies, and with this load off his mind he became the most urbane and agreeable of hosts.
“It was a very merry dinner party, for the guests were all young and in the best of spirits, and the light jest and gay repartee passed rapidly around the board. Only Anna was quiet. She did not understand French well enough to catch readily what they said, especially when they talked so rapidly, and so many at a time. But she was a good listener, and tried to seem interested and smile in the right place, and she looked so girlish and pretty, and did her duties as hostess so gracefully, that her husband felt proud of her, while every man at the table pronounced her perfect, and every woman charming.
“Those October days at Chateau d’Or were very pleasant, for Mr. Haverleigh was a good host, and his guests knew well how to entertain themselves, so that from early morning into the small hours of night there was no cessation of pleasure and revelry. But Anna did not join in the dissipation. She was not at all strong, and in the freedom of intercourse between these volatile, unprincipled French people she saw much to censure and shock her, and shrunk from any familiarity with them. This reticence on her part was attributed to her supposed malady, which made her melancholy, the ladies thought, and after a few ineffectual efforts to draw her into their circle, they gave it up, and suffered her to remain quietly in her room.
“Eugenie, however, often sought her society, attracted by the look in her face to the lost one, and by a desire to see how far the story of her insanity was true, and to know something of her early history. But it was not until the party had been at the chateau for three weeks, and were beginning to talk of going back to Paris, or still farther south to Nice or Mentone, that an opportunity for the desired interview presented itself.