“‘Oh, Mon Dieu! such a scene as I’ve made, and frightened you, child. How monsieur would have enjoyed that; he would call it my high art in acting. Curse him! I’ll act for him no more;’ and the hard, bitter look of hatred came back to her face for an instant, then left it again as she said: ‘I’ve told you my story, little one, who seems like Agatha. Now tell me yours; where you met him; why you married, and how you came here shut up, a prisoner. Maybe I can help you. Who knows? I owe him something for his wrong to Agatha.’
“But for this hint that possibly Eugenie could help her, Anna might have shrank from confiding her story to her, but this new revelation of her husband’s character had so increased her horror and dislike of him, that she readily seized upon anything which offered the shadow of a chance to escape from a life she hated; and conquering all feelings of distrust and aversion for one who had openly confessed herself a bad woman, she began the story, and told first of her New England home, her poverty, and her life in the dingy shoe-shop, with the sickening smell of leather and wax. At this point Eugenie started forward, exclaiming joyfully, and this time in her broken English:
“‘Then you are not no-bil-i-te. You be very people as me. J’en suis bien aise. I hate no-bil-i-te, who will trample such as we. I am pleased you are much the people. I will help you more.’
“‘You mistake,’ Anna cried, eagerly, ‘I am nobility, as you call it. We are all nobility in America, or can be. We are all sovereigns by right. No matter what we do, we can rise.’
“Anna grew very warm with this flash of national and personal pride, while Eugenie looked at her curiously, wondering, no doubt, how a born sovereign could work in wax and leather, but she was too good-natured and polite to dispute the point, and answered, laughingly:
“‘Pardonnez moi, madame. Je me trompe. En Amerique vous—vous—what you call it? You all expect to marry kings and emperors, and be mi-lady some time—oui—oui—je l’aime beaucoup, but go on, I wait to hear how monsieur came——’
“Then Anna told her of Haverleigh’s visit to Millfield; of his admiration for herself; of her desire for money and position; of the marriage in the church, which was a real marriage; of the foolish words spoken and overheard in New York; of Haverleigh’s jealousy and rage; of the punishment finally inflicted upon her, and of her husband’s different moods since, sometimes so loving as to fill her with disgust, and again revengeful and savage to a degree which made her dread him as a madman.
“Ah, ma Petite,” Eugenie cried, ‘and he is a madman, at times—much mad; but, tell me, was there no other one whom Petite cared for at home, in that quiet, small town? No grande passion to make monsieur jealous?’
“So much had happened since the days when Anna walked home from church with Hal Morton, and sang to him in the twilight, that she had almost forgotten him, but thoughts of him came back to her now, and by the sudden heaving of her chest, and the flush which rose to her forehead, Eugenie guessed that there was some grande passion, as she named it, and very adroitly drew from Anna that somebody was perhaps sadder for her marriage, ‘though I never should have married him,’ she said, ‘We were both too poor, and Mr. Morton’s family were the first in Boston.’
“‘Mon Dieu. Quel difference,’ Eugenie exclaimed, with a shrug. ‘Are you not all born—what you call it in English—governors! Non, pardonnez—sovereigns! I do so have things mixed.’