“‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will.’”
Decidedly it was the best to go back, thought the maid—that was, if her mistress still had her heart set on that silly boy. For herself, she thought it all folly; she would not have given a snap of her fingers for Norman de Vere.
“A penniless, smooth-faced boy!” she thought, contemptuously. “Pah! why did not madame make him turn out a mustache? How could she bear to kiss him? There could be no more flavor to it than a girl’s or a baby’s kiss!”
But madame was going to make her rich when by her help she became reconciled to her angry husband, so Finette swallowed her disgust and set her crafty brain to work.
“To leave Paree and go back to dat hateful America—it is hard, but ‘needs must when the devil drives,’” she sighed; so they set their faces homeward.
They went to New York and settled down quietly in a flat, taking care to keep their presence a secret from Norman de Vere; but his mother was duly informed, and by collusion with her, Camille had many opportunities of seeing her beloved, herself unseen, and every furtive glance at the pale, stern, yet darkly handsome face only deepened Camille’s passion for her husband. She would have given all her wealth now—all the world, if it had been hers to bestow—for the love she had prized so lightly when it was all her own.
“For just one kiss that your lips have given
In the lost and beautiful past to me,
I would gladly barter my hopes of heaven
And all the bliss of eternity.”