But baby Alan slept on peacefully in the soft, downy nest, his round cheeks softly flushed, the gold rings lying in shining disorder on the noble white brow, heedless of the hapless mother lying there upon the floor a crumpled heap of pale-blue cashmere and golden curls while her enemies bent gloatingly above her, noting with fierce loathing every young and tender charm.
“I could kill her, Finette,” Camille breathed fiercely, her fingers working with convulsive eagerness, her throat swelling.
“Hush, miladi! Life will be more cruel to her than death. And how young she is! Think how long she will have to live to bear her deep disgrace!”
She unstoppered the silver vinaigrette that swung from her belt, and held it to Thea’s nostrils. A minute more and the girl sighed faintly, then the blue eyes flared wide open upon Finette’s curious face.
“You are better, miss?” she cried, pertly. “Oh, no; don’t faint again. You took us for ghosts, I know, but that was a mistake. There’s been several mistakes, you see, and one of them was made by Mr. Norman de Vere when he thought his first wife was dead and took a second.”
Thea lay there, too dazed and weak to lift a finger, her blue eyes fixed intently on the woman’s malicious face. Over her shoulder she could see the face of the scornful woman who claimed to be Camille de Vere.
“Hush, Finette; you forestall my triumph!” cried that derisive voice. Her hazel eyes blazed. “Listen, you nameless foundling!” she went on, sharply, her very voice a sword. “I am Camille de Vere, Norman de Vere’s legal wife. I was never dead, as he believed. It was a plot to deceive him that I might punish him for all I suffered at his hands. Well, I am avenged! You, girl, have never been his wife for an hour, and that child there—ha! ha! ha!—is illegitimate!”
Those words—those bitter, taunting words—seemed to sting Thea into new life. She sprung unsteadily to her feet, and leaning over the crib, flung one arm protectingly about her son, and lifted her face, deathly white, but all alive and quivering with the blue fire of her eyes, to the face of her foe.
“You speak falsely!” she cried, with passionate indignation. “You are an impostor, and I command you to leave the house at once!”
Camilla laughed in cool derision.