The haughty woman recoiled in horror, her cheek grew ashen pale, her hazel eyes darkened and dilated with fear.
Finette smiled maliciously when she saw that she had reduced her domineering mistress to a condition of speechless fear and indignation. She waited a moment, and then continued, coolly:
“You see you are in my power, madame. Turn me away, and you make me desperate. I have always pitied monsieur for the match he made, and I will do him one good turn before I go by telling him what you made me do last night.”
“I paid you well—you promised to keep it a secret forever!” Mrs. de Vere uttered, reproachfully.
“‘A bad promise is better broken than kept,’” quoted Finette, with airy unconcern and audacity.
“What is it that you wish me to do then? Give you a good character when you leave, that you may deceive some other woman?” inquired Mrs. de Vere, angrily.
“You will keep me in your service, please,” was the unblushing reply.
“As the price of your silence?”
“As you please, madame,” with a mocking courtesy; and Mrs. de Vere now realized fully that from henceforth Finette was the mistress, herself the slave. Her secret had placed her entirely at the unscrupulous woman’s mercy.
With a sinking heart she cried: