“Poor girl! she is crushed to earth by the exposure of her treachery,” he thought, and a great wonder at her humility came over him. “Such a spirited little creature, such a mad-cap, as she used to be! What has subdued her so? Can it be the work of love—love for me?”
These softened thoughts followed him until the next morning, and something like pity began to blend with his anger toward his unhappy wife.
“She is ill and lonely, and perhaps I ought to show her some little courtesy. I will send her some new books; she can beguile her lonely hours with them,” he told himself, and spent an hour selecting a dozen books on poetry, romance, travel, and kindred subjects.
His heart, that had been so heavy through all its pride and resentment, felt lighter as he retraced his steps to The Acacias. He deemed himself quite fortunate in meeting Florine in the hall. He called to her hastily, and gave her the large package of books.
“Take these to my wife, from me,” he said, in a softened voice. “Tell her I selected them especially for her reading, and hope she will find them interesting.”
Florine took the books with a courtesy. She went slowly along the hall—very slowly. She did not mean to deliver the books, if she could help it.
But, glancing in a furtive way over her shoulder, she saw Cecil Laurens leaning against the newel, and intently watching her progress.
“Diable! he distrusts me,” she muttered, and a clever thought came to her. She opened the door and went in with the books.
Molly looked up at her with those dark, wistful orbs that ought to have moved even the Frenchwoman’s wicked heart, but their plaintive sorrow did not touch the creature that Louise had bribed with gold.
“Madame,” she said, smoothly, “Miss Barry has sent you some good, Christian books to read, and hopes they will do you good. She called to take your husband to a morning concert, and left the books and the message.”