Molly gazed at her with eyes full of pain, and Florine said to herself that she was making good progress indeed.
“Madame, you are too good, you are indeed. I would not live with a man that hated me openly, and spent all his time with another woman. It is cruel, it is shameful!” warmly.
Not a word came from Molly’s blanched, writhing lips, but she watched Florine’s face with burning eyes.
The maid continued:
“Madame, where are all your friends and relations? Why do you not write to them to come to your aid, and make your husband treat you with common respect. If he will not do that let them take you away from him, for this life of loneliness and neglect is killing you by inches.”
“That is true,” Molly gasped with white lips.
“I would bear it no longer, madame. I would go away out of his life forever since they both wish for it and pray for it.”
“Oh, Florine, you are mistaken. He is angry with me, but if I am only patient he will pity and forgive me soon, I hope. And—and—he is going to take me home next week that—our child may be born at his old ancestral home,” Molly cried, piteously.
Florine gazed at her in expressive silence a moment.
“You see he does not hate me as bad as you think,” Molly cried eagerly, and Florine sighed aloud.