She spoke rather to herself than to the maid, but Florine said eagerly:
“Ah, madame, you begin to talk sensibly now, for I tell you plainly that if you stay here much longer, Miss Barry will find means to remove you from her path. Oh, I am so sorry for you, my sweet young mistress, or I would not tell you this. But I am frightened for you, madame, and I know when you go back to America, where I can not go with you, you will have no one to watch over you like your poor Florine!”
It was all very genuine, all very eloquent, as Florine poured it out, and Molly’s heart warmed to the maid whom she had once distrusted.
“Florine, you are very good to me,” she exclaimed, gratefully. She pulled a pretty ruby ring from her finger, and holding it out to her, said, in a voice choked with misery: “Take this to remember me when I am gone.”
The treacherous woman took the gift with profuse thanks and inward joy, for Molly’s last words had assured her that her scheme had succeeded.
She would go away—poor, desolate Molly—and she, Florine would be spared the taking of human life.
“Madame, let me go with you and care for you,” she said, curious to know where she would go.
But Molly shook her head.
“No, no, Florine; I shall go alone,” she said, hopelessly; but the maid said to herself:
“I shall be sure to find you out, any way, for I want to keep track of you.”