“That proves nothing,” he said curtly.
“No, nothing,” agreed Florine. Then with a deep-drawn sigh: “Only madame wept so bitterly, and exclaimed, ‘No one could blame me if I left my unloving husband and went back to my friend!’”
He looked at her sternly, as if trying to pierce the secrets of her false breast, but she continued unfalteringly:
“Ah, I have lived with so many fine ladies, I know their ways. It might be only a coincidence, but why did she send me away tonight? Why was she so anxious I should go to the theater?”
“Hush! No more!” he said, hoarsely, and Florine bowed mockingly.
“You believe, then, Florine, that her note was a blind, and that she sailed tonight for America?”
“Undoubtedly, monsieur.”
“Great heavens! I wish you had warned me!” he exclaimed.
“I thought you would be glad to be rid of an unloved wife,” low and tauntingly.
“Go!” he said, threateningly; then as suddenly recalled her. “This scandal must be kept a secret,” he said. “The servants even must not know. The price of your silence?” sternly.