"Why do I allow my thoughts to dwell upon him?" she exclaimed, with a shrug of her shoulders and a pretty assumption of impatience; "he is the same as a stranger to me, and I may never see him again. How foolish I am!"
Nevertheless, Clifford Faxon's strong, handsome face haunted her continually, and even in her dreams that night she saw a shapely hand outstretched to her; in its palm there lay a heart pierced with an arrow, its feather the shade of her own bright hair, and on the hand there gleamed a well-remembered cameo ring.
The following morning brought another trial to Mollie, and one which she had never dreamed of being subjected to. When she entered Monsieur Lamonti's office at the usual hour, she found him already there, but looking unusually grave and preoccupied. She bade him a cheerful "bon jour," to which he courteously but, to her sensitive ear, rather coldly responded.
"Yes," he briefly replied, "Lucille is well."
Mollie began to wonder if anything had gone wrong in connection with his business; or if, by any possibility she had made a mistake that required a reproof, which he might be very loath to administer; or perhaps he might not be feeling well, and did not realize how constrained his manner was.
However, she slipped quietly into the chair before her desk and began her work, but with a strange feeling of sadness and embarrassment oppressing her. She wrote steadily for more than an hour, during which time not a word was spoken by either occupant of the room.
Then, all at once, Monsieur Lamonti laid down his pen and, wheeling around in his chair, faced her.
"Will mademoiselle be kind enough to give me her attention for a few moments?" he gravely questioned. "I have something of importance to communicate to her."
Mollie grew suddenly pale with apprehension. Oh! could it be possible that Monsieur Lamonti was contemplating some change that would deprive her of her position? Maybe he was on the point of returning to France, or had been assigned to some other station in the United States to continue his public duties. What could she do—where turn for employment in such an emergency?
"Certainly, monsieur," she managed to falter, as she mechanically placed a paper-weight upon the sheet before her; then tried to smile bravely as she turned her colorless face to him to await her sentence, whatever it might be.