In a few hours, Hortense Duval, from the deck of the swift Golden Gate, sees the sunlight fall for the last time, in long years, on San Francisco's sandy hills.
With peculiar adroitness, in defence of her past, for the sake of her future position, she keeps her staterooms; only walking the decks with her maid occasionally at night. No awkward travelling pioneer must recognize her as the lost "Beauty of the El Dorado." A mere pretence of illness is enough.
When safely out of the harbor of Colon, on the French steamer, she is perfectly free. Her passage tickets, made out as Madame de Santos, are her new credentials.
She has left her old life behind her. Keen and self-possessed, with quiet dignity she queens it on the voyage. When the French coast is reached, her perfect mastery of herself proves she has grown into her new position.
Philip Hardin has whispered at the last, "I want you to get rid of your maid in a few months. It is just as well she should be out of the way."
When out of Hardin's influence, reviewing the whole situation, Hortense, in her real character, becomes a little fearful. What if he should drop her? Suppose he denies her identity. He can legally reclaim the "Heiress of Lagunitas." Hortense Duval well knows that Philip Hardin will stop at nothing. As the French coast nears, Hortense mentally resolves NOT to part with Marie Berard. Marie is a valuable witness of the past relations. She is the only safeguard she has against Hardin's manifold schemes. So far there is no "entente cordiale" between mistress and maid. They watch each other.
By hazard, as the children are brought out, ready for the landing, Hortense notices the similarity of dress, the speaking resemblance of the children. Marie Berard, proud of their toilettes, remarks, "Madame, they are almost twins in looks."
Hortense Duval's lightning mind conceives a daring plan. She broods in calm and quiet, as the cars bear her from Havre to Paris. She must act quickly. She knows Hardin may use more ways of gaining information than her own letters. His brain is fertile. His purse, powerful.
Going to an obscure hotel, she procures a carriage. She drives alone to the Convent of the Sacre Coeur. With perfect tranquillity she announces her wishes. The Mother Superior, personally, is charmed with Madame de Santos. A mere mention of her banking references is sufficient. Blest power of gold!
Madame Natalie de Santos is in good humor when she regains her apartment. On the next morning, after a brief visit to her bankers, who receive her "en princesse," she drives alone with her OWN child to the Sacred Heart. While the little one prattles with some engaging Sisters, Hortense calmly registers the nameless child of sin as ISABEL VALOIS, THE HEIRESS OF LAGUNITAS. A year's fees and payments are made. A handsome "outfit allowance" provides all present needs suited to the child's station. Arranging to send the belongings of the heiress to the convent, Hortense Duval buries her past forever in giving to her own child the name and station of the heiress of Lagunitas. To keep a hold on Hardin she will place the other child where that crafty lawyer can never find her. Her bosom swells with pride. Now, at last, she can control the deepest plans of Philip Hardin. But if he should demand their own child? He has no legal power over the nameless one—not even here. Marriage first. After that, the secret. It is a MASTER STROKE.