She opened it. An expression of intense relief flooded her countenance.
“Thank God!” she cried, almost hysterically, putting the paper into Rivers’ hands, “he can’t divorce her now, can he?”
“Hardly!” said Rivers, smiling at the clever woman’s naïveté. “He died this morning at half-past nine. Poor fellow, though I don’t know him!”
Had the widow heard? She opened her eyes at that moment and smiled sweetly at Dr. André, as his hands passed to and fro in front of her face. With characteristic tact, he left her in her happy trance a little longer, dreaming, perchance, of fresh woods and pastures new.
THE END
PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY
AND SONS COMPANY AT THE
LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.
