Good morning, Mrs.Stanford.I am going to call on Madame Millefleur." He took his hat and left the room, and Rose dropped down in her chair and covered her face with her hands.
If Kate Danton and Jules La Touche ever wished for revenge, they should have seen the woman who so cruelly wronged them at that moment.
Vengeance more bitter, more terrible than her worst enemy could wish, had overtaken and crushed her to the earth.
How that long, miserable day passed, the poor child never knew.

It came to an end, and the longer, more miserable night followed.

Another morning, another day of unutterable wretchedness, and a second night of tears and sleeplessness.

The third day came and passed, and still Reginald Stanford never returned.

The evening of the third day brought her a letter, with Napoleon's head on the corner.
"Hotel Du Louvre, Paris, April 10.
My Dear Mrs.Stanford:--For you have still the unhappiness of bearing that odious name, although I have no doubt Captain Danton will shortly take the proper steps to relieve you of it.
According to promise, I have rid you of my hateful presence, and forever.