CHAPTER XXX.

"Quelle horreur, Felise! that was a shocking denouement to-night. We tremble on the brink of a volcano."

Mrs. Arnold and her daughter were rolling homeward in their luxurious carriage from the masquerade ball at Colonel Carlyle's chateau, and the elder lady's remark was uttered in a tone of trepidation and terror.

But Felise leaning back in her corner among the silken cushions in the picturesque costume of a fortune-teller, only laughed[Pg 103] at her terror—a low and fiendish laugh that expressed unqualified satisfaction.

"Ma mere, was Leslie Dane's resurrection a great surprise to you?" she inquired, with a covert sneer.

"A great surprise, and a terrible shock to me, too," the lady answered. "Of course, after believing him dead so long, it is very inconvenient to have him come to life again—as inconvenient for Colonel Carlyle and his wife as for us."

And again Felise laughed mockingly, as if she found only the sweetest pleasure in her mother's words.

"Felise, I cannot understand you," exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, anxiously. "Surely you forget the peril we are in from this man's resurrection from the grave where we thought him lying. I thought you would be as much surprised and frightened at this dreadful contretemps as I am."

"I have known that Leslie Dane was living all these three years," answered Miss Herbert, as coolly as before.

"Then the paper you showed to me and to Bonnibel must have been a forgery!'

"It was. I had the notice of Leslie Dane's death inserted myself."

The carriage paused at their hotel, and they were handed out.

Mrs. Arnold followed her daughter to her own apartments.

"Send your maid away, Felise. I must talk to you a little," she said.

Felise had a French maid now instead of Janet, who had resolutely declined to cross the ocean with her.

"Finette, you may go for awhile," she said. "I will ring when I need you."

The maid courtesied and went away.

Felise motioned her mother to a chair, and sank into another herself. Mrs. Arnold seated herself and looked at her daughter searchingly.

Mrs. Arnold took up the conversation where it had been dropped when they left the carriage.

"You say you forged the notice of Leslie Dane's death in the newspaper," she said. "Of course you had some object in doing that, Felise."

"Yes, of course," with another wicked laugh. "It was to further the revenge of which I have had so sweet a taste to-night."

"So what has happened to-night is only what you have intended and desired all along?"

Felise bowed with the grace of a duchess.

"Exactly," she answered, with a triumphant smile. "I have been planning and scheming over two years to bring about the consummation of to-night."

"It was cleverly planned and well executed," Mrs. Arnold said, admiringly; "but is it quite finished? Of course Colonel Carlyle does not know the truth yet."

"He knows that Leslie Dane was a former lover of his wife; he witnessed their meeting to-night. That of itself was enough to inflame his jealous passions to the highest degree, and make him wretched. I rely upon Bonnibel herself to finish my work."

[Pg 104]

"Upon Bonnibel! How will she do it?"

"You know her high and overstrained sense of honor, mother. Of course she will not remain with Colonel Carlyle, now that she knows she is not his wife. There is but one course open to her. She will fly with Leslie Dane, and leave a note behind her revealing the whole truth to him."

"Are you sure she will, Felise?"

"I am quite certain, mother. That is the only orthodox mode for such a heroine of romance as your husband's niece. To-morrow Leslie Dane and his silly young wife will have flown beyond pursuit and discovery, yet neither one can be happy. The years in which she has belonged to Colonel Carlyle will be a blight and a blot upon her fair fame that she can never forget, while Leslie Dane, with the passions of manhood burning in his veins, cannot forget and will scarcely forgive it. They cannot be happy. My revenge has struck too deep at the root of that evanescent flower that the world calls happiness. And Colonel Carlyle is the proudest man on earth. Think you that he can ever hold up his head again after the shame and disgrace of that dreadful blow?"

"Scarcely," said Mrs. Arnold, echoing her daughter's laugh with one as cold and cruel. "You have taken a brave revenge, Felise, for Colonel Carlyle's wrongs against you, and if all goes as you have planned, I shall be proud of your talents and rejoice in your success. But my mind misgives me. Suppose some officious American here—and you know there are plenty such now sojourning in Paris—should remember Leslie Dane and arrest him for my husband's murder?"

For a moment Felise Herbert grew pale, and an icy hand seemed tugging at her heart-strings.

"I do not have the least apprehension of such a calamity," she answered, throwing off the chill presentiment with an effort. "I feel sure that Leslie Dane and his Bonnibel will be far beyond pursuit and detection before to-morrow night. And you will infinitely oblige me by keeping your doleful croaking to yourself, mother."

Mrs. Arnold looked at her watch and rose wearily.

"It is almost morning," she said; "I think I will retire. Good-night, my dear, and pleasant dreams."

"They cannot fail to be pleasant!" answered Felise, with her mocking, triumphant laugh.

But her dreams were all waking ones.

She was too triumphant and excited to sleep.

"This is a happy, happy night for me!" she exclaimed again and again.