’No, no!’—­she said, with energy.  ’You will comfort him, Mrs. Fenwick—­you will give him heart and hope again.  It was a cruel thing—­forgive me if I say it once!—­it was a cruel thing to leave him!  A man like that—­with his weaknesses and his temperament—­which are part of his gift really—­its penalty—­wants his wife at every turn—­the woman who loves him—­who understands.  But to desert him for a suspicion!—­a dream!  Oh!  Mrs. Fenwick, there are those who—­who are really starved—­really forsaken—­really trampled under foot—­by those they love!’

Her voice broke.  She stood gazing straight before her, quivering with the passion of recollection.  Phoebe looked up—­awed—­remembering what John had said, so long ago, of the unhappy marriage, the faithless and cruel husband.  But Eugenie’s hand touched her again.

’And I know that you thought—­I—­had made Mr. Fenwick—­forget you.  That was so strange!  At that time—­and for many years afterwards—­my husband was still alive.  If he had sent me a word—­any day—­any hour—­I would have gone to him—­to the ends of the world.  I don’t mean—­I don’t pretend—­that my feeling for him remained unchanged.  But my pride was—­my duty was—­that he should never find me lacking.  And last year—­he turned to me—­I was able to help him—­through his death.  I had been his true wife—­and he knew it.’

She spoke quietly, brushing the tears from her eyes.  But with the last words, her voice wavered a little.  Phoebe had bowed her head upon the hand which held hers, and there was no spectator of the feeling in Eugenie’s face.  Was her pure conscience tormented with the thought that she had not told all, and could never tell it?  Her innocent tempting of Fenwick—­as an act, partly, of piteous self-defence against impulses of quite another quality and power—­this must remain her secret to the end.  Sad evasions, which life forces upon even the noblest worshippers of truth!

After a minute she stooped and kissed Phoebe’s golden hair.

’I was so glad to help Mr. Fenwick—­he interested me so.  If I had only known of you—­and the child—­why, how happy we might all have been!’

She withdrew her hand, and walked away to the window, trying to calm herself.

Phoebe rose and followed her.

’Do you know?’—­she said, piteously—­’can’t you tell me?—­will John take me back?’

Eugenie paused just a moment; then said, steadily, ’He is coming here, because you are his wife—­because he is faithful to you—­because he wants you.  Don’t agitate him too much!  He wants resting and healing.  And so do you!’ She took Phoebe’s hands again in hers.  ’And how do you think anybody is to deny you anything, when you bring such a gift as that?’

Carrie and Miss Mason were entering the little garden.  Eugenie’s smile, as she motioned towards the girl, seemed to reflect the May sunshine and Carrie’s young charm.

But after Madame de Pastourelles was gone, a cloud of nervous dread fell upon the little cottage and its inmates.  Phoebe wandered restlessly about the garden, waiting—­and listening—­hour after hour.