“Yes, Monsieur.” The maid spoke very simply. “She did. I understand—I knew it was a wrong—but what could I do? She knew something—ah, it was the tiniest peccadillo—but it was my Carl. He—he”
“Never mind, Claudine, I don’t want the details. Now, if I pay you double what Madame owed you, and double wages, will you stay with Madame Selden for a time—say, until your marriage, and also—say no word to any one of—of Madame Barham’s affairs?”
“I will—yes, Monsieur, I will.”
“Very well. Now, one thing more, Claudine. Who knew that Madame Barham was going to a fancy dress party that night?”
“Nobody—not even Madame Selden. Ah, yes, Madame Sayre came over—but for a moment, while I was dressing Madame, and perhaps she knew; I don’t know as to that. When Madame Sayre came, my Madame bade me leave the room.”
“I see. Very well, Claudine, you may go. Remember all I have said.”
Alone again, Barham gave himself up to thought once more. The man did little else but think these times. He had canceled his business engagements, he read not at all, he refused himself to all but the most insistent callers, and though kind and deferential to his mother-in-law, he saw as little of her as possible.
Marcia Selden forgave him this, for she was now deeply engrossed in going over her daughter’s possessions. Barham had given her all of Madeleine’s personal belongings, even her jewels, and it was no inconsiderable gift. He had recommended that some souvenirs be presented to friends, but this was merely suggestion, all decisions were to be Mrs. Selden’s own.
She was like a child with a new toy, and kept Claudine
