He was bad--bad;
--he lived off women. I met him six months ago. He knew how to
fascinate one; I thought he loved me. Then he began to borrow money
from me, until he had taken all that I had saved; then my rings
--every one!" She held up her hands to show their bareness.
"Then...."
She stopped and glanced at her mistress.
"Continue!" said the latter. "Tell what you have to tell."
"I knew that madame also...."
She stopped again. I walked over to the window and stood staring at
the wooden shutter, strangely moved.
"Well, why not?" she demanded fiercely, and I felt that she was
addressing my turned back. "Why not? Shall a woman not be loved?
Shall a woman endure what madame endured...."
"That will do, Julie," broke in the veiled lady, her voice cold as
ice. "Tell your story."
"I knew of the secret drawer; I had seen madame open it; I knew what
it contained. But I was faithful to madame; I loved her; I was glad
that she had found some one.... Madame will remember her despair, her
horror, when she entered her room to find the cabinet gone, taken
away, sold by that.... I, too, was in despair--I desired with my
whole soul to help madame. That night I had a rendezvous with him,"
and she nodded toward the photograph which lay upon the floor.
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