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Updated: May 23, 2025
Perhaps the quiet room too forcibly reminded him of the woman he had loved and lost. Alexandrine's ambition was satisfied. At last, she was the wife of the man whose love and admiration she had coveted since her first acquaintance with him. From her heart she believed him guilty of the murder of Paul Linmere; but in spite of it, she had married him.
Margie, it was so dark that I could not be positive, but I am morally certain that the person I saw was Archer Trevlyn!" "My God!" Margie cowered down to the floor, and hid her face in the folds of Alexandrine's dress. "Hear me through," Miss Lee went on relentlessly, her face growing colder and harder with every word. "Hear me through and then decide for yourself.
Vague whispers of this reached Trevlyn's ear, but he gave them at first little heed. He should never marry, he said; it was sinful to wed without love. But as he saw Alexandrine's pale face and strangely distraught manner day by day, he came to feel as if he had in some way wronged her though how he did not exactly understand. One day he entered the sitting-room of Mrs.
This persistent narrowing of the former appreciable gap between purchase and selling price rankled in Alexandrine's mind, but her misguided efforts to maintain the percentage of profit by recourse to inferior qualities only made bad worse, and, even as the Sergeot were steering the Salon Malakoff forth upon the waters of prosperity, there were nightly conferences in the household next door, at which impending ruin presided, and exasperation sounded the keynote of every sentence.
The heavy silken curtains fell drooping with their costliness to the velvet carpet, and a faint, sickening odor of withering water lilies pervaded the close atmosphere. Water lilies! they were Alexandrine's favorite flowers.
Weldon went, himself, to meet the seven-thirty train, thinking perhaps he might have got detained, and would come on in the succeeding train, but he did not arrive. And there are no more trains to-night! Oh, Margie, isn't it dreadful?" Alexandrine's manner was strangely flurried and ill at ease, and the hand she laid on Margie's was cold as ice.
Alexandrine's labors were shared now, and Archer did not know how devotedly he had been tended how he owed his very existence to her. He mended slowly, but by the middle of May he was able to go out. Of course he was very grateful to the Lees, and their house was almost the only one he visited. Alexandrine was fitful and moody.
In the existence of Madame Caille there was one emphatic consolation for all misfortunes, the which was none other than Zut, a white angora cat of surpassing beauty and prodigious size. She had come into Alexandrine's possession as a kitten, and, what with much eating and an inherent distaste for exercise, had attained her present proportions and her superb air of unconcern.
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