Mothers of Men by William Henry Warner — Read

The clock had chimed the hour, the half, and the hour again, and still Marie lay tossing with mental anguish under the heavy blue hangings of the great bed. What terrible thing had she promised to do? Sell her husband's honor to this creature who had taken her own. She tried to look at every side of the problem, to work out in her tortured brain just what would happen if she defied Von Pfaffen. She knew he would not hesitate to go to the General and brand her. She knew he could do that without incriminating himself. He was diabolically clever. She could see the kind look fade from the General's eyes, the flush on Madame's cheek. She could hear Paulette justifying her suspicions of her, and Gerome -- she crushed her knuckles against her lips till her teeth cut into them.

To see the lovelight die in his eyes, contempt taking its place, to know that she would become an object of loathing to him! The thought was so terrible that she smothered in the pillows the cry she could not restrain. She would rather see him dead, she thought, and know that he had died loving her, believing in her purity.