Desnoyers comforted her with his optimism.  He did not believe in the possibility of a war.  That was ridiculous.

“I say so, too!  Ours is not the epoch of savages.  I have known some Germans, chic and well-educated persons who surely must think exactly as we do.  An old professor who comes to the house was explaining yesterday to mama that wars are no longer possible in these progressive times.  In two months’ time, there would scarcely be any men left, in three, the world would find itself without money to continue the struggle.  I do not recall exactly how it was, but he explained it all very clearly, in a manner most delightful to hear.”

She reflected in silence, trying to co-ordinate her confused recollections, but dismayed by the effort required, added on her own account.

“Just imagine what war would mean—­how horrible!  Society life paralyzed.  No more parties, nor clothes, nor theatres!  Why, it is even possible that they might not design any more fashions!  All the women in mourning.  Can you imagine it? . . .  And Paris deserted. . . .  How beautiful it seemed as I came to meet you this afternoon! . . .  No, no, it cannot be!  Next month, you know, we go to Vichy.  Mama needs the waters.  Then to Biarritz.  After that, I shall go to a castle on the Loire.  And besides there are our affairs, my divorce, our marriage which may take place the next year. . . .  And is war to hinder and cut short all this!  No, no, it is not possible.  My brother and others like him are foolish enough to dream of danger from Germany.  I am sure that my husband, too, who is only interested in serious and bothersome matters, is among those who believe that war is imminent and prepare to take part in it.  What nonsense!  Tell me that it is all nonsense.  I need to hear you say it.”

Tranquilized by the affirmations of her lover, she then changed the trend of the conversation.  The possibility of their approaching marriage brought to mind the object of the voyage which Desnoyers had just made.  There had not been time for them to write to each other during their brief separation.

“Did you succeed in getting the money?  The joy of seeing you made me forget all about such things. . . .”

Adopting the air of a business expert, he replied that he had brought back less than he expected, for he had found the country in the throes of one of its periodical panics; but still he had managed to get together about four hundred thousand francs.  In his purse he had a check for that amount.  Later on, they would send him further remittances.  A ranchman in Argentina, a sort of relative, was looking after his affairs.  Marguerite appeared satisfied, and in spite of her frivolity, adopted the air of a serious woman.

“Money, money!” she exclaimed sententiously.  “And yet there is no happiness without it!  With your four hundred thousand and what I have, we shall be able to get along. . . .  I told you that my husband wishes to give me back my dowry.  He has told my brother so.  But the state of his business, and the increased size of his factory do not permit him to return it as quickly as he would like.  I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor man . . . so honorable and so upright in every way.  If he only were not so commonplace! . . .”