The mother was vanquished.  She had never been able to resist that suppliant voice.

“Ah! cruel child,” she moaned, “what pain you are causing me!”

“You consent, don’t you, dear mother?” murmured Micheline, falling into the arms of her by whom she knew she was adored.

“I will do as you wish,” said Madame Desvarennes, kissing her daughter’s hair—­that golden hair which, in former days, she loved to stroke.

The strains of the piano sounded on the terrace.  In the shade, groups of merry dancers were enjoying themselves.  Happy voices were heard approaching, and Savinien, followed by Marechal and Suzanne, came briskly up the steps.

“Oh, aunt, it is not fair,” said the dandy.  “If you have come here to monopolize Micheline, you will be sent back to Paris.  We want a vis-a-vis for a quadrille.  Come, Princess, it is delightfully cool outside, and I am sure you will enjoy it.”

“Monsieur Le Brede has gathered some oranges, and is trying to play at cup and ball with them on his nose, while his friend, Monsieur du Tremblay, jealous of his success, talks of illuminating the trees with bowls of punch,” said Marechal.

“And what is Serge doing?” inquired Micheline, smiling.

“He is talking to my wife on the terrace,” said Cayrol, appearing in the gallery.

The young people went off and were lost in the darkness.  Madame Desvarennes looked at Cayrol.  He was happy and calm.  There was no trace of his former jealousy.  During the six months which had elapsed since his marriage, the banker had observed his wife closely, her actions, her words:  nothing had escaped him.  He had never found her at fault.  Thus, reassured, he had given her his confidence and this time forever.  Jeanne was adorable; he loved her more than ever.  She seemed very much changed to him.  Her disposition, formerly somewhat harsh, had softened, and the haughty, capricious girl had become a mild, demure, and somewhat serious woman.  Unable to read his companion’s thoughts, Cayrol sincerely believed that he had been unnecessarily anxious, and that Jeanne’s troubles had only been passing fancies.  He took credit of the change in his wife to himself, and was proud of it.

“Cayrol, oblige me by removing that lamp; it hurts my eyes,” said Madame Desvarennes, anxious that the traces on her face, caused by her late discussion with her daughter, should not be visible.  “Then ask Jeanne to come here for a few minutes.  I have something to say to her.”

“Certainly,” said Cayrol, taking the lamp off the table and carrying it into the adjoining room.