Darkness did Madame Desvarennes good.  It refreshed her mind and calmed her brow.  The noise of dancing reached her.  She commenced thinking.  So it had vainly tried to prove to her that a life of immoderate pleasure was not conducive to happiness.  The young wife had stopped her ears so that she might not hear, and closed her eyes that she might not see.  Her mother asked herself if she did not exaggerate the evil.  Alas! no.  She saw that she was not mistaken.  Examining the society around her, men and women:  everywhere was feverish excitement, dissipation, and nullity.  You might rummage through their brains without finding one practical idea; in all their hearts, there was not one lofty aspiration.  These people, in their daily life were like squirrels in a cage, and because they moved, they thought they were progressing.  In them scepticism had killed belief; religion, family, country, were, as they phrased it, all humbug.  They had only one aim, one passion—­to enjoy themselves.  Their watchword was “pleasure.”  All those who did not perish of consumption would die in lunatic asylums.

What was she doing in the midst of this rottenness?  She, the woman of business?  Could she hope to regenerate these poor wretches by her example?  No!  She could not teach them to be good, and they excelled in teaching others harm.  She must leave this gilded vice, taking with her those she loved, and leave the idle and incompetent to consume and destroy themselves.

She felt disgusted, and resolved to do all to tear Micheline away from the contagion.  In the meantime she must question Jeanne.  A shadow appeared on the threshold:  it was hers.  In the darkness of the gallery Serge crept behind her without being seen.  He had been watching Jeanne, and seeing her go away alone, had followed her.  In the angle of the large bay-window, opening into the garden, he waited with palpitating heart.  Madame Desvarennes’s voice was heard in the silence of the drawing-room; he listened.

“Sit down, Jeanne; our interview will be short, and it could not be delayed, for to-morrow I shall not be here.”

“You are leaving so soon?”

“Yes; I only left Paris on my daughter’s account, and on yours.  My daughter knows what I had to tell her; now it is your turn!  Why did you come to Nice?”

“I could not do otherwise.”

“Because?”

“Because my husband wished it.”

“You ought to have made him wish something else.  Your power over him is absolute.”

There was a moment’s pause.  Then Jeanne answered: 

“I feared to insist lest I should awaken his suspicions.”

“Good!  But admitting that you came to Nice, why accept hospitality in this house?”

“Micheline offered it to us,” said Jeanne.

“And even that did not make you refuse.  What part do you purpose playing here?  After six months of honesty, are you going to change your mind?”