Micheline was up.

At the sight of Serge she could not suppress an exclamation of surprise.  It was a long time since he had discontinued these familiar visits.  The presence of her beloved one in that room, which had seemed so empty when he was not there, made her feel happy, and she went to him with a smile, holding out her hand.  Serge drew her gently toward him and kissed her hair.

“Up, already, dear child,” said he, affectionately.

“I have scarcely slept,” answered Micheline.  “I was so anxious.  I sat up for you part of the night.  I had left you without saying good-night.  It was the first time it had occurred, and I wanted to beg your pardon.  But you came in very late.”

“Micheline, it is I who am ungrateful,” interrupted Panine, making the young wife sit down beside him.  “It is I who must ask you to be indulgent.”

“Serge!  I beg of you!” said the young wife, taking both his hands.  “All is forgotten.  I would not reproach you, I love you so much!”

Micheline’s face beamed with joy, and tears filled her eyes.

“You are weeping,” said Panine.  “Ah!  I feel the weight of my wrongs toward you.  I see how deserving you are of respect and affection.  I feel unworthy, and would kneel before you to say how I regret all the anxieties I have caused you, and that my only desire in the future will be to make you forget them.”

“Oh! speak on! speak on!” cried Micheline, with delight.  “What happiness to hear you say such sweet words!  Open your heart to me!  You know I would die to please you.  If you have any anxieties or annoyances confide in me.  I can relieve them.  Who could resist me when you are in question?”

“I have none, Micheline,” answered Serge, with the constrained manner of a man who is feigning.  “Nothing but the regret of not having lived more for you.”

“Is the future not in store for us?” said the young wife, looking lovingly at him.

The Prince shook his head, saying: 

“Who can answer for the future?”

Micheline came closer to her husband, not quite understanding what Serge meant, but her mind was on the alert, and in an alarmed tone, she resumed: 

“What strange words you are uttering?  Are we not both young?  And, if you like, is there not much happiness in store for us?”

And she clung to him.  Serge turned away.

“Oh, stay,” she murmured, again putting her arms round him.  “You are so truly mine at this moment!”

Panine saw that the opportunity for confessing all had come.  He was able to bring tears to his eyes, and went toward the window as if to hide his emotion.  Micheline followed him, and, in an eager tone, continued: 

“Ah!  I knew you were hiding something.  You are unhappy or in pain; threatened perhaps?  Ah! if you love me, tell me the truth!”

“Well, yes!  It is true, I am threatened.  I am suffering and unhappy!  But don’t expect a confession from me.  I should blush to make it.  But, thank Heaven, if I cannot extricate myself from the difficulty in which I am placed through my own folly and imprudence—­there is yet another way out of it.”