“Serge! you would kill yourself!” cried Micheline, terrified at the gesture Panine had made.  “What would become of me then?  But what is there that is so hard to explain?  And to whom should it be said?”

“To your mother,” answered Serge, bowing his head.

“To my mother?  Very well, I will go to her.  Oh! don’t fear anything.  I can defend you, and to strike you she will first have to attack me.”

Serge put his arms round Micheline, and with a kiss, the hypocrite inspired her whom he entrusted with his safety with indomitable courage.

“Wait for me here,” added the young wife, and passing through the little drawing-room she reached the smoking-room.

She halted there a moment, out of breath and almost choked with emotion.  The long expected day had arrived.  Serge was coming back to her.  She went on, and as she reached the door of the stair leading to her mother’s rooms, she heard a light tap from without.

Greatly astonished, she opened the door, and suddenly drew back, uttering an exclamation.  A woman, thickly veiled, stood before her.

At the sight of Micheline the stranger seemed inclined to turn and fly.  But overcome with jealousy, the young wife seized her by the arm, dragged off her veil, and recognizing her, exclaimed: 

“Jeanne!”

Madame Cayrol approached Micheline, and beseechingly stretched out her hands: 

“Micheline! don’t think—­I come—­”

“Hold your tongue!” cried Micheline.  “Don’t tell me any lies!  I know all!  You are my husband’s mistress!”

Crushed by such a stroke, Jeanne hid her face in her hands and moaned: 

“O God!”

“You must really be bold,” continued Micheline, in a furious tone, “to seek him here, in my house, almost in my arms!”

Jeanne drew herself up, blushing with shame and grief.

“Ah! don’t think,” she said, “that love brings me here.”

“What is it then?” asked Micheline, contemptuously.

“The knowledge of inevitable and pressing danger which threatens Serge.”

“A danger!  Of what kind?”

“Compromised by Herzog, he is at the mercy of my husband, who has sworn to ruin him.”

“Your husband!”

“Yes, he is his rival.  If you could ruin me, would you not do it?” said Jeanne.

“You!” retorted Micheline, passionately.  “Do you think I am going to worry about you?  Serge is my first thought.  You say you came to warn him.  What must be done?”

“Without a moment’s delay he must go away!”

A strange suspicion crossed Micheline’s mind.  She approached Jeanne, and looking earnestly at her, said: 

“He must go away without delay, eh?  And it is you, braving everything, without a thought of the trouble you leave behind you, who come to warn him?  Ah! you mean to go with him?”

Jeanne hesitated a moment.  Then, boldly and impudently, defying and almost threatening the legitimate wife: