Then the heavy curtain was lifted again, and tottering, livid, almost dead, Micheline entered the room.  Pierre, serious and cold, walked behind her.  The Princess, feeling tired, had come into the house.  Chance had led her there to witness this proof of misfortune and treason.

Both she and Delarue looked at each other, silent and overwhelmed.  Their thoughts whirled through their brains with fearful rapidity.  In a moment they looked back on their existence.  He saw the pale betrothed of whom he had dreamed as a wife, who had willingly given herself to another, and who now found herself so cruelly punished.  She measured the distance which separated these two men:  the one good, loyal, generous; the other selfish, base, and unworthy.  And seeing him whom she adored, so vile and base compared to him whom she had disdained, Micheline burst into bitter tears.

Pierre tremblingly hastened toward her.  The Princess made a movement to check him, but she saw on the face of her childhood’s friend such sincere grief and honest indignation, that she felt as safe, with him as if he had really been her brother.  Overcome, she let her head fall on his shoulder, and wept.

The sound of approaching footsteps made Micheline arise.  She recognized her husband’s step, and hastily seizing Pierre’s hand, said: 

“Never breathe a word; forget what you have seen.”

Then, with deep grief, she added: 

“If Serge knew that I had seen him unawares he would never forgive me!”

Drying her tears, and still tottering from the shock, she left the room.  Pierre remained alone, quite stunned; pitying, yet blaming the poor woman, who, in her outraged love, still had the absurd courage to hold her tongue and to resign herself.  Anger seized on him, and the more timid Micheline seemed herself, the more violent and passionate he felt.

Serge came back to the room.  After the first moment of excitement, he had reflected, and wanted to know by whom he had been observed.  Was it Madame Desvarennes, Micheline, or Cayrol, who had come in?  At this idea he trembled, measuring the possible results of the imprudence he had been guilty of.  He resolved to face the difficulty if it were either of these three interested parties, and to impose silence if he had to deal with an indifferent person.  He took the lamp which Madame Desvarennes had a short time before asked Cayrol to remove and went into the room.  Pierre was there alone.

The two men measured each other with their looks.  Delarue guessed the anxiety of Serge, and the Prince understood the hostility of Pierre.  He turned pale.

“It was you who came in?” he asked, boldly.

“Yes,” replied Pierre, with severity.

The Prince hesitated for a second.  He was evidently seeking a polite form to express his request.  He did not find one, and in a threatening manner, he resumed: 

“You must hold your tongue, otherwise—­”