The Prince was in bed, pretending to be ill.  His wife, happily ignorant of all that was going on, rejoiced secretly at his indisposition because she was allowed to nurse him and have him all to herself.  Panine, alarmed at the check they had experienced, was expecting Herzog with feverish impatience, and to keep out of sight had chosen the privacy of his own room.

Still, Cayrol had been allowed to see him, and with great circumspection told him that his non-appearance at the same time that Herzog was absent was most fatal for the Universal Credit Company.  It was absolutely necessary that he should be seen in public.  He must come to his party, and appear with a calm face.  Serge promised to come, and had imposed on Micheline the heavy task of accompanying him to Jeanne’s.  It was the first time since her return from Nice that she had entered the house of her husband’s mistress.

The concert was over, and a crowd of guests were coming from the large drawing-room to the boudoir and little drawing-room.

“The symphony is over.  Ouf!” said Savinien, yawning.

“You don’t like music?” asked Marechal, with a laugh.

“Yes, military music.  But two hours of Schumann and Mendelssohn at high pressure is too much for one man.  But I say, Marechal, what do you think of Mademoiselle Herzog’s being at Cayrol’s soiree.  It is a little too strong.”

“How so?”

“Why, the father has bolted, and the daughter is preparing a dance.  Each has a different way of using their feet.”

“Very pretty, Monsieur Desvarennes, but I advise you to keep your flashes of wit to yourself,” said Marechal, seriously.  “That may not suit everybody.”

“Oh, Marechal, you, too, making a fuss!”

And turning on his heel, he went to the refreshment table.

Prince and Princess Panine were just coming in.  Micheline was smiling, and Serge was pale, though calm.  Cayrol and Jeanne came toward them.  Everybody turned to look at them.  Jeanne, without embarrassment, shook hands with her friend.  Cayrol bowed respectfully to Micheline.

“Princess,” he said, “will you honor me by taking my arm?  You are just in time, they are going to begin dancing.”

“Not myself, though, thank you,” replied Micheline, with a sad smile, “I am still very weak, but I will look on.”

And on Cayrol’s arm she entered the large drawing-room.  Serge followed with Jeanne.

The festivities were at their height.  The orchestra was playing a waltz, and in a whirl of silk and gauze the young people seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Suzanne Herzog was sitting alone near a window, in a simple white dress, and without a single ornament.  Marechal had just approached her, and she had welcomed him with a smile.

“Are you not dancing to-night, Mademoiselle?” he asked.

“I am waiting to be invited,” she answered, sadly, “and, like sister Anne, I see nobody coming.  There are ugly reports abroad about my father’s fortune, and the Argonauts are drawing off.”