Marechal exchanged a look with Madame Desvarennes, who advanced toward the banker, and shook him by the hand, saying: 

“Cayrol, you are truly a good man!”

“I know it,” said Cayrol, smiling to hide his emotion, “and you may rely upon me.”

Micheline appeared on the threshold of the room.  Through the half-open door the dancers could be seen passing to and fro, and the sound of music floated in the air.

“What has become of you, mamma?  I hear that you have been here for more than an hour.”

“I was talking on business matters with these gentlemen,” answered Madame Desvarennes, smoothing from her brow the traces of her cares by an effort of will.  “But you, dear, how do you feel?  Are you not tired?”

“Not more so than usual,” replied Micheline, looking round to follow the movements of her husband, who was trying to reach Jeanne.

“Why did you come to this party?  It was unwise.”

“Serge wished me to come, and I did not care to let him come without me.”

“Eh! dear me!” exclaimed Madame Desvarennes.  “Let him do what he likes.  Men are savages.  When you are ill it won’t hurt him.”

“I am not ill, and I won’t be,” resumed Micheline, warmly.  “We are going away now.”

She motioned to Serge with her fan.  Panine came to her.

“You will take me home, won’t you, Serge?”

“Certainly, dear one,” answered Serge.

Jeanne, who was listening at a distance, raised her hand to her forehead as a sign that she wanted him.  A feeling of surprise came over the Prince, and he did not understand what she meant.  Micheline had seen the sign.  A deadly pallor spread over her features, and a cold perspiration broke out on her forehead.  She felt so ill that she could have cried out.  It was the first time she had seen Serge and Jeanne together since the dreadful discovery at Nice.  She had avoided witnessing their meeting, feeling uncertain of herself, and fearing to lose her self-control.  But seeing the two lovers before her, devouring each other with their looks, and making signs to each other, made her feel most terribly jealous and angry.

Serge had decided to obey the imperious signs which Jeanne made to him, and turning toward his wife, said: 

“I remember now, my dear, that before going home I must call at the club.  I promised, and cannot put it off.  Excuse my not going with you, and ask your mother to accompany you.”

“Very well,” said Micheline, in a trembling voice.  “I will ask her.  You are not going just yet?”

“In a moment.”

“I, too, shall leave in a moment.”

The young wife did not want to lose one detail of the horrible comedy being played under her very eyes.  She remained to learn, unawares, the reason for which Jeanne kept her husband.

Not thinking that he was watched, Serge had gone across to Jeanne, and affecting a smile, inquired: