“Is Micheline ill?” inquired Madame Cayrol, coming forward.

“No; it is nothing.  Just a little fatigue,” said Madame Desvarennes.  “Marechal, give my daughter your arm, and take her to her carriage.  I shall be down in a minute.”

And holding Jeanne by the hand to prevent her following Micheline, she added: 

“Stay; I have something to say to you.”

Jeanne looked surprised.  Madame Desvarennes was silent for a moment.  She was thinking about Serge coming there that night.  She had only to say one word to Cayrol to prevent his going away.  The life of this wretch was entirely in her hands then!  But Jeanne!  Was she going to ruin her?  Had she the right thus to destroy one who had struggled and had defended herself?  Would it be just?  Jeanne had been led on against her will.  She must question her.  If the poor girl were suffering, if she repented, she must spare her.

Madame Desvarennes, having thus made up her mind, turned toward Jeanne who was waiting.

“It is a long time since I have seen you, my dear, and I find you happy and smiling.  It is the first time since your marriage that you have seemed so happy.”

Jeanne looked at the mistress without answering.  In these words she detected irony.

“You have found peace,” continued Madame Desvarennes, looking steadfastly at Jeanne with her piercing eyes.  “You see, my dear, when you have a clear conscience—­for you have nothing to reproach yourself with?”

Jeanne saw in this sentence a question and not an affirmation.  She answered, boldly: 

“Nothing!”

“You know that I love you, and would be most lenient,” continued Madame Desvarennes, sweetly, “and that you might safely confide in me!”

“I have nothing to fear, having nothing to tell,” said Jeanne.

“Nothing?” repeated the mistress, with emphasis.

“Nothing,” affirmed Jeanne.

Madame Desvarennes once more looked at her adopted daughter as if she would read her very soul.  She found her quite calm.

“Very well, then!” said she, hastily walking toward the door.

“Are you going already?” asked Jeanne, offering her brow to Madame Desvarennes’s lips.

“Yes, good-by!” said the latter, with an icy kiss.

Jeanne, without again turning round, went into the drawing-room.  At the same moment, Cayrol, in a travelling-coat, entered the office, followed by Pierre.

“Here I am, quite ready,” said the banker to Madame Desvarennes.  “Have you any new suggestion to make to me, or anything else to say?”

“Yes,” replied Madame Desvarennes, in a stern voice which made Cayrol start.

“Then make haste.  I have only a moment to spare, and you know the train waits for no one.”

“You will not go!”

Cayrol, in amazement, answered: 

“Do you mean it?  Your interests are at stake yonder.”

“Your honor is in danger here,” cried the mistress, vehemently.