“My honor!” repeated Cayrol, starting back.  “Madame, do you know what you are saying?”

“Ay!” answered Madame Desvarennes.  “And do you remember what I promised you?  I undertook to warn you, myself, if ever the day came when you would be threatened.”

“Well?” questioned Cayrol, turning quite livid.

“Well!  I keep my promise.  If you wish to know who your rival is, come home to-night.”

Some inaudible words rattled in Cayrol’s throat.

“A rival! in my house!  Can Jeanne be guilty?  Do you know, if it is true I will kill them both!”

“Deal with them as your conscience dictates,” said Madame Desvarennes.  “I have acted according to mine.”

Pierre, hitherto dumb with horror at the scene of which he had been a witness, shook off his stupor, and going up to Madame Desvarennes, said: 

“Madame, do you know that what you have just done is frightful!”

“How?  That man will be acting within his rights the same as I am.  They are seeking to take away his wife, and they are killing my daughter, and dishonoring me!  We are defending ourselves!  Woe to those who are guilty of the crime!”

Cayrol had fallen, as if thunderstruck, on a chair, with haggard eyes; his voice was gone, and he looked the image of despair.  Madame Desvarennes’s words came back to him like the refrain of a hated song.  To himself he kept repeating, without being able to chase away the one haunting thought:  “Her lover, to-night, at your house!” He felt as if he were going mad.  He was afraid he should not have time to wreak his vengeance.  He made a terrible effort, and, moaning with grief, he arose.

“Take care!” said Pierre.  “Here’s your wife.”

Cayrol eyed Jeanne, who was approaching.  Burning tears came to his eyes.  He murmured: 

“She, with a look so pure, and a face so calm!  Is it possible?”

He nodded a farewell to Pierre and Madame Desvarennes, who were leaving, and recovering himself, advanced to meet Jeanne.

“Are you off?” she inquired.  “You know you have no time to lose!”

Cayrol shuddered.  She seemed anxious to get rid of him.

“I have still a few minutes to spend with you,” he said, with emotion.  “You see, Jeanne, I am sad at going away alone.  It is the first time I have left you.  In a moment our guests will be gone—­I beg of you, come with me!”

Jeanne smiled.  “But you see, dear, I am in evening dress.”

“The night of our marriage I brought you away from Cernay like that.  Wrap yourself up in your furs, and come!  Give me this proof of affection.  I deserve it.  I am not a bad man—­and I love you so!”

Jeanne frowned.  This pressing vexed her.

“This is childish,” she said.  “You will return the day after tomorrow, and I am tired.  Have some pity for me.”

“You refuse?” asked Cayrol, becoming gloomy and serious.