And he was going toward the Prince when the door opened, and Madame Desvarennes came forward.  Placing her hand on Pierre’s shoulder, she said, in that commanding tone which few could resist: 

“Go; wait for me in my room.  I wish it!”

Pierre bowed, and, without answering, went out.

Serge had placed the pistol on the table and was waiting.

“We have to talk over several matters,” said Madame Desvarennes, gravely, “and you know it.”

“Yes, Madame,” answered Panine, sadly, “and, believe me, no one judges my conduct more severely than I do.”

The mistress could not help looking surprised.

“Ah!” she said, with irony, “I did not expect to find you in such a mood.  You have not accustomed me to such humility and sweetness.  You must be afraid, to have arrived at that stage!”

The Prince appeared not to have understood the implied insult in his mother-in-law’s words.  One thing struck him, which was that she evidently did not expect to find him repentant and humbled.

“Micheline must have told you,” he began.

“I have not seen my daughter,” interrupted the mistress, sharply, as if to make him understand that he must depend solely upon himself.

Ignorant that Micheline had met Jeanne on her way to her mother, and had gone to Cayrol, Serge thought he was abandoned by his only powerful ally.  He saw that he was lost and that his feigned resignation was useless.  Unable to control himself any longer, his face darkened with rage.

“She, too, against me!  Well!  I will defend myself alone!”

Turning toward Madame Desvarennes, he added: 

“To begin with, what do you want with me?”

“I wish to ask you a question.  We business folk when we fail, and cannot pay our way, throw blood on the blot and it disappears.  You members of the nobility, when you are disgraced, how do you manage?”

“If I am not mistaken, Madame,” answered the Prince, in a light tone, “you do me the favor of asking what my intentions are for the future?  I will answer you with precision.  I purpose leaving to-night for Aix-la-Chapelle, where I shall join my friend Herzog.  We shall begin our business again.  My wife, on whose good feelings I rely, will accompany me, notwithstanding everything.”

And in these last words he put all the venom of his soul.

“My daughter will not leave me!” exclaimed Madame Desvarennes.

“Very well, then, you can accompany her,” retorted Panine.  “That arrangement will suit me.  Since my troubles I have learned to appreciate domestic happiness.”

“Ah! you hope to play your old games on me,” said Madame Desvarennes.  “You won’t get much out of me.  My daughter and I with you—­in the stream where you are going to sink?  Never!”

“Well, then,” cried Panine, “what do you expect?”

A violent ring at the front door resounded as Madame Desvarennes was about to answer, and stopped the words on her lips.  This signal, which was used only on important occasions, sounded to Madame like a funeral knell.  Serge frowned, and instinctively moved back.