In 1866, at the moment when war broke out between Prussia and Austria, Serge was eighteen years old.  By his uncle’s orders he had left Paris, and had entered himself for the campaign in an Austrian cavalry regiment.  All who bore the name of Panine, and had strength to hold a sword or carry a gun, had risen to fight the oppressor of Poland.  Serge, during this short and bloody struggle, showed prodigies of valor.  On the night of Sadowa, out of seven bearing the name of Panine, who had served against Prussia, five were dead, one was wounded; Serge alone was untouched, though red with the blood of his uncle Thaddeus, who was killed by the bursting of a shell.  All these Panines, living or dead, had gained honors.  When they were spoken of before Austrians or Poles, they were called heroes.

Such a man was a dangerous companion for a young, simple, and artless girl like Micheline.  His adventures were bound to please her imagination, and his beauty sure to charm her eyes.  Cayrol was a prudent man; he watched, and it was not long before he perceived that Micheline treated the Prince with marked favor.  The quiet young girl became animated when Serge was there.  Was there love in this transformation?  Cayrol did not hesitate.  He guessed at once that the future would be Panine’s, and that the maintenance of his own influence in the house of Desvarennes depended on the attitude which he was about to take.  He passed over to the side of the newcomer with arms and baggage, and placed himself entirely at his disposal.

It was he who three weeks before, in the name of Panine, had made overtures to Madame Desvarennes.  The errand had been difficult, and the banker had turned his tongue several times in his mouth before speaking.  Still, Cayrol could overcome all difficulties.  He was able to explain the object of his mission without Madame flying into a passion.  But, the explanation over, there was a terrible scene.  He witnessed one of the most awful bursts of rage that it was possible to expect from a violent woman.  The mistress treated the friend of the family as one would not have dared to treat a petty commercial traveller who came to a private house to offer his wares.  She showed him the door, and desired him not to darken the threshold again.

But if Cayrol was resolute he was equally patient.  He listened without saying a word to the reproaches of Madame Desvarennes, who was exasperated that a candidate should be set up in opposition to the son-in-law of her choosing.  He did not go, and when Madame Desvarennes was a little calmed by the letting out of her indignation, he argued with her.  The mistress was too hasty about the business; it was no use deciding without reflecting.  Certainly, nobody esteemed Pierre Delarue more than he did; but it was necessary to know whether Micheline loved him.  A childish affection was not love, and Prince Panine thought he might hope that Mademoiselle Desvarennes——­