“Nothing.  He pressed my hand.  He looked at me for a moment with glistening eyes.  There was something on his lips which he longed to ask, yet did not; but I guessed it.  I was afraid of giving way to tenderness, that might have ended in my saying something foolish, so I left him.”

“How long ago is that?”

“About an hour ago.  I only just ran home before coming on here.  There I found Panine waiting for me.  He insisted upon accompanying me.  I hope you won’t blame him?”

Madame Desvarennes frowned.

“I will not see him just now,” she said, looking at Cayrol with a resolute air.  “Where did you leave him?”

“In the garden, where I found the young ladies.”

As if to verify the banker’s words, a merry peal of laughter was heard through the half-open window.  It was Micheline, who, with returning gayety, was making up for the three weeks’ sadness she had experienced during Panine’s absence.

Madame Desvarennes went to the window, and looked into the garden.  Seated on the lawn, in large bamboo chairs, the young girls were listening to a story the Prince was telling.  The morning was bright and mild; the sun shining through Micheline’s silk sunshade lit up her fair head.  Before her, Serge, bending his tall figure, was speaking with animation.  Micheline’s eyes were softly fixed on him.  Reclining in her armchair, she allowed herself to be carried away with his conversation, and thoroughly enjoyed his society, of which she had been deprived for the last three weeks.  Beside her, Jeanne, silently watching the Prince, was mechanically nibbling, with her white teeth, a bunch of carnations which she held in her hands.  A painful thought contracted Mademoiselle de Cernay’s brow, and her pale lips on the red flowers seemed to be drinking blood.

The mistress slowly turned away from this scene.  A shadow had crossed her brow, which had, for a moment, become serene again at the announcement of Pierre’s arrival.  She remained silent for a little while, as if considering; then coming to a resolution, and turning to Cayrol, she said: 

“Where is Pierre staying?”

“At the Hotel du Louvre,” replied the banker.

“Well, I’m going there.”

Madame Desvarennes rang the bell violently.

“My bonnet, my cloak, and the carriage,” she said, and with a friendly nod to the two men, she went out quickly.

Micheline was still laughing in the garden.  Marechal and Cayrol looked at each other.  Cayrol was the first to speak.

“The mistress told you all about the matter then?  How is it you never spoke to me about it?”

“Should I have been worthy of Madame Desvarennes’s confidence had I spoken of what she wished to keep secret?”

“To me?”

“Especially to you.  The attitude which you have taken forbade my speaking.  You favor Prince Panine?”

“And you; you are on Pierre Delarue’s side?”