“Monsieur Pierre Delarue?” inquired the mistress.

“Madame, he went out a quarter of an hour ago.”

“To go where?”

“He did not say.”

“Do you know whether he will be absent long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Much obliged.”

Madame Desvarennes, quite discomfited by this mischance, reflected.  Where could Pierre have gone?  Probably to her house.  Without losing a minute, she reentered the carriage, and gave orders to return to the Rue Saint-Dominique.  If he had gone at once to her house, it was plain that he was ready to do anything to keep Micheline.  The coachman who had received the order drove furiously.  She said to herself: 

“Pierre is in a cab.  Allowing that he is driving moderately quick he will only have half-an-hour’s start of me.  He will pass through the office, will see Marechal, and however eager he be, will lose a quarter of an hour in chatting to him.  It would be most vexing if he did anything foolish in the remaining fifteen minutes!  The fault is mine:  I ought to have sent him a letter at Marseilles, to tell him what line of conduct to adopt on his arrival.  So long as he does not meet Micheline on entering the house!”

At that idea Madame Desvarennes felt the blood rushing to her face.  She put her head out of the carriage window, and called to the coachman: 

“Drive faster!”

He drove more furiously still, and in a few minutes reached the Rue Saint-Dominique.

She tore into the house like a hurricane, questioned the hall-porter, and learned that Delarue had arrived.  She hastened to Marechal, and asked him in such a strange manner, “Have you seen Pierre?” that he thought some accident had happened.

On seeing her secretary’s scared look, she understood that what she most dreaded had come to pass.  She hurried to the drawing-room, calling Pierre in a loud voice.  The French window opened, and she found herself face to face with the young man.  A glance at her adopted son’s face increased her fears.  She opened her arms and clasped Pierre to her heart.

After the first emotions were over, she longed to know what had happened during her absence, and inquired of Pierre: 

“By whom were you received on arriving here?”

“By Micheline.”

“That is what I feared!  What did she tell you?”

“Everything!”

In three sentences these two strong beings had summed up all that had taken place.  Madame Desvarennes remained silent for a moment, then, with sudden tenderness, and as if to make up for her daughter’s treachery, said: 

“Come, let me kiss you again, my poor boy.  You suffer, eh? and I too!  I am quite overcome.  For ten years I have cherished the idea of your marrying Micheline.  You are a man of merit, and you have no relatives.  You would not take my daughter away from me; on the contrary I think you like me, and would willingly live with me.  In arranging this marriage I realized the dream of my life.  I was not taking a son-in-law-I was gaining a new child.”