“No,” replied the young man, with melancholy, “but work has destroyed in me the seductions of youth.  It has made me thoughtful, and a little sad.  I frightened Micheline, instead of attracting her.  The worst is that we live in such a state of high pressure, it is quite impossible to grasp all that is offered to us in this life-work and pleasure.  It is necessary to make a choice, to economize one’s time and strength, and to work with either the heart or the brain alone.  The result is that the neglected organ wastes away, and that men of pleasure remain all their lives mediocre workers, while hard workers are pitiful lovers.  The former sacrifice the dignity of existence, the latter that which is the charm of existence.  So that, in decisive moments, when the man of pleasure appeals to his intelligence, he finds he is unfit for duty, and when the man of toil appeals to his heart, he finds that he is unqualified for happiness.”

“Well, my boy, so much the worse for the women who cannot appreciate men of work, and who allow themselves to be wheedled by men of pleasure.  I never was one of those; and serious as you are, thirty years ago I would have jumped at you.  But as you know your ailment so well, why don’t you cure yourself?  The remedy is at hand.”

“What is it?”

“Strong will.  Marry Micheline.  I’ll answer for everything.”

“She does not love me.”

“A woman always ends by loving her husband.”

“I love Micheline too much to accept her hand without her heart.”

Madame Desvarennes saw that she would gain nothing, and that the game was irrevocably lost.  A great sorrow stole over her.  She foresaw a dark future, and had a presentiment that trouble had entered the house with Serge Panine.  What could she do?  Combat the infatuation of her daughter!  She knew that life would be odious for her if Micheline ceased to laugh and to sing.  Her daughter’s tears would conquer her will.  Pierre had told her truly.  Where was the use of fighting when defeat was certain?  She, too, felt that she was powerless, and with heartfelt sorrow came to a decision.

“Come, I see that I must make up my mind to be grandmother to little princes.  It pleases me but little on the father’s account.  My daughter will have a sad lot with a fellow of that kind.  Well, he had better keep in the right path; for I shall be there to call him to order.  Micheline must be happy.  When my husband was alive, I was already more of a mother than a wife; now my whole life is wrapped up in my daughter.”

Then raising her vigorous arms with grim energy, she added: 

“Do you know, if my daughter were made miserable through her husband, I should be capable of killing him.”