But Herzog, with his cajoling sweetness, protested against this exaggerated picture.  Delarue had arrived during the dog-days—­a bad time.  And then, it was necessary for the work to be carried on without delay.  Besides, a few Moors, more or less—­what did it matter?  Negroes, all but monkeys!

Marechal, who had listened silently until then, interrupted the conversation, to defend the monkeys in the name of Littre.  He had framed a theory, founded on Darwin, and tending to prove that men who despised monkeys despised themselves.  Herzog, a little taken aback by this unexpected reply, had looked at Marechal slyly, asking himself if it was a joke.  But, seeing Madame Desvarennes laugh, he recovered his self-possession.  Business could not be carried on in the East as in Europe.  And then, had it not always been thus?  Had not all the great discoverers worked the countries which they discovered?  Christopher Columbus, Cortez—­had they not taken riches from the Indians, in exchange for the civilization which they brought them?  He (Herzog) had, in making a railway in Morocco, given the natives the means of civilizing themselves.  It was only fair that it should cost them something.

Herzog uttered his tirade with all the charm of which he was capable; he looked to the right and to the left to notice the effect.  He saw nothing but constrained faces.  It seemed as if they were expecting some one or something.  Time was passing; ten o’clock had just struck.  From the little boudoir sounds of music were occasionally heard, when Micheline’s nervous hand struck a louder chord on her piano.  She was there, anxiously awaiting some one or something.  Jeanne de Cernay, stretched in an easy-chair, her head leaning on her hand, was dreaming.

During the past three weeks the young girl had changed.  Her bright wit no longer enlivened Micheline’s indolent calmness; her brilliant eyes were surrounded by blue rings, which denoted nights passed without sleep.  The change coincided strangely with Prince Panine’s departure for England, and the sending of the letter which recalled Pierre to Paris.  Had the inhabitants of the mansion been less occupied with their own troubles, they would no doubt have noticed this sudden change, and have sought to know the reason.  But the attention of all was concentrated on the events which had already troubled them, and which would no doubt be yet more serious to the house, until lately so quiet.

The visitors’ bell sounded, and caused Micheline to rise.  The blood rushed to her cheeks.  She whispered, “It is he!” and, hesitating, she remained a moment leaning on the piano, listening vaguely to the sounds in the drawing-room.  The footman’s voice announcing the visitor reached the young girls: 

“Prince Panine.”

Jeanne also rose then, and if Micheline had turned round she would have been frightened at the pallor of her companion.  But Mademoiselle Desvarennes was not thinking of Mademoiselle de Cernay; she had just raised the heavy door curtain, and calling to Jeanne, “Are you coming?” passed into the drawing-room: