“Show it to him,” said Madame Desvarennes; “he is the companion of Micheline’s young days, almost a son to me.”

And turning toward Pierre, she pointed him out to Panine.

Serge took three rapid strides toward Pierre, but quick as he had been Micheline was before him.  Each of the lovers seized a hand of Pierre, and pressed it with tender effusion.  Panine, with his Polish impetuosity, was making the most ardent protestations to Pierre—­he would be indebted to him for life.

Micheline’s late betrothed, with despair in his heart, allowed his hands to be pressed and wrung in silence.  The voice of her whom he loved brought tears to his eyes.

“How generous and good you are!” said the young girl, “how nobly you have sacrificed yourself!”

“Don’t thank me,” replied Pierre; “I have no merit in accomplishing what you admire.  I am weak, you see, and I could not bear to see you suffer.”

There was a great commotion in the drawing-room.  Cayrol was explaining to Herzog, who was listening with great attention, what was taking place.  Serge Panine was to be Madame Desvarennes’s son-in-law.  It was a great event.

“Certainly,” said the German; “Madame Desvarennes’s son-in-law will become a financial power.  And a Prince, too.  What a fine name for a board of directors!”

The two financiers looked at each other for a moment; the same thought had struck them.

“Yes, but,” replied Cayrol, “Madame Desvarennes will never allow Panine to take part in business.”

“Who knows?” said Herzog.  “We shall see how the marriage settlements are drawn up.”

“But,” cried Cayrol, “I would not have it said that I was leading Madame Desvarennes’s son-in-law into speculations.”

“Who is speaking of that?” replied Herzog, coldly.  “Am I seeking shareholders?  I have more money than I want; I refuse millions every day.”

“Oh, I know capitalists run after you,” said Cayrol, laughingly; “and to welcome them you affect the scruples of a pretty woman.  But let us go and congratulate the Prince.”

While Cayrol and Herzog were exchanging those few words which had such a considerable influence on the future of Serge Panine—­a scene, terrible in its simplicity, was going on without being noticed.  Micheline had thrown herself with a burst of tenderness into her mother’s arms.  Serge was deeply affected by the young girl’s affection for him, when a trembling hand touched his arm.  He turned round.  Jeanne de Cernay was before him, pale and wan; her eyes sunken into her head like two black nails, and her lips tightened by a violent contraction.  The Prince stood thunderstruck at the sight of her.  He looked around him.  Nobody was observing him.  Pierre was beside Marechal, who was whispering those words which only true friends can find in the sad hours of life.  Madame Desvarennes was holding Micheline in her arms.  Serge approached Mademoiselle de Cernay.  Jeanne still fixed on him the same menacing look.  He was afraid.