“Simply this,” returned Serge.  “Weary of the precarious and hazardous life which I lead, I would leave for Austria, and rejoin the service.  A uniform is the only garb which can hide poverty honorably.”

Jeanne looked at him with anguish; and making an effort said: 

“Then, in any case, for me it is abandonment?” And falling upon a seat, she hid her face in her hands.  Panine remained silent for a moment.  The young girl’s, grief, which he knew to be sincere, troubled him more than he wished to show.  He had loved Mademoiselle de Cernay, and he loved her still.  But he felt that a sign of weakness on his part would place him at Jeanne’s mercy, and that an avowal from his lips at this grave moment meant a breaking-off of his marriage with Micheline.  He hardened himself against his impressions, and replied, with insinuating sweetness: 

“Why do you speak of desertion, when a good man who loves you fondly, and who possesses a handsome fortune, wishes to marry you?”

Mademoiselle de Cernay raised her head, hastily.

“So, it is you who advise me to marry Monsieur Cayrol?  Is there nothing revolting to you in the idea that I should follow your advice?  But then, you deceived me from the first moment you spoke to me.  You have never loved me even for a day!  Not an hour!”

Serge smiled, and resuming his light, caressing tone, replied: 

“My dear Jeanne, if I had a hundred thousand francs a year, I give you my word of honor that I would not marry another woman but you, for you would make an adorable Princess.”

Mademoiselle de Cernay made a gesture of perfect indifference.

“Ah! what does the title matter to me?” she exclaimed, with passion.  “What I want is you!  Nothing but you!”

“You do not know what you ask.  I love you far too much to associate you with my destiny.  If you knew that gilded misery, that white kid-gloved poverty, which is my lot, you would be frightened, and you would understand that in my resolution to give you up there is much of tenderness and generosity.  Do you think it is such an easy matter to give up a woman so adorable as you are?  I resign myself to it, though.

“What could I do with my beautiful Jeanne in the three rooms in the Rue de Madame where I live?  Could I, with the ten or twelve thousand francs which I receive through the liberality of the Russian Panines, provide a home?  I can hardly make it do for myself.  I live at the club, where I dine cheaply.  I ride my friends’ horses!  I never touch a card, although I love play.  I go much in society; I shine there, and walk home to save the cost of a carriage.  My door-keeper cleans my rooms and keeps my linen in order.  My private life is sad, dull, and humiliating.  It is the black chrysalis of the bright butterfly which you know.  That is what Prince Panine is, my dear Jeanne.  A gentleman of good appearance, who lives as carefully as an old maid.  The world sees him elegant and happy, and its envies his luxury; but this luxury is as deluding as watch-chains made of pinchbeck.  You understand now that I cannot seriously ask you to share such an existence.”