“My dear Jeanne,” he said, with affectionate sweetness, “you are talking nonsense.  Remember this, that for Prince Panine there are only three social’conditions possible:  to be rich, a soldier, or a priest.  I have the choice.  It is for you to decide.”

This put an end to Mademoiselle de Cernay’s resistance.  She felt how useless was further argument, and falling on a sofa, crushed with grief, cried: 

“Ah! this time it is finished; I am lost!”

Panine, then, approaching her, insinuating and supple, like the serpent with the first woman, murmured in her ear, as if afraid lest his words, in being spoken aloud, would lose their subtle venom: 

“No, you are not lost.  On the contrary, you are saved, if you will only listen to and understand me.  What are we, you and I?  You, a child adopted by a generous woman; I, a ruined nobleman.  You live in luxury, thanks to Madame Desvarennes’s liberality.  I can scarcely manage to keep myself with the help of my family.  Our present is precarious, our future hazardous.  And, suddenly, fortune is within our grasp.  We have only to stretch out our hands, and with one stroke we gain the uncontested power which money brings!

“Riches, that aim of humanity!  Do you understand?  We, the weak and disdained, become strong and powerful.  And what is necessary to gain them?  A flash of sense; a minute of wisdom; forget a dream and accept a reality.”

Jeanne waited till he had finished.  A bitter smile played on her lips.  Henceforth she would believe in no one.  After listening to what Serge had just said, she could listen to anything.

“So,” said she, “the dream is love; the reality is interest.  And is it you who speak thus to me?  You, for whom I was prepared to endure any sacrifice!  You, whom I would have served on my knees!  And what reason do you give to justify your conduct?  Money!  Indispensable and stupid money!  Nothing but money!  But it is odious, infamous, low!”

Serge received this terrible broadside of abuse without flinching.  He had armed himself against contempt, and was deaf to all insults.  Jeanne went on with increasing rage: 

“Micheline has everything:  family, fortune, and friends, and she is taking away my one possession—­your love.  Tell me that you love her!  It will be more cruel but less vile!  But no, it is not possible!  You gave way to temptation at seeing her so rich; you had a feeling of covetousness, but you will become yourself again and will act like an honest man.  Think, that in my eyes you are dishonoring yourself!  Serge, answer me!”

She clung to him again, and tried to regain him by her ardor, to warm him with her passion.  He remained unmoved, silent, and cold.  Her conscience rebelled.

“Well, then,” said she, “marry her.”

She remained silent and sullen, seeming to forget he was there.  She was thinking deeply.  Then she walked wildly up and down the room, saying: