“So, it is that implacable self-interest with which I have just come in contact, which is the law of the world, the watchword of society!  So, in refusing to share the common folly, I risk remaining in isolation, and I must be strong to make others stand in awe of me.  Very well, then, I shall henceforth act in such a manner as to be neither dupe nor victim.  In future, everything will be:  self, and woe to him who hinders me.  That is the morality of the age, is it not?”

And she laughed nervously.

“Was I not stupid?  Come, Prince, you have made me clever.  Many thanks for the lesson; it was difficult, but I shall profit by it.”

The Prince, astonished at the sudden change, listened to Jeanne with stupor.  He did not yet quite understand.

“What do you intend to do?” asked he.

Jeanne looked at him with a fiendish expression.  Her eyes sparkled like stars; her white teeth shone between her lips.

“I intend,” replied she, “to lay the foundation of my power, and to follow your advice, by marrying a millionaire!”

She ran to the window, and, looking out toward the shady garden, called: 

“Monsieur Cayrol!”

Serge, full of surprise, and seized by a sudden fit of jealousy, went toward her as if to recall her.

“Jeanne,” said he, vaguely holding out his arms.

“Well! what is it?” she asked, with crushing haughtiness.  “Are you frightened at having gained your cause so quickly?”

And as Serge did not speak: 

“Come,” added she, “you will have a handsome fee; Micheline’s dower will be worth the trouble you have had.”

They heard Cayrol’s hurried steps ascending the stairs.

“You have done me the honor to call me, Mademoiselle,” said he, remaining on the threshold of the drawing-room.  “Am I fortunate enough at length to have found favor in your eyes?”

“Here is my hand,” said Mademoiselle de Cernay, simply tendering him her white taper fingers, which he covered with kisses.

Madame Desvarennes had come in behind the banker.  She uttered a joyous exclamation.

“Cayrol, you shall not marry Jeanne for her beauty alone.  I will give her a dower.”

Micheline fell on her companion’s neck.  It was a concert of congratulations.  But Jeanne, with a serious air, led Cayrol aside: 

“I wish to act honestly toward you, sir; I yield to the pleading of which I am the object.  But you must know that my sentiments do not change so quickly.  It is my hand only which I give you today.”

“I have not the conceitedness to think that you love me, Mademoiselle,” said Cayrol, humbly.  “You give me your hand; it will be for me to gain your heart, and with time and sincere affection I do not despair of winning it.  I am truly happy, believe me, for the favor you do me, and all my life long shall be spent in proving my gratitude to you.”

Jeanne was moved; she glanced at Cayrol, and did not think him so common-looking as usual.  She resolved to do all in her power to like this good man.