Madame Desvarennes and Micheline appeared on the terrace.  Lady Harton pointed to the bride with her fan.  The Prince, leaving his companion, advanced toward Micheline.

“One of my English relatives, a Polish lady, married to Lord Harton, wishes to be introduced to you,” said Serge.  “Are you agreeable?”

“With all my heart,” replied the young wife, looking lovingly at her husband.  “All who belong to you are dear to me, you know.”

The beautiful Englishwoman approached slowly.

“The Princess Panine!” said Serge, gravely, introducing Micheline, who bowed gracefully.  Then, with a shade of familiarity:  “Lady Harton!” continued he, introducing his relative.

“I am very fond of your husband, Madame,” said the Englishwoman.  “I hope you will allow me to love you also; and I beg you to grant me the favor of accepting this small remembrance.”

While speaking, she unfastened from her wrist a splendid bracelet with the inscription, Semper.

Serge frowned and looked stern.  Micheline, lowering her eyes, and awed by the Englishwoman’s grandeur, timidly said: 

“I accept it, Madame, as a token of friendship.”

“I think I recognize this bracelet, Madame,” observed Serge.

“Yes; you gave it to me,” replied Lady Harton, quietly.  “Semper—­I beg your pardon, Madame, we Poles all speak Latin—­Semper means ‘Always!’ It is a great word.  On your wife’s arm this bracelet will be well placed.  Au revoir, dear Prince.  I wish you every happiness.”

And bowing to Micheline with a regal bow, Lady Harton took the arm of a tall young man whom she had beckoned, and walked away.

Micheline, amazed, looked at the bracelet sparkling on her white wrist.  Without uttering a word Serge unfastened it, took it off his wife’s arm, and advancing on the terrace, with a rapid movement flung it in the water.  The bracelet gleamed in the night-air and made a brilliant splash; then the water resumed its tranquillity.  Micheline, astonished, looked at Serge, who came toward her, and very humbly said: 

“I beg your pardon.”

The young wife did not answer, but her eyes filled with tears; a smile brightened her lips, and hurriedly taking his arm, she led him into the drawing-room.

Dancing was going on there.  The young ladies of Pontoise, and the cream of Creil, had come to the fete, bent on not losing such an opportunity of enjoying themselves.  Under the watchful eyes of their mothers, who, decked out in grand array, were seated along the walls, they were gamboling, in spite of the stifling heat, with all the impetuosity of young provincials habitually deprived of the pleasures of the ballroom.  Crossing the room, Micheline and Serge reached Madame Desvarennes’s boudoir.

It was delightfully cool in there.  Cayrol had taken refuge there with Jeanne, and Mademoiselle Susanne Herzog.  This young girl felt uncomfortable at being a third party with the newly-married couple, and welcomed the arrival of the Prince and Micheline with pleasure.  Her father had left her for a moment in Cayrol’s care; but she had not seen him for more than an hour.