Madame Desvarennes did not join in that wild existence.  She had remained in Paris, attentive to business.  On Saturdays she came down by the five o’clock train and regularly returned on the Monday morning.  Her presence checked their wild gayety a little.  Her black dress was like a blot among the brocades and satins.  Her severe gravity, that of a woman who pays and sees the money going too fast, was like a reproach, silent but explicit, to that gay and thoughtless throng of idlers, solely taken up by their pleasure.

The servants made fun of her.  One day the Prince’s valet, who thought himself a clever fellow, said before all the other servants that Mother Damper had arrived.  Of course they all roared with laughter and exclaimed: 

“Bother the old woman!  Why does she come and worry us?  She had far better stop in the office and earn money; that’s all she’s good for!”

The disdain which the servants learned from their master grew rapidly.  So much so that one Monday morning, toward nine o’clock, Madame Desvarennes came down to the courtyard, expecting to find the carriage which generally took her to the station.  It was the second coachman’s duty to drive her, and she did not see him.  Thinking that he was a little late, she walked to the stable-yard.  There, instead of the victoria which usually took her, she saw a large mail-coach to which two grooms were harnessing the Prince’s four bays.  The head coachman, an Englishman, dressed like a gentleman, with a stand-up collar, and a rose in his buttonhole, stood watching the operations with an air of importance.

Madame Desvarennes went straight to him.  He had seen her coming, out of the, corner of his eye, without disturbing himself.

“How is it that the carriage is not ready to take me to the station?” asked the mistress.

“I don’t know, Madame,” answered this personage, condescendingly, without taking his hat off.

“But where is the coachman who generally drives me?”

“I don’t know.  If Madame would like to see in the stables—­”

And with a careless gesture, the Englishman pointed out to Madame Desvarennes the magnificent buildings at the end of the courtyard.

The blood rose to the mistress’s cheeks; she gave the coachman such a look that he moved away a little.  Then glancing at her watch, she said, coldly: 

“I have only a quarter of an hour before the train leaves, but here are horses that ought to go well.  Jump on the box, my man, you shall drive me.”

The Englishman shook his head.

“Those horses are not for service; they are only for pleasure,” he answered.  “I drive the Prince.  I don’t mind driving the Princess, but I am not here to drive you, Madame.”

And with an insolent gesture, setting his hat firmly on his head, he turned his back upon the mistress.  At the same moment, a sharp stroke from a light cane made his hat roll on the pavement.  And as the Englishman turned round, red with rage, he found himself face to face with the Prince, whose approach neither Madame Desvarennes nor he had heard.