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She begged him to go to Cayrol's, and gain some information, without giving him further details, and she waited, walking up and down the room to calm the fever of her mind. On leaving the house in the Rue Taitbout, Serge felt bewildered, not daring to go home, and unable to decide on any plan; yet feeling that it was necessary to fix on something without delay, he reached the club.
After Cayrol's arrival, not knowing what to do, he had gone to the Universal Credit Company, and there, to his astonishment, had found the offices closed.
Madame Desvarennes placed her hand on the shoulder of the banker, and looking seriously at him, said: "You would not have forgiven me if I had allowed you to render him this service." A vague uneasiness filled Cayrol's heart, a shadow seemed to pass before his eyes, and in a troubled voice he said to the mistress: "Why so?" "Because he would have repaid you badly."
There was something mournfully comic in this stubbornness of Cayrol's, in throwing her in the way of Serge. Cayrol, embarrassed by Jeanne's silence, waited a moment. "What is the matter?" he asked. "You are just like the Prince when I spoke to him on the subject." Jeanne turned away abruptly. Cayrol's comparison was too direct. His blunders were becoming wearisome.
She highly praised her husband's kindness to her, and said it was unequalled. No allusion was made to that evening of their marriage, when, escaping from Cayrol's wrath, she had thrown herself in Madame Desvarennes's arms, and had allowed her secret to be found out. The mistress might well think then that the thought which at times still troubled her mind was a remembrance of a bad dream.
He gave this letter to one of the messengers, and told him to give it into the hands of Madame Cayrol's maid, and to none other. The care of a woman and the worry of another household seemed unbearable to him. Besides, what could he do with Jeanne? The presence of his mistress would prevent his being able to go back to Micheline.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed the mother in agony. She read the truth in her daughter's eyes. "You know " she began. "That he is her lover," cried Micheline, interrupting her. "Don't you see that I am dying through it?" she added, sobbing bitterly and falling into her mother's arms. The mistress carried her as if she had been a child into Cayrol's private office, and shut the door.
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.
On their glass doors might be read: "Payments of dividends." "Accounts." "Foreign correspondence." "General office." Cayrol's own room was quite at the end, and communicated with his private apartments. Everything breathed of simplicity and honesty. Cayrol had never tried to throw dust into people's eyes.
There was something mournfully comic in this stubbornness of Cayrol's, in throwing her in the way of Serge. Cayrol, embarrassed by Jeanne's silence, waited a moment. "What is the matter?" he asked. "You are just like the Prince when I spoke to him on the subject." Jeanne turned away abruptly. Cayrol's comparison was too direct. His blunders were becoming wearisome.
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