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Behind Micheline came the officer and Marechal. The secretary exchanged looks with the mistress, who was lifting her fainting daughter and clasping her in her arms. He understood all. Turning toward his companion, he said: "Alas! sir, here is a sad matter! The Prince, on hearing that you had come, took fright, although his fault was not very serious, and has shot himself."
The happiness of spoiling one's child is a privilege of the rich. For you there was no down warm enough or silk soft enough to line your cradle. You have been petted and worshipped for twenty years. Yet, it only needed a man, whom you scarcely knew six months ago, to make you forget everything." "I have not forgotten anything," replied Micheline, moved by these passionate expressions.
"Every woman's?" exclaimed Micheline, anxiously, looking at her mother. "That is a manner of speaking. But, my dear, you must understand that I cannot be satisfied with what you have just told me. A tear and a kiss! Bah! That is not worth your dowry." "Come, mamma, do let me be happy." "You can be happy without committing follies. You do not need a racing-stable."
While I was running after glory, another, more practical and better advised, stole your heart. My happiness is destroyed. You did well to forget me. The fool who goes so far away from his betrothed does not deserve her faithfulness. He is cold, indifferent, he does not know how to love!" These vehement utterances troubled Micheline deeply.
This energetic woman was conquered, and yet understood that she was wrong to allow herself to be conquered. She fell into a deep reverie, and forgot that Cayrol was present. She thought of the future which she had planned for Micheline, and which the latter carelessly destroyed in an instant. Pierre, now an orphan, would have been a real son to the mistress.
Madame Desvarennes could not resist the inclination of finding out whether Micheline knew what was going on, and one morning when the young wife came down to see her mother, dressed in a lovely pink gown, the mistress, while teasing her daughter, said, carelessly: "It seems your husband lost heavily last night."
Excuse my weakness, and believe that you will never have a more faithful and devoted friend than I." Micheline gave him her hand, and, smiling, bowed her forehead to his lips. He slowly impressed a brotherly kiss, which effaced the burning trace of the one which he had stolen a moment before. At the same time a deep voice was heard in the distance, calling Pierre. Micheline trembled.
For that sweet and delicate child could not live without material comforts and mental ease, and her husband was doomed to go on from bad to worse, and would drag her down with him! The mistress pictured her daughter, that child whom she had brought up with the tenderest care, dying on a pallet, and the husband, odious to the last, refusing her admission to the room where Micheline was in agony.
A catafalque contained his coffin, and slowly his betrothed came, with a trembling hand, to throw holy water on the cloth which covered the bier. And a voice said within him: "You are dead, since Micheline is about to marry another." He made an effort to banish this importunate idea. He could not succeed. Thoughts flew through his brain with fearful rapidity.
"Oh, he has chosen such pretty colors," interrupted Micheline, with a smile. "Pearl-gray and silver, and pink cap. It is charming!" "You think so? Well, you are not difficult to please. And the club? What do you say to his gambling?" Micheline turned pale, and with a constraint which hurt her mother, said: "Is it necessary to make a fuss about a few games at bouillotte?"
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