“Faith, no! I would rather he came to my office. I should be more at

ease. Adieu, Marechal.”

“Adieu, Monsieur Cayrol. But on whom will you bet?”

“Before I venture I should like to know on whose side the Princess is.”

“Ah, dangler! You think too much of the women! Some day you will be let

in through that failing of yours!”

Cayrol smiled conceitedly, and went away. Marechal sat down at his desk,

and took out a sheet of paper.

“I must tell Pierre that everything is going on well here,” he murmured.

“If he knew what was taking place he would soon be back, and might be

guilty of some foolery or other.” So he commenced writing.

BOOK 4.

CHAPTER XVIII. THE UNIVERSAL CREDIT COMPANY

The banking-house of Cayrol had not a very imposing appearance. It was

a narrow two-storied building, the front blackened by time. There was

a carriage gateway, on the right-hand side of which was the entrance

to the offices. The stairs leading to the first floor were covered by

a well-worn carpet. Here was a long corridor into which the different

offices opened. 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. He had started

modestly when opening the bank; his business had increased, but his

habits had remained the same. It was not a difficult matter to obtain

an interview, even by people not known to him. They sent in their cards,

and were admitted to his sanctum.

It was amid the coming and going of customers and clerks that Prince

Panine came the following day to find Cayrol. For the first time Serge

had put himself out for the banker. He was introduced with marks of the

most profound respect. The great name of Desvarennes seemed to cast a

kind of halo round his head in the eyes of the clerks.

Cayrol, a little embarrassed, but still resolute, went toward him.

Serge seemed nervous and somewhat abrupt in manner. He foresaw some

difficulty.

“Well! my dear fellow,” he said, without sitting down. “What are you up

to? I have waited since yesterday for the money you promised me.”

Cayrol scratched his ear, and felt taken aback by this plain speaking.

“The fact is--” stammered he.

“Have you forgotten your engagement?” asked Serge, frowning.

“No,” replied Cayrol, speaking slowly, “but I met Madame Desvarennes

yesterday.”

“And what had that to do with your intentions?”

“Zounds! It had everything to do with them. Your mother-in-law made a

scene, and forbade my lending you any money. You must understand, my

dear Prince, that my relations with Madame Desvarennes are important.

I hold a great deal of money of hers in my bank. She first gave me a

start. I cannot, without appearing ungrateful, act contrary to her will.

Place yourself in my position, and judge impartially of the terrible

alternative between obliging you and displeasing my benefactress.”

“Don’t cry; it is useless,” said Serge, with a scornful laugh. “I

sympathize with your troubles. You side with the money-bags. It remains

to be seen whether you will gain by it.”

“My dear Prince, I swear to you that I am in despair,” cried Cayrol,

annoyed at the turn the interview was taking. “Listen; be reasonable! I

don’t know what you have done to your mother-in-law, but she seems much

vexed with you. In your place I would rather make a few advances than

remain hostile toward Madame Desvarennes. That would mend matters, you

see. Flies are not to be caught with vinegar.”

Serge looked contemptuously at Cayrol, and put on his hat with supreme

insolence.

“Pardon me, my dear fellow; as a banker you are excellent when you have

any money to spare, but as a moralist you are highly ridiculous.”

And, turning on his heel, he quitted the office, leaving Cayrol quite

abashed. He passed along the corridor switching his cane with suppressed

rage. Madame Desvarennes had, with one word, dried up the source from

which he had been drawing most of the money which he had spent during

the last three months. He had to pay a large sum that evening at the

club, and he did not care to apply to the money-lenders of Paris.

He went down the stairs wondering how he would get out of this scrape!

Go to Madame Desvarennes and humble himself as Cayrol advised? Never!

He regretted, for a moment, the follies which had led him into this

difficulty. He ought to have been able to live on two hundred

thousand francs a year! He had squandered money foolishly, and now the

inexhaustible well from which he had drawn his treasure was closed by an

invincible will.

He was crossing the gateway, when a well-known voice struck his ear, and

he turned round. Herzog, smiling in his enigmatical manner, was before

him. Serge bowed, and wanted to pass on, but the financier put his hand

on his arm, saying:

“What a hurry you are in, Prince. I suppose your pocketbook is full of

notes, and you are afraid of being plundered.”

And with his finger, Herzog touched the silver mounted pocketbook, the

corner of which was peeping out of the Prince’s pocket. Panine could not

control a gesture of vexation, which made the financier smile.

“Am I wrong?” asked Herzog. “Can our friend Cayrol have refused your

request? By-the-bye, did you not quarrel with Madame Desvarennes

yesterday? Whoever was it told me that? Your mother-in-law spoke of

cutting off all your credit, and from your downcast look I guess that

fool Cayrol has obeyed the orders he has received.”

Serge, exasperated and stamping with rage, wanted to speak, but it was

no easy matter interrupting Herzog. Besides, there was something in the

latter’s look which annoyed Serge. His glance seemed to be fathoming the

depths of Panine’s pockets, and the latter instinctively tightened his

arms across his chest, so that Herzog might not see that his pocketbook

was empty.

“What are you talking about?” asked Serge, at last, with a constrained

smile.

“About things which must greatly interest you,” said Herzog, familiarly.

“Come, be sincere. Cayrol has just refused you a sum of money. He’s a

simpleton! How much do you want? Will a hundred thousand francs do just

now?”

And writing a few words on a check, the financier handed it to Serge,

adding:

“A man of your position should not be in any difficulty for such a

paltry sum!”

“But, sir,” said Serge, astonished, and pushing away Herzog’s hand.

“Accept it, and don’t feel indebted to me. It is hardly worth while

between you and me.”

And taking Panine’s arm Herzog walked on with him.

“Your carriage is there? all right, mine will follow. I want to talk to

you. Your troubles cannot last. I will show you the means of extricating

yourself and that without delay, my dear sir.”

And without consulting Panine he seated himself beside him in the

carriage.

“I told you once, if you remember,” continued the financier, “that I

might prove useful to you. You were haughty, and I did not insist; yet

you see the day has come. Let me speak frankly with you. It is my usual

manner, and there is some good in it.”

“Speak,” answered Serge, rather puzzled.

“You find yourself at this moment, vulgarly speaking, left in the lurch.

Your wants are many and your resources few.”

“At least--” protested Serge.

“Good! There you are refractory,” said the financier, laughingly, “and I

have not finished. The day after your marriage you formed your

household on a lavish footing; you gave splendid receptions; you bought

race-horses; in short, you went the pace like a great lord. Undoubtedly

it costs a lot of money to keep up such an establishment. As you spent

without counting the cost, you confounded the capital with the interest,

so that at this moment you are three parts ruined. I don’t think you

would care to change your mode of living, and it is too late in the day

to cut down expenses and exist on what remains? No. Well, to keep up

your present style you need at least a million francs every year.”

“You calculate like Cocker,” remarked Serge, smiling with some

constraint.

“That is my business,” answered Herzog. “There are two ways by which

you can obtain that million. The first is by making it up with your

mother-in-law, and consenting, for money, to live under her dominion. I

know her, she will agree to this.”

“But,” said Serge, “I refuse to submit.”

“In that case you must get out of your difficulties alone.”

“And how?” inquired the Prince, with astonishment.

Herzog looked at him seriously.

“By entering on the path which I am ready to open up to you,” replied

Herzog, “and in which I will guide you. By going in for business.”

Serge returned Herzog’s glance and tried to read his face, but found him

impenetrable.

“To go into business one needs experience, and I have none.”

“Mine will suffice,” retorted the financier.

“Or money,” continued the Prince, “and I have none, either.”

“I don’t ask money from you. I offer you some.”

“What, then, do I bring into the concern?”

“The prestige of your name, and your relations with Madame Desvarennes.”

The Prince answered, haughtily:

“My relations are personal, and I doubt whether they will serve you. My

mother-in-law is hostile, and will do nothing for me. As to my name, it

does not belong to me, it belongs to those who bore it nobly before me.”

“Your relations will serve me,” said Herzog. “I am satisfied. Your

mother-in-law cannot get out of your being her daughter’s husband, and

for that you are worth your weight in gold. As to your name, it is

just because it has been nobly borne that it is valuable. Thank your

ancestors, therefore, and make the best of the only heritage they left

you. Besides, if you care to examine things closely, your ancestors will

not have reason to tremble in their graves. What did they do formerly?

They imposed taxes on their vassals and extorted money from the

vanquished. We financiers do the same. Our vanquished are the

speculators; our vassals the shareholders. And what a superiority

there is about our proceedings! There is no violence. We persuade; we

fascinate; and the money flows into our coffers. What do I say? They

beseech us to take it. We reign without contest. We are princes, too

princes of finance. We have founded an aristocracy as proud and as

powerful as the old one. Feudality of nobility no longer exists; it has

given way to that of money.”

Serge laughed. He saw what Herzog was driving at.

“Your great barons of finance are sometimes subject to executions,” said

he.

“Were not Chalais, Cinq-Mars, Biron, and Montmorency executed?” asked

Herzog, with irony.

“That was on a scaffold,” replied Panine.

“Well! the speculator’s scaffold is the Bourse! But only small dabblers

in money succumb; the great ones are safe from danger. They are

supported in their undertakings by such powerful and numerous interests

that they cannot fail without involving public credit; even

governments are forced to come to their aid. One of these powerful and

indestructible enterprises I have dreamed of grafting on to the European

Credit Company, the Universal Credit Company. Its very name is a

programme in itself. To stretch over the four quarters of the globe like

an immense net, and draw into its meshes all financial speculators: such

is its aim. Nobody will be able to withstand us. I am offering you great

things, but I dream of still greater. I have ideas. You will see them

developed, and will profit by them, if you join my fortunes. You are

ambitious, Prince. I guessed it; but your ambition hitherto has been

satisfied with small things--luxurious indulgences and triumphs of

elegance! What are these worth to what I can give you? The sphere in

which you move is narrow. I will make it immense. You will no longer

reign over a small social circle, you will rule a world.”

Serge, more affected than he cared to show, tried to banter.

“Are you repeating the prologue to Faust?” asked he. “Where is your

magical compact? Must I sign it?”

“Not at all. Your consent is sufficient. Look into the business, study

it at your leisure, and measure the results; and then if it suit you,

you can sign a deed of partnership. Then in a few years you may possess

a fortune surpassing all that you have dreamed of.”

The financier remained silent. Serge was weighing the question. Herzog

was happy; he had shown himself to all Paris in company with Madame

Desvarennes’s son-in-law. He had already realized one of his projects.

The carriage was just passing down the Champs Elysees. The weather was

lovely, and in the distance could be seen the trees of the Tuileries and

the different monuments of the Place de la Concorde bathed in blue mist.

Groups of horsemen were cantering along the side avenues. Long files of

carriages were rolling rapidly by with well-dressed ladies. The capital

displayed at that hour all the splendor of its luxury. It was Paris in

all its strength and gayety.

Herzog stretched out his hand, and calling the Prince’s attention to the

sight, said:

“There’s your empire!”

Then, looking at him earnestly, he asked:

“Is it agreed?”

Serge hesitated for a moment, and then bowed his head, saying:

“It is agreed.”

Herzog pulled the check-string communicating with the coachman and

alighted.

“Good-by,” said he to Panine.

He slipped into his own carriage, which had followed closely behind, and

drove off.

From that day, even Jeanne had a rival. The fever of speculation had

seized on Serge; he had placed his little finger within the wheels and

he must follow--body, name, and soul. The power which this new game

exercised over him was incredible. It was quite different to the stupid

games at the club, always the same. On the Bourse, everything was new,

unexpected, sudden, and formidable. The intensity of the feelings were

increased a hundredfold, owing to the importance of the sums risked.

It was really a splendid sight to see Herzog manipulating matters,

maneuvering with a miraculous dexterity millions of francs. And then the

field for operations was large. Politics, the interests of nations, were

the mainsprings which impelled the play, and the game assumed diplomatic

vastness and financial grandeur.

From his private office Herzog issued orders, and whether his ability

was really extraordinary, or whether fortune exceptionally favored him,

success was certain. Serge, from the first week, realized considerable

sums. This brilliant success threw him in a state of great excitement.

He believed everything that Herzog said to him as if it were gospel. He

saw the world bending under the yoke which he was about to impose upon

it. People working and toiling every day were doing so for him alone,

and like one of those kings who had conquered the world, he pictured all

the treasures of the earth laid at his feet. From that time he lost

the sense of right and wrong. He admitted the unlikely, and found the

impossible quite natural. He was a docile tool in the hands of Herzog.

The rumor of this unforeseen change in Panine’s circumstances soon

reached Madame Desvarennes’s ears. The mistress was frightened, and sent

for Cayrol, begging him to remain a director of the European Credit, in

order to watch the progress of the new affair. With her practical common

sense, she foresaw disasters, and even regretted that Serge had not

confined himself to cards and reckless living.

Cayrol was most uneasy, and made a confidant of his wife, who, deeply

troubled, told Panine the fears his friends entertained on his account.

The Prince smiled disdainfully, saying these fears were the effect

of plebeian timidity. The mistress understood nothing of great

speculations, and Cayrol was a narrow-minded banker! He knew what he was

doing. The results of his speculations were mathematical. So far they

had not disappointed his hopes. The great Universal Credit Company, of

which he was going to be a director, would bring him in such an immense

fortune that he would be independent of Madame Desvarennes.

Jeanne, terrified at this blind confidence, tried to persuade him. Serge

took her in his arms, kissed her, and banished her fears.

Madame Desvarennes had forbidden her people to tell Micheline anything

of what was going on, as she wished her to remain in perfect ignorance.

By a word, the mistress, if she could not have prevented the follies

of which Serge was guilty, could, at least, have spared herself and her

daughter. It would have only been necessary to reveal his behavior and

betrayal to Micheline, and to provoke a separation. If the house of

Desvarennes were no longer security for Panine, his credit would fall.

Disowned by his mother-in-law, and publicly given up by her, he would

be of no use to Herzog, and would be promptly thrown over by him. The

mistress did not wish her daughter to know the heartrending truth. She

would not willingly cause her to shed tears, and therefore preferred

risking ruin.

Micheline, too, tried to hide her troubles from her mother. She knew

too well that Serge would have the worst of it if he got into her black

books. With the incredible persistence of a loving heart, she hoped to

win back Serge. Thus a terrible misunderstanding caused these two women

to remain inactive and silent, when, by united efforts, they might,

perhaps, have prevented dangers.

The great speculation was already being talked about. Herzog was boldly

placing his foot on the summit whereon the five or six demigods, who

ruled the stock market, were firmly placed. The audacious encroachments

of this newcomer had vexed these formidable potentates, and already they

had decided secretly his downfall because he would not let them share in

his profits.

One morning, the Parisians, on awakening, found the walls placarded with

notices advertising the issue of shares in the Universal Credit Company,

and announcing the names of the directors, among which appeared that

of the Prince. Some were members of the Legion d’Honneur; others recent

members of the Cabinet Council, and Prefets retired into private life. A

list of names to dazzle the public, but all having a weak point.

This created a great sensation in the business world. Madame

Desvarennes’s son-in-law was on the board. It was a good speculation,

then? People consulted the mistress, who found herself somewhat in a

dilemma; either she must disown her son-in-law, or speak well of the

affair. Still she did not hesitate, for she was loyal and honest above

all things. She declared the speculation was a poor one, and did all she

could to prevent any of her friends becoming shareholders.

The issue of shares was disastrous. The great banks remained hostile,

and capitalists were mistrustful. Herzog landed a few million francs.

Doorkeepers and cooks brought him their savings. He covered expenses.

But it was no use advertising and puffing in the newspapers, as a word

had gone forth which paralyzed the speculation. Ugly rumors were afloat.

Herzog’s German origin was made use of by the bankers, who whispered

that the aim of the Universal Credit Company was exclusively political.

It was to establish branch banks in every part of the world to further

the interests of German industry. Further, at a given moment, Germany

might have need of a loan in case of war, and the Universal Credit

Company would be there to supply the necessary aid to the great military

nation.

Herzog was not a man to be put down without resisting, and he made

supreme efforts to float his undertaking. He caused a number of unissued

shares to be sold on ‘Change, and had them bought up by his own men,

thus creating a fictitious interest in the company. In a few days the

shares rose and were at a premium, simply through the jobbery to which

Herzog lent himself.

Panine was little disposed to seek for explanations, and, besides,

had such unbounded faith in his partner that he suspected nothing. He

remained in perfect tranquillity. He had increased his expenditure, and

his household was on a royal footing. Micheline’s sweetness emboldened

him; he no longer took the trouble of dissimulating, and treated his

young wife with perfect indifference.

Jeanne and Serge met every day at the little house in the Avenue

Maillot. Cayrol was too much engaged with the new anxieties which Herzog

caused him, to look after his wife, and left her quite free to amuse

herself. Besides, he had not the least suspicion. Jeanne, like all

guilty women, overwhelmed him with kind attentions, which the good man

mistook for proofs of love. The fatal passion was growing daily stronger

in the young woman’s heart, and she would have found it impossible to

have given up her dishonorable happiness with Panine. She felt herself

capable of doing anything to preserve her lover.

Jeanne had already said, “Oh! if we were but free!” And they formed

projects. They would go away to Lake Lugano, and, in a villa hidden

by trees and shrubs, would enjoy the pleasures of being indissolubly

united. The woman was more eager than the man in giving way to these

visions of happiness. She sometimes said, “What hinders us now? Let

us go.” But Serge, prudent and discreet, even in the most affectionate

moments, led Jeanne to take a more sensible view. What was the use of a

scandal? Did they not belong to each other?

Then the young woman reproached him for not loving her as much as she

loved him. She was tired of dissimulating; her husband was an object

of horror to her, and she had to tell him untruths and submit to his

caresses which were revolting to her. Serge calmed her with a kiss, and

bade her wait awhile.

Pierre, rendered anxious on hearing that Serge had joined Herzog in

his dangerous financial speculations, had left his mines and had just

arrived. The letters which Micheline addressed to the friend of her

youth, her enforced confidant in trouble, were calm and resigned.

Full of pride, she had carefully hidden from Pierre the cause of her

troubles. He was the last person by whom she would like to be pitied,

and her letters had represented Serge as repentant and full of good

feeling. Marechal, for similar reasons, had kept his friend in the

dark. He feared Pierre’s interference, and he wished to spare Madame

Desvarennes the grief of seeing her adopted son quarreling with her

son-in-law.

But the placards announcing the establishment of the Universal Credit

Company made their way into the provinces, and one morning Pierre found

some stuck on the walls of his establishment. Seeing the name of Panine,

and not that of Cayrol, Pierre shuddered. The unpleasant ideas which

he experienced formerly when Herzog was introduced to the Desvarennes

recurred to his mind. He wrote to the mistress to ask what was going

on, and not receiving an answer, he started off without hesitation for

Paris.

He found Madame Desvarennes in a terrible state of excitement. The

shares had just fallen a hundred and twenty francs. A panic had ensued.

The affair was considered as absolutely lost, and the shareholders were

aggravating matters by wanting to sell out at once.

Savinien was just coming away from the mistress’s room. He wanted to see

the downfall of the Prince, whom he had always hated, looking upon him

as a usurper of his own rights upon the fortune of the Desvarennes.

He began lamenting to his aunt, when she turned upon him with unusual

harshness, and he felt bound as he said, laughing, to leave the

“funereal mansion.”

Cayrol, as much interested in the affairs of the Prince as if they were

his own, went backward and forward between the Rue Saint-Dominique and

the Rue Taitbout, pale and troubled, but without losing his head. He

had already saved the European Credit Company by separating it six

weeks before from the Universal Credit Company, notwithstanding Madame

Desvarennes’s supplications to keep them together, in the hope that the

one would save the other. But Cayrol, practical, clear, and implacable,

had refused, for the first time, to obey Madame Desvarennes. He acted

with the resolution of a captain of a vessel, who throws overboard a

portion of the cargo to save the ship, the crew, and the rest of the

merchandise. He did well, and the European Credit was safe. The shares

had fallen a little, but a favorable reaction was already showing

itself. The name of Cayrol, and his presence at the head of affairs, had

reassured the public, and the shareholders gathered round him, passing a

vote of confidence.

The banker, devoted to his task, next sought to save Panine, who was at

that very moment robbing him of his honor and happiness in the house of

the Avenue Maillot.

Pierre, Cayrol, and Madame Desvarennes met in Marechal’s private office.

Pierre declared that it was imperative to take strong measures and

to speak to the Prince. It was the duty of the mistress to enlighten

Panine, who was no doubt Herzog’s dupe.

Madame Desvarennes shook her head sadly. She feared that Serge was not

a dupe but an accomplice. And what could she tell him? Let him ruin

himself! He would not believe her. She knew how he received her advice

and bore her remonstrances.

An explanation between her and Serge was impossible, and her

interference would only hurry him into the abyss.

“Well, then, I will speak to him,” said Pierre, resolutely.

“No,” said Madame Desvarennes, “not you! Only one here can tell him

efficaciously what he must hear, and that is Cayrol. Let us above all

things keep guard over our words and our behavior. On no account must

Micheline suspect anything.”

Thus, at the most solemn moments, when fortune and honor, perhaps, were

compromised, the mother thought of her daughter’s welfare and happiness.

Cayrol went up to the Prince’s rooms. He had just come in, and was

opening his letters, while having a cigarette in the smoking-room. A

door, covered by curtains, led to a back stair which opened into the

courtyard. Cayrol had gone up that way, feeling sure that by so doing he

would not meet Micheline.

On seeing Jeanne’s husband, Serge rose quickly. He feared that Cayrol

had discovered everything, and instinctively stepped backward. The

banker’s manner soon undeceived him. He was serious, but not in a rage.

He had evidently come on business.

“Well, my dear Cayrol,” said the Prince, gayly, “what good fortune has

brought you here?”

“If it is fortune, it is certainly not good fortune,” answered the

banker, gravely. “I wish to have some talk with you, and I shall be

grateful if you will listen patiently.”

“Oh! oh!” said Serge. “How serious you are. You have some heavy payments

on hand, and want a little help, eh? I will speak to Herzog.”

Cayrol looked at the Prince in amazement. So he did not suspect

anything? Such carelessness and negligence frightened him. The banker

resolved to proceed clearly, and without beating about the bush; to do

away with such blind confidence a thunderbolt was necessary.

“I have not come about my business, but yours,” returned Cayrol. “The

Universal Credit Company is on the eve of disaster; there is still time

for you to withdraw safely and soundly from the sinking wreck. I bring

you the means.”

Serge laughed.

“Thank you, Cayrol; you are very kind, my friend. I know your intentions

are good, but I don’t believe a word you are saying. You have come

from Madame Desvarennes. You are both agreed that I shall give up the

Universal Credit, but I will not yield to any pressure. I know what I am

doing. Be easy.”

And quietly lighting another cigarette, he gracefully puffed the

smoke toward the ceiling. Cayrol did not trouble to argue, but took

a newspaper from his pocket and handed it to Panine, simply saying,

“Read!”

It was an article in a reliable financial paper prophesying the

failure of the Universal Credit Company, and basing its statements on

irrefutable calculations. Serge took the paper and looked over it. He

turned pale and crushed it in his hand.

“What infamy!” cried he. “I know our adversaries are enraged. Yes, they

know that our new company is destined to crush them in the future, and

they are doing all they can to run us aground. Jealousy! Envy! There is

no other foundation for these rumors, and they are unworthy a serious

man’s attention.”

“There is neither envy nor jealousy. All is true,” said Cayrol. “You

will admit that I am your sincere friend? Well, I swear to you that

the situation is terrible, and you must resign your directorship of the

Universal Credit without loss of time. There’s not a moment to lose. Sit

down and write your resignation.”

“Do you think I am a child to be led by the nose like that?” asked the

Prince, in a passion. “If you are sincere, Cayrol, as I wish to believe,

I also think you are a fool. You don’t understand! As to drawing out of

the company, never! I have a lot of money invested in it.”

“Well, lose your money, Madame Desvarennes will pay you back. At least

you can save your name.”

“Ah, I see you are conniving with her!” exclaimed the Prince, loudly.

“Don’t tell me another word, I don’t believe you. I shall go straight

to the office, and I will speak to Herzog. We will take measures to

prosecute the papers for libel if they dare to publish these untruths.”

Cayrol saw that nothing would convince Panine. He hoped that an

interview with Herzog would enlighten him. He left the matter to chance,

as reasoning was of no avail, and went down to the mistress.

Serge drove to the Universal Credit Company. It was the first day in the

new offices. Herzog had furnished them splendidly, thinking that this

would give the shareholders a high opinion of the undertaking. How could

they have any doubts when they saw such splendid furniture and large

offices? How could they refuse to place their money in the hands of

speculators that could cover their floors with such soft carpets? The

porters, with their dark blue and red cloth liveries, and buttons

with the company’s monogram on them, answered inquiries with haughty

condescension. Everything foretold success. It was in the air. You could

hear the cashier shovelling heaps of gold. The people who had placed the

Universal Credit Company on such a footing were either very powerful or

very impudent.

Serge walked in, as he would have done at home, with his hat on, amid a

number of small shareholders, who had come full of anxiety after reading

the accounts in the newspapers, and who felt full of confidence after

seeing the splendor of the place. Panine reached Herzog’s office, but

when about to open the door, loud voices struck his ear. The financier

was arguing with a director, and Panine listened.

“The speculation is safe and sure,” Herzog was saying. “The shares are

low, I know, because I have ceased to keep them up. I have given orders

in London, Vienna, and Berlin, and we are buying up all shares that

are offered in the market. I shall then run the shares up again, and we

shall realize an enormous sum. It is most simple.”

“But it is shady,” said the other voice.

“Why? I defend myself as I am attacked. The great banks seek to

deteriorate my stock. I buy in, and take it out of my adversaries. Is it

not just and lawful?”

Panine breathed freely and felt reassured. The depreciation was caused

by Herzog; he had just said so. There was nothing to fear then. It was

just a trick of Herzog’s, and the company would come out brighter than

ever.

Serge went in.

“Oh! here’s Prince Panine,” said Herzog. “Ask him what he thinks of the

matter. I defer to his judgment.”

“I don’t want to know anything,” said Serge. “I have full confidence in

you, my dear manager, and our business will prosper in your hands, I am

sure. Besides, I know the manoeuvres of our opponents, and I think every

financial means justifiable to answer them.”

“Ah! What did I say to you a few minutes ago?” cried Herzog, addressing

his questioner in a tone of triumph. “Let me act and you will see.

Besides, I don’t want to keep you against your will,” he added, harshly.

“You are at liberty to withdraw from us if you like.”

The other protested that what he had said was for the best interests of

all concerned. He did not dream of leaving the company; on the contrary,

they might rely on him. He appreciated the experience and ability of

Herzog too well to separate his fortune from his friend’s. And, shaking

hands with the financier, he took his leave.

“Come! What is all this clamor in the newspapers?” asked Serge, when

he found himself alone with Herzog. “Do you know that the articles

published are very perfidious?”

“All the more perfidious because they are founded on truth,” said the

financier, coldly.

“What do you mean?” cried Serge, in alarm.

“The truth. Do you think I am to tell you lies as I did to that idiot

who has just gone out? The Universal Credit has at this moment a screw

loose. But patience! I have an idea, and in a fortnight the shares will

have doubled in value. I have a splendid scheme in hand which will kill

the gas companies. It is a plan for lighting by magnesium. Its effect

will be startling. I shall publish sensational articles describing the

invention in the London and Brussels papers. Gas shares will fall very

low. I shall buy up all I can, and when I am master of the situation,

I shall announce that the threatened gas companies are buying up the

invention. Shares will rise again, and I shall realize a goodly sum,

which will be for the benefit of the Universal Credit.”

“But for such a formidable speculation foreign agents will require

security?”

“I will offer it to them. I have here ten million francs’ worth of

shares in the European Credit belonging to Cayrol. We will give the

cashier a joint receipt for them. The speculation will last three days.

It is safe, and when the result is achieved we will replace the shares,

and take back the receipt.”

“But,” asked Serge, “is this plan of taking the shares which don’t

belong to us legal?”

“It is a transfer,” said Herzog, with simplicity. “Besides, don’t forget

that we have to do with Cayrol, that is to say with a partner.”

“Suppose we tell him of it,” insisted the Prince.

“No! The deuce! We should have to explain everything to him. He knows

what’s what, and would find the idea too good, and want a share of the

spoil. No! Sign that, and don’t be alarmed. The sheep will be back in

the fold before the shepherd comes to count them.”

A dark presentiment crossed Serge’s mind, and he was afraid. At that

moment, when his fate was being decided, he hesitated to go deeper into

the rut where he had already been walking too long. He stood silent and

undecided. Confused thoughts crowded his brain; his temples throbbed,

and a buzzing noise sounded in his ears. But the thought of giving

up his liberty, and again subjecting himself to Madame Desvarennes’s

protection was like the lash of a whip, and he blushed for having

hesitated.

Herzog looked at him, and, smiling in a constrained way, said:

“You, too, may give up the affair if you like. If I share it with you it

is because you are so closely allied to me. I don’t so very much care

to cut the pear in two. Don’t think that I am begging of you to be my

partner! Do as you like.”

Serge caught hold of the paper and, having signed it, handed it to the

financier.

“All right,” said Herzog. “I shall leave to-night and be absent

three days. Watch the money market. You will see the results of my

calculations.”

And shaking hands with the Prince, Herzog went to the cashier to get the

scrip and deposit the receipt.

CHAPTER XIX. SIN GROWS BOLDER

There was a party at Cayrol’s. In the drawing-rooms of the mansion in

the Rue Taitbout everything was resplendent with lights, and there

was quite a profusion of flowers. Cayrol had thought of postponing

the party, but was afraid of rousing anxieties, and like an actor who,

though he has just lost his father, must play the following day, so

Cayrol gave his party and showed a smiling face, so as to prevent harm

to his business.

Matters had taken a turn for the worse during the last three days. The

bold stroke, to carry out which Herzog had gone to London so as to be

more secret, had been got wind of. The fall of the shares had not

taken place. Working with considerable sums of money, the loss on

the difference was as great as the gains would have been. The shares

belonging to the European Credit Company had defrayed the cost of the

game. It was a disaster. Cayrol, in his anxiety, had applied for the

scrip and had only found the receipt given to the cashier. Although

the transaction was most irregular, Cayrol had not said anything; but,

utterly cast down, had gone to Madame Desvarennes to tell her of the

fact.

The Prince was in bed, pretending to be ill. His wife, happily ignorant

of all that was going on, rejoiced secretly at his indisposition because

she was allowed to nurse him and have him all to herself. Panine,

alarmed at the check they had experienced, was expecting Herzog with

feverish impatience, and to keep out of sight had chosen the privacy of

his own room.

Still, Cayrol had been allowed to see him, and with great circumspection

told him that his non-appearance at the same time that Herzog was absent

was most fatal for the Universal Credit Company. It was absolutely

necessary that he should be seen in public. He must come to his party,

and appear with a calm face. Serge promised to come, and had imposed

on Micheline the heavy task of accompanying him to Jeanne’s. It was the

first time since her return from Nice that she had entered the house of

her husband’s mistress.

The concert was over, and a crowd of guests were coming from the large

drawing-room to the boudoir and little drawing-room.

“The symphony is over. Ouf!” said Savinien, yawning.

“You don’t like music?” asked Marechal, with a laugh.

“Yes, military music. But two hours of Schumann and Mendelssohn at high

pressure is too much for one man. But I say, Marechal, what do you think

of Mademoiselle Herzog’s being at Cayrol’s soiree. It is a little too

strong.”

“How so?”

“Why, the father has bolted, and the daughter is preparing a dance. Each

has a different way of using their feet.”

“Very pretty, Monsieur Desvarennes, but I advise you to keep your

flashes of wit to yourself,” said Marechal, seriously. “That may not

suit everybody.”

“Oh, Marechal, you, too, making a fuss!”

And turning on his heel, he went to the refreshment table.

Prince and Princess Panine were just coming in. Micheline was smiling,

and Serge was pale, though calm. Cayrol and Jeanne came toward them.

Everybody turned to look at them. Jeanne, without embarrassment, shook

hands with her friend. Cayrol bowed respectfully to Micheline.

“Princess,” he said, “will you honor me by taking my arm? You are just

in time, they are going to begin dancing.”

“Not myself, though, thank you,” replied Micheline, with a sad smile, “I

am still very weak, but I will look on.”

And on Cayrol’s arm she entered the large drawing-room. Serge followed

with Jeanne.

The festivities were at their height. The orchestra was playing a

waltz, and in a whirl of silk and gauze the young people seemed to be

thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Suzanne Herzog was sitting alone near a window, in a simple white dress,

and without a single ornament. Marechal had just approached her, and she

had welcomed him with a smile.

“Are you not dancing to-night, Mademoiselle?” he asked.

“I am waiting to be invited,” she answered, sadly, “and, like sister

Anne, I see nobody coming. There are ugly reports abroad about my

father’s fortune, and the Argonauts are drawing off.”

“Will you give me a dance?” said Marechal. “I don’t dance to perfection,

never having practised much, but with a good will.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Marechal, I would rather talk. I am not very

cheerful to-night, and, believe me, I only came because Madame

Desvarennes wished it. I would rather have remained at home. Business

has gone wrong with my father by what I can hear, for I don’t know what

goes on at the office. I feel more inclined to cry than to laugh. Not

that I regret the loss of money, you know; I don’t care for it, but my

father must be in despair.”

Marechal listened silently to Suzanne, not daring to tell her what he

thought of Herzog, and respected the real ignorance or willing blindness

of the young girl who did not doubt her father’s loyalty.

The Princess, leaning on Cayrol’s arm, had just finished promenading

round the rooms, when she perceived Suzanne and, leaving the banker,

came and seated herself beside her. Many of the guests looked at each

other and whispered words which Micheline did not hear, and if she

had heard would not have understood. “It is heroic!” some said. Others

answered, “It is the height of impudence.”

The Princess was talking with Suzanne and was looking at her husband

who, leaning against a door, was following Jeanne with his eyes.

At a sign from Cayrol, Marechal left the room. The secretary joined

Madame Desvarennes, who had come with Pierre and had remained in

Cayrol’s private office. During this party matters of moment were to

be discussed, and a consultation was about to take place between the

interested parties. On seeing Marechal enter, Madame only uttered one

word:

“Cayrol?”

“Here he is,” answered the secretary.

Cayrol came in, hurriedly.

“Well,” he asked, with great anxiety, “have you any news?”

“Pierre has just come from London,” answered the mistress. “What we

feared is true. Herzog, conjointly with my son-in-law, has made use of

the ten millions belonging to the European Credit.”

“Do you think that Herzog has really bolted?” inquired Marechal.

“No! he is too deep for that,” replied Cayrol. “He will return. He knows

that in compromising the Prince it is as if he had compromised the firm

of Desvarennes, therefore he is quite easy on the matter.”

“Can the one be saved without the other?” asked the mistress.

“It is impossible. Herzog has so firmly bound up his interests with

those of the Prince that it will be necessary to extricate both or let

both perish together.”

“Well, we must save Herzog into the bargain, then!” said Madame

Desvarennes, coldly. “But by what means?”

“These,” answered Cayrol. “The shares taken away by Herzog, under the

security of the Prince’s signature, were deposited by the shareholders.

When the Universal Credit removed to its new offices, these shares were

taken away by mistake. It will suffice to replace the scrip. I will give

back the receipt to the Prince and all trace of this deplorable affair

will be wiped out.”

“But the numbers of the shares will not be the same,” said Madame

Desvarennes, accustomed to minute regularity in all operations.

“We can explain the change by feigning a sale when they were high, and

buying them up when low. We will show a profit, and the shareholders

will not quarrel. Besides, I reserve the right of divulging Herzog’s

fraud without implicating Panine, if the shareholders insist. Trust me,

I will catch Herzog another time. It is my stupid confidence in that

man which has been partly the cause of this disaster. I will make your

business mine and force him to shell out. I shall leave for London

to-night, by the 1.50 train. Promptness of action in such a case is the

first step toward success.”

“Thank you, Cayrol,” said the mistress. “Have my daughter and the Prince

arrived?”

“Yes, Serge is calm; he has more power over himself than I could have

believed.”

“What does it matter to him what is going on? Is it he who will feel the

blow? No. He knows that I shall go on working to keep him in idleness

and maintain him in luxury. I may think myself lucky if he is reclaimed

by this hard lesson, and does not again begin to rummage in other

people’s safes, for then I should be unable to save him.”

The mistress rose and, with flashing eyes, walked up and down the room.

“Oh, the wretch!” she said. “If ever my daughter ceases to come between

him and me!”

A terrible gesture finished the sentence.

Cayrol, Marechal, and Pierre looked at each other. The same thought

came to their minds, dark and fearful. In a paroxysm of rage this fond

mother, this energetic and passionate woman, would be capable of killing

any one.

“You remember what I told you one day,” murmured Marechal, approaching

Cayrol.

“I would prefer the hatred of ten men to that of such a woman,” answered

Cayrol.

“Cayrol!” continued Madame Desvarennes, after a few moments of

meditation, “the conduct of the business of which you spoke to us a

little while ago depends solely on you, does it not?”

“On me alone.”

“Do it at once, then, cost me what it may. Has it been noised abroad?”

“No one has the slightest suspicion. I have not mentioned it to a living

soul,” said the banker--“except to my wife,” added he with a frankness

which drew a smile from Pierre. “But my wife and I are one.”

“What did she say?” asked Madame Desvarenes, looking straight at Cayrol.

“If I had been the person concerned,” he said, “she could not possibly

have been more affected. She loves you so much, Madame, you and those

belonging to you. She besought me to do all in my power to get the

Prince out of this scrape. She had tears in her eyes: And, truly, if

I did not feel bound to serve you from gratitude I would do it for her

sake and to give her pleasure. I was touched, I can assure you. Really,

she has a heart!”

Marechal exchanged a look with Madame Desvarennes, who advanced toward

the banker, and shook him by the hand, saying:

“Cayrol, you are truly a good man!”

“I know it,” said Cayrol, smiling to hide his emotion, “and you may rely

upon me.”

Micheline appeared on the threshold of the room. Through the half-open

door the dancers could be seen passing to and fro, and the sound of

music floated in the air.

“What has become of you, mamma? I hear that you have been here for more

than an hour.”

“I was talking on business matters with these gentlemen,” answered

Madame Desvarennes, smoothing from her brow the traces of her cares by

an effort of will. “But you, dear, how do you feel? Are you not tired?”

“Not more so than usual,” replied Micheline, looking round to follow the

movements of her husband, who was trying to reach Jeanne.

“Why did you come to this party? It was unwise.”

“Serge wished me to come, and I did not care to let him come without

me.”

“Eh! dear me!” exclaimed Madame Desvarennes. “Let him do what he likes.

Men are savages. When you are ill it won’t hurt him.”

“I am not ill, and I won’t be,” resumed Micheline, warmly. “We are going

away now.”

She motioned to Serge with her fan. Panine came to her.

“You will take me home, won’t you, Serge?”

“Certainly, dear one,” answered Serge.

Jeanne, who was listening at a distance, raised her hand to her forehead

as a sign that she wanted him. A feeling of surprise came over the

Prince, and he did not understand what she meant. Micheline had seen the

sign. A deadly pallor spread over her features, and a cold perspiration

broke out on her forehead. She felt so ill that she could have cried

out. It was the first time she had seen Serge and Jeanne together

since the dreadful discovery at Nice. She had avoided witnessing

their meeting, feeling uncertain of herself, and fearing to lose her

self-control. But seeing the two lovers before her, devouring each other

with their looks, and making signs to each other, made her feel most

terribly jealous and angry.

Serge had decided to obey the imperious signs which Jeanne made to him,

and turning toward his wife, said:

“I remember now, my dear, that before going home I must call at the

club. I promised, and cannot put it off. Excuse my not going with you,

and ask your mother to accompany you.”

“Very well,” said Micheline, in a trembling voice. “I will ask her. You

are not going just yet?”

“In a moment.”

“I, too, shall leave in a moment.”

The young wife did not want to lose one detail of the horrible comedy

being played under her very eyes. She remained to learn, unawares, the

reason for which Jeanne kept her husband.

Not thinking that he was watched, Serge had gone across to Jeanne, and

affecting a smile, inquired:

“What is the matter?”

“Serious news.” And she explained that she must speak to her lover that

evening.

“Where?” Serge asked, with astonishment.

“Here,” answered Jeanne.

“But your husband?” the Prince said.

“Is leaving in an hour. Our guests will not remain late. Go to the

garden, and wait in the pavilion. The door of the back stairs leading to

my dressing-room will be open. When everybody has gone, come up.”

“Take care; we are observed,” said Serge, uneasily.

And they began to laugh with affectation and talked aloud about

frivolous things, as if nothing serious were occupying their thoughts.

Cayrol had come back again. He went up to Madame Desvarennes, who was

talking with her daughter, and, full of business, thoughtlessly said:

“I will telegraph you as soon as I reach London.”

“Are you going away?” inquired Micheline, a light dawning on her mind.

“Yes,” said Cayrol; “I have an important matter to settle.”

“And when do you start?” continued Micheline, in such a changed voice

that her mother was frightened.

“In a moment,” answered the banker. “Allow me to leave you. I have

several orders to give.”

And leaving the boudoir, he regained the little drawing-room.

Micheline, with clinched hands and fixed gaze, was saying to herself:

“She will be alone to-night, and has asked him to come to her. He told

me an untruth about his having to go to the club. He is going to see

her!”

And passing her hand across her brow, as if to drive away an unpleasant

thought, the young wife remained silent, dismayed and crushed.

“Micheline, what is the matter with you?” asked Madame Desvarennes,

seizing her daughter’s hand, which was icy cold.

“Nothing,” stammered Micheline.

“You are ill, I see. Come, let us go home. Come and kiss Jeanne--”

“I!” cried Micheline, with horror, instinctively recoiling as if

dreading some impure contact.

Madame Desvarennes became suddenly cold and calm. She foresaw a terrible

revelation, and observing her daughter narrowly, said:

“Why do you cry out when I speak of your kissing Jeanne? Whatever is the

matter?”

Micheline grasped her mother’s arm, and pointed to Serge and Jeanne, who

were in the little drawing-room, laughing and talking, surrounded by a

group of people, yet alone.

“Look at them!” she cried.

“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. Then, kneeling beside the couch on

which Micheline was stretched, she gave vent to her grief. She begged

her daughter to speak to her, and warmed her hands with kisses; then,

seeing her still cold and motionless, she was frightened, and wanted to

call for help.

“No; be quiet!” murmured Micheline, recovering. “Let no one know. I

ought to have held my peace; but I have suffered so much I could not

help myself.

“My life is blasted, you see. Take me away; save me from this infamy!

Jeanne, my sister, and Serge. Oh! make me forget it! For pity’s sake,

mamma, you who are so strong, you who have always done what you wished,

take from my heart all the pain that is there!”

Madame Desvarennes, overcome by such a load of grief, lost command of

herself, and, quite brokenhearted, began to cry and moan.

“O God! Micheline, my poor child! you were suffering so and did not tell

me. Oh! I knew you no longer trusted your old mother. And I stupidly did

not guess it! I said to myself, at least she knows nothing about it, and

sacrificed everything to keep the knowledge of their wrong-doing from

you. Don’t cry any more, darling, you will break my heart. I, who would

have given up everything in the world to see you happy! Oh, I have loved

you too much! How I am punished!”

“It is I who am punished,” said Micheline, sobbing, “for not obeying

you. Ah! children ought always to heed their mother. She divines the

danger. Is it not too horrible, mamma? I, who have sacrificed everything

for him, to think that he does not love me, and never will love me!

What will my life be without confidence, hope, or affection? I am too

unhappy. It would be better to die!”

“Die! you!” cried her mother, whose eyes, wet with tears, dried in a

moment, as if by an inward fire. “Die! Come, don’t talk such nonsense!

Because a man treats you with scorn and betrays you? Are men worth dying

for? No, you shall live, my darling, with your old mother. You shall

have a deed of separation from your husband.”

“And he will be free,” exclaimed Micheline, angrily. “He will go on

loving her! Oh! I cannot bear that thought. Do you know, what I am going

to tell you seems awful. I love him so much, that I would rather see him

dead than unfaithful.”

Madame Desvarennes was struck, and remained silent. Serge dead! That

idea had already occurred to her as a dream of deliverance. It came

upon her peremptorily, violently, irresistibly. She repelled it with an

effort.

“I can never think of him but as vile and odious,” continued Micheline.

“Every day his sin will seem more dastardly and his hypocrisy more base.

There, a little while ago, he was smiling; and do you know why? Because

Cayrol is going away, and during his absence Serge will return here

tonight.”

“Who told you?”

“I read it in his joyful looks. I love him. He cannot hide anything from

me. A traitor to me, and a traitor toward his friend, that is the man

whom--I am ashamed to own it--I love!”

“Compose yourself! Someone is coming,” said Madame Desvarennes, and at

the same time the door opened and Jeanne appeared, followed by Marechal,

who was anxious at their disappearance.

“Is Micheline ill?” inquired Madame Cayrol, coming forward.

“No; it is nothing. Just a little fatigue,” said Madame Desvarennes.

“Marechal, give my daughter your arm, and take her to her carriage. I

shall be down in a minute.”

And holding Jeanne by the hand to prevent her following Micheline, she

added:

“Stay; I have something to say to you.”

Jeanne looked surprised. Madame Desvarennes was silent for a moment. She

was thinking about Serge coming there that night. She had only to say

one word to Cayrol to prevent his going away. The life of this wretch

was entirely in her hands then! But Jeanne! Was she going to ruin her?

Had she the right thus to destroy one who had struggled and had defended

herself? Would it be just? Jeanne had been led on against her will. She

must question her. If the poor girl were suffering, if she repented, she

must spare her.

Madame Desvarennes, having thus made up her mind, turned toward Jeanne

who was waiting.

“It is a long time since I have seen you, my dear, and I find you happy

and smiling. It is the first time since your marriage that you have

seemed so happy.”

Jeanne looked at the mistress without answering. In these words she

detected irony.

“You have found peace,” continued Madame Desvarennes, looking

steadfastly at Jeanne with her piercing eyes. “You see, my dear, when

you have a clear conscience--for you have nothing to reproach yourself

with?”

Jeanne saw in this sentence a question and not an affirmation. She

answered, boldly:

“Nothing!”

“You know that I love you, and would be most lenient,” continued Madame

Desvarennes, sweetly, “and that you might safely confide in me!”

“I have nothing to fear, having nothing to tell,” said Jeanne.

“Nothing?” repeated the mistress, with emphasis.

“Nothing,” affirmed Jeanne.

Madame Desvarennes once more looked at her adopted daughter as if she

would read her very soul. She found her quite calm.

“Very well, then!” said she, hastily walking toward the door.

“Are you going already?” asked Jeanne, offering her brow to Madame

Desvarennes’s lips.

“Yes, good-by!” said the latter, with an icy kiss.

Jeanne, without again turning round, went into the drawing-room. At the

same moment, Cayrol, in a travelling-coat, entered the office, followed

by Pierre.

“Here I am, quite ready,” said the banker to Madame Desvarennes. “Have

you any new suggestion to make to me, or anything else to say?”

“Yes,” replied Madame Desvarennes, in a stern voice which made Cayrol

start.

“Then make haste. I have only a moment to spare, and you know the train

waits for no one.”

“You will not go!”

Cayrol, in amazement, answered:

“Do you mean it? Your interests are at stake yonder.”

“Your honor is in danger here,” cried the mistress, vehemently.

“My honor!” repeated Cayrol, starting back. “Madame, do you know what

you are saying?”

“Ay!” answered Madame Desvarennes. “And do you remember what I promised

you? I undertook to warn you, myself, if ever the day came when you

would be threatened.”

“Well?” questioned Cayrol, turning quite livid.

“Well! I keep my promise. If you wish to know who your rival is, come

home to-night.”

Some inaudible words rattled in Cayrol’s throat.

“A rival! in my house! Can Jeanne be guilty? Do you know, if it is true

I will kill them both!”

“Deal with them as your conscience dictates,” said Madame Desvarennes.

“I have acted according to mine.”

Pierre, hitherto dumb with horror at the scene of which he had been a

witness, shook off his stupor, and going up to Madame Desvarennes, said:

“Madame, do you know that what you have just done is frightful!”

“How? That man will be acting within his rights the same as I am. They

are seeking to take away his wife, and they are killing my daughter, and

dishonoring me! We are defending ourselves! Woe to those who are guilty

of the crime!”

Cayrol had fallen, as if thunderstruck, on a chair, with haggard

eyes; his voice was gone, and he looked the image of despair. Madame

Desvarennes’s words came back to him like the refrain of a hated song.

To himself he kept repeating, without being able to chase away the one

haunting thought: “Her lover, to-night, at your house!” He felt as if

he were going mad. He was afraid he should not have time to wreak his

vengeance. He made a terrible effort, and, moaning with grief, he arose.

“Take care!” said Pierre. “Here’s your wife.”

Cayrol eyed Jeanne, who was approaching. Burning tears came to his eyes.

He murmured:

“She, with a look so pure, and a face so calm! Is it possible?”

He nodded a farewell to Pierre and Madame Desvarennes, who were leaving,

and recovering himself, advanced to meet Jeanne.

“Are you off?” she inquired. “You know you have no time to lose!”

Cayrol shuddered. She seemed anxious to get rid of him.

“I have still a few minutes to spend with you,” he said, with emotion.

“You see, Jeanne, I am sad at going away alone. It is the first time I

have left you. In a moment our guests will be gone--I beg of you, come

with me!”

Jeanne smiled. “But you see, dear, I am in evening dress.”

“The night of our marriage I brought you away from Cernay like

that. Wrap yourself up in your furs, and come! Give me this proof of

affection. I deserve it. I am not a bad man--and I love you so!”

Jeanne frowned. This pressing vexed her.

“This is childish,” she said. “You will return the day after tomorrow,

and I am tired. Have some pity for me.”

“You refuse?” asked Cayrol, becoming gloomy and serious.

Jeanne touched his face slightly with her white hand.

“Come! Don’t leave me in a temper! You won’t miss me much, you will

sleep all the way. Good-by!”

Cayrol kissed her; in a choking voice, he said:

“Good-by!”

And he left her.

Jeanne’s face brightened, as she stood listening for a moment and heard

the carriage which contained her husband rolling away. Uttering a sigh

of relief, she murmured:

“At last!”

CHAPTER XX. THE CRISIS

Jeanne had just taken off her ball-dress to put on a dressing-gown of

Oriental cloth richly embroidered with silk flowers. Leaning her elbows

on the mantelpiece, and breathing heavily, she was waiting. Her maid

came in, bringing a second lamp. The additional light displayed the rich

warm hangings of ruby plush embroidered in dull gold. The bed seemed one

mass of lace.

“Has everybody gone?” asked Jeanne, pretending to yawn.

“Messieurs Le Brede and Du Tremblay, the last guests, are just putting

on their overcoats,” answered the maid. “But Monsieur Pierre Delarue

has come back, and is asking whether Madame will speak with him for a

moment.”

“Monsieur Delarue?” repeated Jeanne, with astonishment.

“He says he has something important to say to Madame.”

“Where is he?” asked Jeanne.

“There, in the gallery. The lights were being put out in the

drawing-room.”

“Well, show him in.”

The maid went out. Jeanne, much puzzled, asked herself, what could have

brought Pierre back? It must certainly be something very important. She

had always felt somewhat awed in Pierre’s presence. At that moment the

idea of being face to face with the young man was most distressing to

her.

A curtain was lifted and Pierre appeared. He remained silent and

confused at the entrance of the room, his courage had deserted him.

“Well,” said Jeanne, with assumed stiffness, “whatever is the matter, my

friend?”

“The matter is, my dear Jeanne,” began Pierre, “that--”

But the explanation did not seem so very easy to give, for he stopped

and could not go on.

“That?” repeated Madame Cayrol.

“I beg your pardon,” resumed Pierre. “I am greatly embarrassed. In

coming here I obeyed a sudden impulse. I did not think of the manner in

which I should tell you what I have to say, and I see that I shall have

to run a great risk of offending you.”

Jeanne assumed a haughty air.

“Well, but, my dear friend, if what you have to say is so difficult,

don’t say it.”

“Impossible!” retorted Pierre. “My silence would cause irreparable

mischief. In mercy, Jeanne, make my task easier! Meet me half way! You

have projects for to-night which are known. Danger threatens you. Take

care!”

Jeanne shuddered. But controlling herself, she answered, laughing

nervously:

“What rubbish are you talking about? I am at home, surrounded by my

servants, and I have nothing to fear. I beg of you to believe me.”

“You deny it!” exclaimed Pierre. “I expected as much. But you are only

taking useless trouble. Come, Jeanne, I am the friend of your childhood;

you have no reason to fear aught from me. I am only trying to be of

use to you. You must know that, by my coming here, I know all. Jeanne,

listen to me!”

“Are you mad?” interrupted the young woman, proudly, “or are you taking

part in some absurd joke?”

“I am in my right mind, unfortunately for you!” said Pierre, roughly,

seeing that Jeanne refused to believe him. “And there is no joke in the

matter. Everything is true, serious and terrible! Since you compel me to

say things which may be unpalatable, they must out. Prince Panine is in

your house, or he soon will be. Your husband, whom you think far away,

is within call, perhaps, and will come and take you unawares. Is not

that a serious matter?”

A frown overspread her face, and in an ungovernable rage she stepped

forward, determined not to give in, and exclaimed:

“Go away! or I shall call for assistance!”

“Don’t call, it would look bad!” resumed Pierre, calmly. “On the

contrary, let the servants get out of the way, and get the Prince to go

if he be here, or if he has not yet arrived, prevent his coming in. So

long as I remain here you will dissimulate your fear and will not take

any precautions. I will leave you, then. Adieu, Jeanne! Believe that I

wished to render you a service, and be sure that when I have crossed the

threshold of this door I shall have forgotten everything that I may have

said.”

Pierre bowed, and, lifting the heavy curtain which hid the door leading

to the gallery, went out.

He had hardly gone when the opposite door opened, and Serge entered the

room. The young woman rushed into his arms and whispered into his ear,

with trembling lips:

“Serge, we are lost!”

“I was there,” answered Panine. “I heard all.”

“What shall we do?” cried Jeanne, terrified.

“Go away at once. To remain here a moment longer is an imprudence.”

“And I, if I remain, what shall I say to Cayrol when he comes?”

“Your husband!” said Serge, bitterly. “He loves you, he will forgive

you.”

“I know; but then we two shall be separated for ever. Is that what you

desire?”

“And what can I do?” cried Serge, in despair. “Everything around me is

giving way! Fortune, which has been my one aim in life, is escaping

from me. The family which I have scorned is forsaking me. The friendship

which I have betrayed overwhelms me. There is nothing left to me.”

“And my love, my devotion?” exclaimed Jeanne, passionately. “Do you

think that I will leave you? We must go away. I asked you long ago. You

resisted; the moment has now come. Be easy! Madame Desvarennes will pay

and save your name. In exchange you will give her back her daughter. You

don’t care about her, because you love me. I am your real wife; she who

ought to share your life. Well, I take back my rights. I pay for them

with my honor. I break all ties which could hold me back. I am yours,

Serge! Our sin and misfortune will bind us more closely than any laws

could.”

“Think, that with me you will have to endure poverty, and, perhaps,

misery,” said the Prince, moved by the young woman’s infatuation.

“My love will make you forget everything!”

“You will not feel regret or remorse?”

“Never, so long as you love me.”

“Come, then,” said the Prince, taking Jeanne in his arms. “And if life

is too hard--”

“Well,” added Jeanne, finishing the sentence with sparkling eyes, “we

will seek refuge together in death! Come!”

Serge bolted the door, through which Pierre had passed, and which alone

communicated with the other apartments. Then, taking his mistress by the

hand, he went with her into the dressing-room. Jeanne threw a dark cloak

round her shoulders, put a hat on her head, and without taking either

money, jewels, lace, or, in fact, anything that she had received from

Cayrol, they went down the little back stairs.

It was very dark. Jeanne did not take a light, as she did not care to

attract attention, so they had to feel every step of the way as quietly

as possible, striving not to make the least noise, holding their breath,

and with beating hearts. When they reached the bottom of the stairs,

Jeanne stretched out her hand, and sought the handle of the door which

opened into the courtyard. She turned it, but the door would not open.

She pushed, but it did not give way. Jeanne uttered a low groan. Serge

shook it vigorously, but it would not open.

“It has been fastened on the outside,” he whispered.

“Fastened?” murmured Jeanne, seized with fear. “Fastened, and by whom?”

Serge did not answer. The idea that Cayrol had done it came to his mind

at once. The husband lying in wait, had seen him enter, and to prevent

his escaping from his vengeance had cut off all means of retreating.

Silently, they went upstairs again, into the room through the

dressing-room. Jeanne took off her bonnet and cloak, and sank into an

armchair.

“I must get away!” said Serge, with suppressed rage; and he walked

toward the door of the gallery.

“No! don’t open that,” cried Jeanne, excitedly.

And with a frightened look, she added:

“What if he were behind the door?”

At the same moment, as if Jeanne’s voice had indeed evoked Cayrol, a

heavy step was heard approaching along the gallery, a hand tried to open

the bolted door. Serge and Jeanne remained motionless, waiting.

“Jeanne!” called the voice of Cayrol from the outside, sounding

mournfully in the silence, “Jeanne, open!”

And with his fist he knocked imperatively on the woodwork.

“I know you are there! Open, I say!” he cried, with increasing rage. “If

you don’t open the door, I’ll--”

“Go! I beseech you!” whispered Jeanne, in Panine’s ear. “Go downstairs

again, and break open the door. You won’t find any one there now.”

“Perhaps he has stationed some one there,” answered Serge. “Besides, I

won’t leave you here alone exposed to his violence.”

“You are not alone. I can hear you talking!” said Cayrol, beside

himself. “I shall break open this door!”

The husband made a tremendous effort. Under the pressure of his heavy

weight the lock gave way. With a bound he was in the middle of the room.

Jeanne threw herself before him; she no longer trembled. Cayrol took

another step and fixed his glaring eyes on the man whom he sought,

uttering a fearful oath.

“Serge!” cried he. “I might have guessed it. It is not only money of

which you are robbing me, you villain!”

Panine turned horribly pale, and advanced toward Cayrol, despite Jeanne,

who was clinging to him.

“Don’t insult me; it is superfluous,” said he. “My life belongs to you;

you can take it. I shall be at your service whenever you please.”

Cayrol burst into a fearful laugh.

“Ah! a duel! Come! Am I a gentleman? I am a plebeian! a rustic! a

cowherd! you know that! I have you now! I am going to smash you!”

He looked round the room as if seeking a weapon, and caught sight of

the heavy fire-dogs. He caught up one with a cry of triumph, and,

brandishing it like a club, rushed at Serge.

More rapid than he, Jeanne threw herself before her lover. She stretched

out her arms, and with a sharp voice, and the look of a she-wolf

defending her cubs,

“Keep behind me,” said she to Serge; “he loves me and will not dare to

strike!”

Cayrol had stopped. At these words he uttered a loud cry: “wretched

woman! You first, then!”

Raising his weapon, he was about to strike, when his eyes met Jeanne’s.

The young woman was smiling, happy to die for her lover. Her pale face

beamed from out her black hair with weird beauty. Cayrol trembled. That

look which he had loved, would he never see it again? That rosy mouth,

whose smile he cherished, would it be hushed in death? A thousand

thoughts of happy days came to his mind. His arm fell. A bitter flood

rushed from his heart to his eyes; the iron dropped heavily from his

hand on to the floor, and the poor man, overcome, sobbing, and ashamed

of his weakness, fell senseless on a couch.

Jeanne did not utter a word. By a sign she showed Serge the door,

which was open, and with a swollen heart she leaned on the mantelpiece,

waiting for the unfortunate man, from whom she had received such a deep

and sad proof of love, to come back to life.

Serge had disappeared.

CHAPTER XXI. “WHEN ROGUES FALL OUT”

The night seemed long to Madame Desvarennes. Agitated and feverish,

she listened through the silence, expecting every moment to hear some

fearful news. In fancy she saw Cayrol entering his wife’s room like a

madman, unawares. She seemed to hear a cry of rage, answered by a sigh

of terror; then a double shot resounded, the room filled with smoke,

and, struck down in their guilty love, Serge and Jeanne rolled in death,

interlaced in each other’s arms, like Paolo and Francesca de Rimini,

those sad lovers of whom Dante tells us.

Hour after hour passed; not a sound disturbed the mansion. The Prince

had not come in. Madame Desvarennes, unable to lie in bed, arose, and

now and again, to pass the time, stole on tiptoe to her daughter’s room.

Micheline, thoroughly exhausted with fatigue and emotion, had fallen

asleep on her pillow, which was wet with tears.

Bending over her, by the light of the lamp, the mistress gazed at

Micheline’s pale face, and a sigh rose to her lips.

“She is still young,” she thought; “she may begin life afresh. The

remembrance of these sad days will be wiped out, and I shall see her

revive and smile again. That wretch was nearly the death of her.”

And the image of Serge and Jeanne stretched beside each other in the

room full of smoke came before her eyes again. She shook her head to

chase the importunate vision away, and noiselessly regained her own

apartment.

The day dawned pale and bleak. Madame Desvarennes opened her window and

cooled her burning brow in the fresh morning air. The birds were awake,

and were singing on the trees in the garden.

Little by little, the distant sound of wheels rolling by was heard. The

city was awakening from its sleep.

Madame Desvarennes rang and asked for Marechal. The secretary appeared

instantly. He, too, had shared the anxieties and fears of the mistress,

and had risen early. Madame Desvarennes greeted him with a grateful

smile. She felt that she was really loved by this good fellow, who

understood her so thoroughly. 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.

The walk did him good, and restored his physical equilibrium. He was

thankful to be alive after such a narrow escape. He went upstairs with

a comparatively light step, and tossed his overcoat to a very sleepy

footman who had risen to receive him. He went into the card-room.

Baccarat was just finishing. It was three o’clock in the morning. The

appearance of the Prince lent the game a little fresh animation. Serge

plunged into it as if it were a battle. Luck was on his side. In a

short time he cleared the bank: a thousand louis. One by one the players

retired. Panine, left alone, threw himself on a couch and slept for a

few hours, but it was not a refreshing sleep. On the contrary, it made

him feel more tired.

The day servants disturbed him when they came in to sweep the rooms and

open the windows. He went into the lavatory, and there bathed his face.

When his ablutions were over he wrote a note to Jeanne, saying that

he had reflected, and could not possibly let her go away with him. He

implored her to do all in her power to forget him. 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. And now

he felt that his only hope of safety was in Micheline’s love for him.

But first of all he must go and see if Herzog had returned, and

ascertain the real facts of the position in regard to the Universal

Credit Company.

Herzog occupied a little house on the Boulevard Haussmann, which he had

hired furnished from some Americans. The loud luxury of the Yankees had

not frightened him. On the contrary, he held that the gay colors of the

furniture and the glitter of the gilded cornices were bound to have a

fascination for prospective shareholders. Suzanne had reserved a little

corner for herself, modestly hung with muslin and furnished with simple

taste, which was a great contrast to the loud appearance of the other

part of the house.

On arriving, Serge found a stableman washing a victoria. Herzog

had returned. The Prince quietly went up the steps, and had himself

announced.

The financier was sitting in his study by the window, looking through

the newspapers. When Serge entered he rose. The two men stood facing

each other for a moment. The Prince was the first to speak.

“How is it that you have kept me without news during your absence?”

asked he, harshly.

“Because,” replied Herzog, calmly, “the only news I had was not good

news.”

“At least I should have known it.”

“Would the result of the operation have been different?”

“You have led me like a child in this affair,” Serge continued, becoming

animated. “I did not know where I was going. You made me promises, how

have you kept them?”

“As I was able,” quietly answered Herzog. “Play has its chances. One

seeks Austerlitz and finds Waterloo.”

“But,” cried the Prince, angrily, “the shares which you sold ought not

to have gone out of your hands.”

“You believed that?” retorted the financier, ironically. “If they ought

not to have gone out of my hands it was hardly worth while putting them

into them.”

“In short,” said Panine, eager to find some responsible party on whom

he could pour out all the bitterness of his misfortune, “you took a mean

advantage of me.”

“Good! I expected you to say that!” returned Herzog, smiling. “If the

business had succeeded, you would have accepted your share of the spoil

without any scruples, and would have felt ready to crown me. It has

failed; you are trying to get out of the responsibility, and are on the

point of treating me as if I were a swindler. Still, the affair would

not have been more honest in the first instance than in the second, but

success embellishes everything.”

Serge looked hard at Herzog.

“What is there to prove,” replied he, “that this speculation, which

brings ruin and loss to me, does not enrich you?”

“Ungrateful fellow!” observed the financier, ironically, “you suspect

me!”

“Of having robbed me!” cried Serge, in a rage. “Why not?”

Herzog, for a moment, lost his temper and turned red in the face. He

seized Panine violently by the arm, and said:

“Gently, Prince; whatever insults you heap upon me must be shared by

you. You are my partner.”

“Scoundrel!” yelled Panine, exasperated at being held by Herzog.

“Personalities,” said the financier, in a jesting tone. “Then I take my

leave!”

And loosing his hold of the Prince, he went toward the door.

Serge sprang after him, exclaiming:

“You shall not leave this room until you have given me the means of

rectifying this disaster.”

“Then let us talk sensibly, as boon companions,” said Herzog. “I know

of a marvellous move by which we can get out of the difficulty. Let

us boldly call a general meeting. I will explain the thing, and amaze

everybody. We shall get a vote of confidence for the past, with funds

for the future. We shall be as white as snow, and the game is played.

Are you in with me?”

“Enough,” replied the Prince, intensely disgusted. “It does not suit me

to do a yet more shameful thing in order to get out of this trouble. It

is no use arguing further; we are lost.”

“Only the weak allow themselves to be lost!” exclaimed the financier.

“The strong defend themselves. You may give in if you like; I won’t.

Three times have I been ruined and three times have I risen again. My

head is good! I am down now. I shall rise again, and when I am well off,

and have a few millions to spare, I will settle old debts. Everybody

will be astonished because they won’t expect it, and I shall be more

thought of than if I had paid up at the time.”

“And if you are not allowed to go free?” asked Serge. “What if they

arrest you?”

“I shall be in Aix-la-Chapelle to-night,” said Herzog. “From there I

shall treat with the shareholders of the Universal Credit. People judge

things better at a distance. Are you coming with me?”

“No,” replied Serge, in a low voice.

“You are wrong. Fortune is capricious, and in six months we may be

richer than we ever have been. But as you have decided, let me give you

a piece of advice which will be worth the money you have lost. Confess

all to your wife; she can get you out of this difficulty.”

The financier held out a hand to Serge which he did not take.

“Ah! pride!” murmured Herzog. “After all it is your right--It is you who

pay!”

Without answering a word the Prince went out.

At that same hour, Madame Desvarennes, tired by long waiting, was pacing

up and down her little drawing-room. A door opened and Marechal, the

long-looked for messenger, appeared. He had been to Cayrol’s, but could

not see him. The banker, who had shut himself up in his private office

where he had worked all night, had given orders that no one should

interrupt him. And as Madame Desvarennes seemed to have a question on

her lips which she dared not utter, Marechal added that nothing unusual

seemed to have happened at the house.

But as the mistress was thanking her secretary, the great gate swung on

its hinges, and a carriage rolled into the courtyard. Marechal flew to

the window, and uttered one word,

“Cayrol!”

Madame Desvarennes motioned to him to leave her, and the banker appeared

on the threshold.

At a glance the mistress saw the ravages which the terrible night he

had passed through had caused. Yesterday, the banker was rosy, firm, and

upright as an oak, now he was bent, and withered like an old man. His

hair had become gray about the temples, as if scorched by his burning

thoughts. He was only the shadow of himself.

Madame Desvarennes advanced toward him, and in one word asked a world of

questions.

“Well?” she said.

Cayrol, gloomy and fierce, raised his eyes to the mistress, and

answered:

“Nothing!”

“Did he not come?”

“Yes, he came. But I had not the necessary energy to kill him. I thought

it was an easier matter to become a murderer. And you thought so too,

eh?”

“Cayrol!” cried Madame Desvarennes, shuddering, and troubled to find

that she had been so easily understood by him whom she had armed on her

behalf.

“The opportunity was a rare one, though,” continued Cayrol, getting

excited. “Fancy; I found them together under my own roof. The law

allowed me, if not the actual right to kill them, at least an excuse if

I did so. Well, at the decisive moment, when I ought to have struck the

blow, my heart failed me. He lives, and Jeanne loves him.”

There was a pause.

“What are you going to do?”

“Get rid of him in another way,” answered Cayrol. “I had only two ways

of killing him. One was to catch him in my own house, the other to call

him out. My will failed me in the one case; my want of skill would fail

me in the other. I will not fight Serge. Not because I fear death, for

my life is blighted, and I don’t value it; but if I were dead, Jeanne

would belong to him, and I could not bear the thought of that even in

death. I must separate them forever.”

“And how?”

“By forcing him to disappear.”

“And if he refuse?”

Cayrol shook his head menacingly, and exclaimed:

“I defy him! If he resist, I will bring him before the assizes!”

“You?” said Madame Desvarennes, going nearer to Cayrol.

“Yes, I!” answered the banker, with energy.

“Wretched man! And my daughter?” cried the mistress. “Think well what

you are saying! You would disgrace me and mine.”

“Am I not dishonored myself?” asked Cayrol. “Your son-in-law is a

robber, who has defiled my home and robbed my safe.”

“An honest man does not seek to revenge himself after the manner you

suggest,” said the mistress, gravely.

“An honest man defends himself as he can. I am not a knight. I am only

a financier. Money is my weapon. The Prince has stolen from me. I will

have him sentenced as a thief.”

Madame Desvarennes frowned.

“Make out your account. I will pay it.”

“Will you also pay me for my lost happiness?” cried the banker,

exasperated. “Should I not rather have chosen to be ruined than be

betrayed as I am? You can never repair the wrong he has done me. And

then I am suffering so, I must have my revenge!”

“Ah! fool that you are,” replied Madame Desvarennes. “The guilty will

not feel your blows, but the innocent. When my daughter and I are in

despair will you be less unhappy! Oh! Cayrol, take heed that you lose

not in dignity what you gain in revenge. The less one is respected

by others the more one must respect one’s self. Contempt and silence

elevate the victim, while rage and hatred make him descend to the level

of those who have outraged him.”

“Let people judge me as they please. I care only for myself! I am a

vulgar soul, and have a low mind--anything you like. But the idea that

that woman belongs to another drives me mad. I ought to hate her, but,

notwithstanding everything, I cannot live without her. If she will come

back to me I will forgive her. It is ignoble! I feel it, but it is too

strong for me. I adore her!”

Before that blind love Madame Desvarennes shuddered. She thought of

Micheline who loved Serge as Cayrol loved Jeanne.

“Suppose she chooses to go away with Serge,” said the mistress to

herself. In a moment she saw the house abandoned, Micheline and Serge in

foreign lands, and she alone in the midst of her overthrown happiness,

dying of sadness and regrets. She made a last effort to move Cayrol.

“Come, must I appeal in vain? Can you forget that I was a sure and

devoted friend to you, and that you owe your fortune to me? You are a

good man and will not forget the past. You have been outraged and have

the right of seeking revenge, but think that in carrying it out you will

hurt two women who have never done you any harm. Be generous! Be just!

Spare us!”

Cayrol remained silent; his face did not relax. After a moment he said:

“You see how low I have fallen, by not yielding at once to your

supplications! Friendship, gratitude, generosity, all the good feelings

I had, have been consumed by this execrable love. There is nothing left

but love for her. For her, I forget everything. I degrade and debase

myself. And what is worse than all, is that I know all this and yet I

cannot help myself.”

“Miserable man!” murmured the mistress.

“Oh! most miserable,” sobbed Cayrol, falling into an armchair.

Madame Desvarennes approached him, and quietly placed her hand on his

shoulder.

“Cayrol, you are weeping? Then, forgive.”

The banker arose and, with lowering brow, said:

“No! my resolution is irrevocable. I wish to place a world between

Jeanne and Serge. If he has not gone away by tonight my complaint will

be lodged in the courts of justice.”

Madame Desvarennes no longer persisted. She saw that the husband’s heart

was permanently closed.

“It is well. I thank you for having warned me. You might have taken

action without doing so. Good-by, Cayrol. I leave your conscience to

judge between you and me.”

The banker bowed, and murmured:

“Good-by!”

And with a heavy step, almost tottering, he went out.

The sun had risen, and lit up the trees in the garden. Nature seemed to

be making holiday. The flowers perfumed the air, and in the deep blue

sky swallows were flying to and fro. This earthly joy exasperated Madame

Desvarennes. She would have liked the world to be in mourning. She

closed the window hastily, and remained lost in her own reflections.

So everything was over! The great prosperity, the honor of the house,

everything was foundering in a moment. Even her daughter might escape

from her, and follow the infamous husband whom she adored in spite of

his faults--perhaps because of his very faults--and might drag on a

weary existence in a strange land, which would terminate in death.

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 fearful feeling of anger overcame her. Her motherly love gained the

mastery, and in the silence of the room she roared out these words:

“That shall not be!”

The opening of the door recalled her to her senses, and she rose. It was

Marechal, greatly agitated. 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. He had heard from the

porter, one of those superb personages dressed in blue and red cloth,

who were so important in the eyes of the shareholders, that the evening

before, owing to the complaint of a director, the police had entered the

offices, and taken the books away, and that the official seal had been

placed on the doors. Marechal, much alarmed, had hastened back to Madame

Desvarennes to apprise her of the fact. It was evidently necessary to

take immediate steps to meet this new complication. Was this indeed the

beginning of legal proceedings? And if so how would the Prince come out

of it?

Madame Desvarennes listened to Marechal, without uttering a word. Events

were hurrying on even quicker than she had dreaded. The fears of the

interested shareholders outran even the hatred of Cayrol. What would the

judges call Herzog’s underhand dealings? Would it be embezzlement? Or

forgery? Would they come and arrest the Prince at her house? The house

of Desvarennes, which had never received a visit from a sheriff’s

officer, was it to be disgraced now by the presence of the police?

The mistress, in that fatal hour, became herself again. The

strong-minded woman of old reappeared. Marechal was more alarmed at this

sudden vigor than he had been at her late depression. When he saw Madame

Desvarennes going toward the door, he made an effort to detain her.

“Where are you going, Madame?” he inquired, with anxiety.

The mistress gave him a look that terrified him, and answered:

“I am going to square accounts with the Prince.”

And, passing through the door leading to the little staircase, Madame

Desvarennes went up to her son-in-law’s rooms.

CHAPTER XXII. THE MOTHER’S REVENGE

On leaving Herzog, Serge had turned his steps toward the Rue

Saint-Dominique. He had delayed the moment of going home as long as

possible, but the streets were beginning to be crowded. He might meet

some people of his acquaintance. He resolved to face what ever reception

was awaiting him on the way, he was planning what course he should adopt

to bring about a reconciliation with his redoubtable mother-in-law. He

was no longer proud, but felt quite broken down. Only Madame Desvarennes

could put him on his feet again; and, as cowardly in trouble as he had

been insolent in prosperity, he accepted beforehand all that she

might impose upon him; all, provided that she would cover him with her

protection.

He was frightened, not knowing how deep Herzog had led him in the mire.

His moral sense had disappeared, but he had a vague instinct of the

danger he had incurred. The financier’s last words came to his mind:

“Confess all to your wife; she can get you out of this difficulty!”

He understood the meaning of them, and resolved to follow the advice.

Micheline loved him. In appealing to her heart, deeply wounded as it

was, he would have in her an ally, and he had long known that Madame

Desvarennes could not oppose her daughter in anything.

He entered the house through the back garden gate, and regained his

room without making the slightest noise. He dreaded meeting Madame

Desvarennes before seeing Micheline. First he changed his attire; he

had walked about Paris in evening clothes. Looking in the glass he was

surprised at the alteration in his features. Was his beauty going too?

What would become of him if he failed to please. And, like an actor

who is about to play an important part, he paid great attention to the

making up of his face. He wished once more to captivate his wife, as his

safety depended on the impression he was about to make on her. At last,

satisfied with himself, he tried to look smiling, and went to his wife’s

room.

Micheline was up.

At the sight of Serge she could not suppress an exclamation of surprise.

It was a long time since he had discontinued these familiar visits. The

presence of her beloved one in that room, which had seemed so empty when

he was not there, made her feel happy, and she went to him with a smile,

holding out her hand. Serge drew her gently toward him and kissed her

hair.

“Up, already, dear child,” said he, affectionately.

“I have scarcely slept,” answered Micheline. “I was so anxious. I sat up

for you part of the night. I had left you without saying good-night. It

was the first time it had occurred, and I wanted to beg your pardon. But

you came in very late.”

“Micheline, it is I who am ungrateful,” interrupted Panine, making

the young wife sit down beside him. “It is I who must ask you to be

indulgent.”

“Serge! I beg of you!” said the young wife, taking both his hands. “All

is forgotten. I would not reproach you, I love you so much!”

Micheline’s face beamed with joy, and tears filled her eyes.

“You are weeping,” said Panine. “Ah! I feel the weight of my wrongs

toward you. I see how deserving you are of respect and affection. I

feel unworthy, and would kneel before you to say how I regret all the

anxieties I have caused you, and that my only desire in the future will

be to make you forget them.”

“Oh! speak on! speak on!” cried Micheline, with delight. “What happiness

to hear you say such sweet words! Open your heart to me! You know I

would die to please you. If you have any anxieties or annoyances

confide in me. I can relieve them. Who could resist me when you are in

question?”

“I have none, Micheline,” answered Serge, with the constrained manner of

a man who is feigning. “Nothing but the regret of not having lived more

for you.”

“Is the future not in store for us?” said the young wife, looking

lovingly at him.

The Prince shook his head, saying:

“Who can answer for the future?”

Micheline came closer to her husband, not quite understanding what

Serge meant, but her mind was on the alert, and in an alarmed tone, she

resumed:

“What strange words you are uttering? Are we not both young? And, if you

like, is there not much happiness in store for us?”

And she clung to him. Serge turned away.

“Oh, stay,” she murmured, again putting her arms round him. “You are so

truly mine at this moment!”

Panine saw that the opportunity for confessing all had come. He was able

to bring tears to his eyes, and went toward the window as if to hide his

emotion. Micheline followed him, and, in an eager tone, continued:

“Ah! I knew you were hiding something. You are unhappy or in pain;

threatened perhaps? Ah! if you love me, tell me the truth!”

“Well, yes! It is true, I am threatened. I am suffering and unhappy! But

don’t expect a confession from me. I should blush to make it. But, thank

Heaven, if I cannot extricate myself from the difficulty in which I am

placed through my own folly and imprudence--there is yet another way out

of it.”

“Serge! you would kill yourself!” cried Micheline, terrified at the

gesture Panine had made. “What would become of me then? But what is

there that is so hard to explain? And to whom should it be said?”

“To your mother,” answered Serge, bowing his head.

“To my mother? Very well, I will go to her. Oh! don’t fear anything. I

can defend you, and to strike you she will first have to attack me.”

Serge put his arms round Micheline, and with a kiss, the hypocrite

inspired her whom he entrusted with his safety with indomitable courage.

“Wait for me here,” added the young wife, and passing through the little

drawing-room she reached the smoking-room.

She halted there a moment, out of breath and almost choked with emotion.

The long expected day had arrived. Serge was coming back to her.

She went on, and as she reached the door of the stair leading to her

mother’s rooms, she heard a light tap from without.

Greatly astonished, she opened the door, and suddenly drew back,

uttering an exclamation. A woman, thickly veiled, stood before her.

At the sight of Micheline the stranger seemed inclined to turn and

fly. But overcome with jealousy, the young wife seized her by the arm,

dragged off her veil, and recognizing her, exclaimed:

“Jeanne!”

Madame Cayrol approached Micheline, and beseechingly stretched out her

hands:

“Micheline! don’t think--I come--”

“Hold your tongue!” cried Micheline. “Don’t tell me any lies! I know

all! You are my husband’s mistress!”

Crushed by such a stroke, Jeanne hid her face in her hands and moaned:

“O God!”

“You must really be bold,” continued Micheline, in a furious tone, “to

seek him here, in my house, almost in my arms!”

Jeanne drew herself up, blushing with shame and grief.

“Ah! don’t think,” she said, “that love brings me here.”

“What is it then?” asked Micheline, contemptuously.

“The knowledge of inevitable and pressing danger which threatens Serge.”

“A danger! Of what kind?”

“Compromised by Herzog, he is at the mercy of my husband, who has sworn

to ruin him.”

“Your husband!”

“Yes, he is his rival. If you could ruin me, would you not do it?” said

Jeanne.

“You!” retorted Micheline, passionately. “Do you think I am going to

worry about you? Serge is my first thought. You say you came to warn

him. What must be done?”

“Without a moment’s delay he must go away!”

A strange suspicion crossed Micheline’s mind. She approached Jeanne, and

looking earnestly at her, said:

“He must go away without delay, eh? And it is you, braving everything,

without a thought of the trouble you leave behind you, who come to warn

him? Ah! you mean to go with him?”

Jeanne hesitated a moment. Then, boldly and impudently, defying and

almost threatening the legitimate wife:

“Well, yes, I wish to! Enough of dissimulation! I love him!” she

exclaimed.

Micheline, transfigured by passion, strong, and ready for a struggle,

threw herself in Jeanne’s way, with arms outstretched, as if to prevent

her going to Serge.

“Well!” she said; “try to take him from me!”

“Take him from you!” answered Jeanne, laughing like a mad woman. “To

whom does he most belong? To the woman who was as ignorant of his love

as she was of his danger; who could do nothing toward his happiness, and

can do nothing for his safety? Or to the mistress who has sacrificed her

honor to please him and risks her safety to save him?”

“Ah! wretch!” cried Micheline, “to invoke your infamy as a right!”

“Which of us has taken him from the other?” continued Jeanne, forgetting

respect, modesty, everything. “Do you know that he loved me before he

married you? Do you know that he abandoned me for you--for your money, I

should say? Now, do you wish to weigh what I have suffered with what you

suffer? Shall we make out a balance-sheet of our tears? Then, you will

be able to tell which of us he has loved more, and to whom he really

belongs.”

Micheline had listened to this furious address almost in a state of

stupor, and replied, vehemently:

“What matter who triumphs if his ruin is certain. Selfish creatures that

we are, instead of disputing about his love, let us unite in saving

him! You say he must go away! But flight is surely an admission of

guilt--humiliation and obscurity in a strange land. And that is what you

advise, because you hope to share that miserable existence with him.

You are urging him on to dishonor. His fate is in the hands of a man

who adores you, who would sacrifice everything for you, as I would for

Serge, and yet you have not thrown yourself at his feet! You have not

offered your life as the price of your lover’s! And you say that you

love him!”

“Ah!” stammered Jeanne, distracted. “You wish me to save him for you!”

“Is that the cry of your heart?” said Micheline, with crushing disdain.

“Well, see what I am ready to do. If, to remove your jealous fears, it

is necessary to sacrifice myself, I swear to you that if Serge be saved,

he shall be perfectly free, and I will never see him again!”

Micheline, chaste and calm, with hands raised to Heaven, seemed to grow

taller and nobler. Jeanne, trembling and overpowered, looked at her

rival with a painful effort, and murmured, softly:

“Would you do that?”

“I would do more!” said the lawful wife, bending before the mistress. “I

ought to hate you, and I kneel at your feet and beseech you to listen

to me. Do what I ask you and I will forgive you and bless you. Do not

hesitate! Follow me! Let us throw ourselves at the feet of him whom you

have outraged. His generosity cannot be less than ours, and to us,

who sacrifice our love, he will not be able to refuse to sacrifice his

vengeance.”

This greatness and goodness awaked feelings in Jeanne’s heart which she

thought dead. She was silent for a moment and then her breast heaved

with convulsive sobs, and she fell helpless into the arms which

Micheline, full of pity, held out to her.

“Forgive me,” moaned the unhappy woman. “I am conquered. Your rights are

sacred, and you have just made them still more so. Keep Serge: with you

he will once more become honest and happy, because, if your love is not

greater than mine, it is nobler and purer.”

The two women went hand in hand to try to save the man whom they both

adored.

All this time Serge remained in the little drawing-room enjoying the

hope of returning peace. It was sweet to him, after the troubles he had

gone through. He had not the slightest suspicion of the scene in the

adjoining room between Jeanne and Micheline. The fond heroism of his

wife and the self-denial of his mistress were unknown to him.

Time was passing. At least an hour had sped since Micheline left him to

go to her mother, and Serge was beginning to think that the interview

was very long, when a light step made him tremble. It came from the

gallery. He thought it was Micheline, and opening the door, he went to

meet her.

He drew back disappointed, vexed, and anxious, when he found it was

Pierre. The two men had never met alone since that terrible night at

Nice. Panine assumed a bold demeanor, and returned Pierre’s firm look.

Steadying his voice, he said:

“Ah! is it you?”

“Were you not expecting me?” answered Pierre whose harsh voice thrilled

Serge.

The Prince opened his mouth to speak, but Pierre, did not give him time.

In stern and provoking accents, he continued:

“I made you a promise once; have you forgotten it? I have a good memory.

You are a villain, and I come to chastise you!”

“Pierre!” exclaimed the Prince, starting fiercely.

But he suddenly calmed himself, and added:

“Leave me! I will not listen to you!”

“You will have to, though! You are a source of trouble and shame to

the family to which you have allied yourself, and as you have not the

courage to kill yourself, I have come to help you. You must leave Paris

to-night, or you will be arrested. We shall go together to Brussels and

there we shall fight. If chance favors you, you will be at liberty to

continue your infamies, but at any rate I shall have done my best to rid

two unfortunate women of your presence.”

“You are mad!” said Serge, sneeringly.

“Don’t think so! And know that I am ready for any emergency. Come; must

I strike you, to give you courage?” growled Pierre, ready to suit the

action to the word.

“Ah! take care!” snarled Serge, with an evil look.

And opening a drawer which was close to him, he took out a revolver.

“Thief first, then murderer!” said Pierre, with a terrible laugh. “Come,

let’s see you do it!”

And he was going toward the Prince when the door opened, and Madame

Desvarennes came forward. Placing her hand on Pierre’s shoulder, she

said, in that commanding tone which few could resist:

“Go; wait for me in my room. I wish it!”

Pierre bowed, and, without answering, went out.

Serge had placed the pistol on the table and was waiting.

“We have to talk over several matters,” said Madame Desvarennes,

gravely, “and you know it.”

“Yes, Madame,” answered Panine, sadly, “and, believe me, no one judges

my conduct more severely than I do.”

The mistress could not help looking surprised.

“Ah!” she said, with irony, “I did not expect to find you in such a

mood. You have not accustomed me to such humility and sweetness. You

must be afraid, to have arrived at that stage!”

The Prince appeared not to have understood the implied insult in

his mother-in-law’s words. One thing struck him, which was that she

evidently did not expect to find him repentant and humbled.

“Micheline must have told you,” he began.

“I have not seen my daughter,” interrupted the mistress, sharply, as if

to make him understand that he must depend solely upon himself.

Ignorant that Micheline had met Jeanne on her way to her mother, and

had gone to Cayrol, Serge thought he was abandoned by his only powerful

ally. He saw that he was lost and that his feigned resignation was

useless. Unable to control himself any longer, his face darkened with

rage.

“She, too, against me! Well! I will defend myself alone!”

Turning toward Madame Desvarennes, he added:

“To begin with, what do you want with me?”

“I wish to ask you a question. We business folk when we fail, and cannot

pay our way, throw blood on the blot and it disappears. You members of

the nobility, when you are disgraced, how do you manage?”

“If I am not mistaken, Madame,” answered the Prince, in a light tone,

“you do me the favor of asking what my intentions are for the future?

I will answer you with precision. I purpose leaving to-night for

Aix-la-Chapelle, where I shall join my friend Herzog. We shall begin our

business again. My wife, on whose good feelings I rely, will accompany

me, notwithstanding everything.”

And in these last words he put all the venom of his soul.

“My daughter will not leave me!” exclaimed Madame Desvarennes.

“Very well, then, you can accompany her,” retorted Panine. “That

arrangement will suit me. Since my troubles I have learned to appreciate

domestic happiness.”

“Ah! you hope to play your old games on me,” said Madame Desvarennes.

“You won’t get much out of me. My daughter and I with you--in the stream

where you are going to sink? Never!”

“Well, then,” cried Panine, “what do you expect?”

A violent ring at the front door resounded as Madame Desvarennes was

about to answer, and stopped the words on her lips. This signal, which

was used only on important occasions, sounded to Madame like a funeral

knell. Serge frowned, and instinctively moved back.

Marechal appeared through the half-open door with a scared face, and

silently handed Madame Desvarennes a card. She glanced at it, turned

pale, and said to the secretary:

“Very well, let him wait!” She threw the card on the table. Serge came

forward and read:

“Delbarre, sheriff’s officer.”

Haggard-looking and aghast, he turned to the mistress, as if seeking an

explanation.

“Well!” she observed: “it is clear, he has come to arrest you.”

Serge rushed to a cabinet, and opening a drawer, took forth some

handfuls of gold and notes, which he crammed into his pockets.

“By the back stairs I shall have time to get away. It is my last chance!

Keep the man for five minutes only.”

“And if the door is guarded?” asked Madame Desvarennes.

Serge remained abject before her. He felt himself enclosed in a ring

which he could not break through.

“One may be prosecuted without being condemned,” he gasped. “You will

use your influence, I know, and you will get me out of this mess. I

shall be grateful to you for ever, and will do anything you like! But

don’t leave me, it would be cowardly!”

He trembled, as he thus besought her distractedly.

“The son-in-law of Madame Desvarennes does not go before the Assize

Courts even to be acquitted,” said she, with a firm voice.

“What would you have me do?” cried Serge, passionately.

Madame Desvarennes did not answer, but pointed to the revolver on the

table.

“Kill myself? Ah! no; that would be giving you too much pleasure.”

And he gave the weapon a push, so that it rolled close to Madame

Desvarennes.

“Ah! wretch!” cried she, giving way to her suppressed rage. “You are not

even a Panine! The Panines knew how to die.”

“I have not time to act a melodrama with you,” snarled Serge. “I am

going to try to save myself.”

And he took a step toward the door.

The mistress seized the revolver, and threw herself before him.

“You shall not go out!” she cried.

“Are you mad?” he exclaimed, gnashing his teeth.

“You shall not go out!” repeated the mistress, with flashing eyes.

“We shall see!”

And with a strong arm he seized Madame Desvarennes, and threw her aside.

The mistress became livid. Serge had his hand on the handle of the door.

He was about to escape. Madame Desvarennes’s arm was stretched forth.

A shot made the windows rattle; the weapon fell from her hand, having

done its work and, amid the smoke, a body dropped heavily on the carpet,

which was soon dyed with blood.

At the same moment, the door opened, and Micheline entered, holding in

her hand the fatal receipt which she had just wrung from Cayrol. The

young wife uttered a heartrending cry, and fell senseless on Serge’s

body.

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 officer bowed respectfully to the mistress, who was bending over

Micheline.

“Please to withdraw, Madame. You have already suffered too much,” said

he. “I understand your legitimate grief. If I need any information, this

gentleman will give it to me.”

Madame Desvarennes arose, and, without bending under the burden, she

bore away on her bosom her daughter, regained.

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