me and all will be well," said he to himself.

Madame Desvarennes joined the young married people. The rooms were
clearing by degrees. Serge took Cayrol apart.

"What are you going to do to-night, my dear fellow?

"You know an apartment has been prepared for you here?"

"Yes, I have already thanked Madame Desvarennes, but I mean to go back to
Paris. Our little paradise is prepared for us, and I wish to enter it
to-night. I have my carriage and horses here. I am taking away my wife
post-haste."

"That is an elopement," said Serge; gayly, "quite in the style of the
regency!"

"Yes, my dear Prince, that's how we bankers do it," said Cayrol,
laughing.

Then changing his tone:

"See, I vibrate, I am palpitating. I am hot and cold by turns. Just
fancy, I have never loved before; my heart is whole, and I love to
distraction!"

Serge instinctively glanced at Jeanne. She was seated, looking sad and
tired.

Madame Desvarennes, between Jeanne and Micheline, had her arms twined
round the two young girls. Regret filled her eyes. The mother felt that
the last moments of her absolute reign were near, and she was
contemplating with supreme adoration these two children who had grown up
around her like two fragile and precious flowers. She was saying to them,

"Well, the great day is over. You are both married. You don't belong to
me any longer. How I shall miss you! This morning I had two children, and
now--"

"You have four," interrupted Micheline. "Why do you complain?"

"I don't complain," retorted Madame Desvarennes, quickly.

"That's right!" said Micheline, gayly.

Then going toward Jeanne:

"But you are not speaking, you are so quiet; are you ill?"

Jeanne shuddered, and made an effort to soften the hard lines on her
face.

"It is nothing. A little fatigue."

"And emotion," added Micheline. "This morning when we entered the church,
at the sound of the organ, in the midst of flowers, surrounded by all our
friends, I felt that I was whiter than my veil. And the crossing to my
place seemed so long, I thought I should never get there. I did so,
though. And now everybody calls me 'Madame' and some call me 'Princess.'
It amuses me!"

Serge had approached.

"But you are a Princess," said he, smiling, "and everybody must call you
so."

"Oh, not mamma, nor Jeanne, nor you," said the young wife, quickly;
"always call me Micheline. It will be less respectful, but it will be
more tender."

Madame Desvarennes