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."

"Serg