y so well 'I will,' will be weak and will
not be able to refuse her her Prince. Believe me; consent willingly. Who
knows? Your son'-in-law may be grateful to you for it by-and-by."

Madame Desvarennes had listened to Pierre with amazement.

"Really, you are incredible," she said; "you discuss all this so calmly.
Have you no grief?"

"Yes," replied Pierre, solemnly, "it is almost killing me."

"Nonsense! You are boasting!" cried Madame Desvarennes, vehemently. "Ah,
scholar! figures have dried up your heart!"

"No," replied the young man, with melancholy, "but work has destroyed in
me the seductions of youth. It has made me thoughtful, and a little sad.
I frightened Micheline, instead of attracting her. The worst is that we
live in such a state of high pressure, it is quite impossible to
grasp all that is offered to us in this life-work and pleasure. It is
necessary to make a choice, to economize one's time and strength, and
to work with either the heart or the brain alone. The result is that the
neglected organ wastes away, and that men of pleasure remain all their
lives mediocre workers, while hard workers are pitiful lovers. The
former sacrifice the dignity of existence, the latter that which is
the charm of existence. So that, in decisive moments, when the man of
pleasure appeals to his intelligence, he finds he is unfit for duty,
and when the man of toil appeals to his heart, he finds that he is
unqualified for happiness."

"Well, my boy, so much the worse for the women who cannot appreciate men
of work, and who allow themselves to be wheedled by men of pleasure. I
never was one of those; and serious as you are, thirty years ago I would
have jumped at you. But as you know your ailment so well, why don't you
cure yourself? The remedy is at hand."

"What is it?"

"Strong will. Marry Micheline. I'll answer for everything."

"She does not love me."

"A woman always ends by loving her husband."

"I love Micheline too much to accept her hand without her heart."

Madame Desvarennes saw that she would gain nothing, and that the game
was irrevocably lost. A great sorrow stole over her. She foresaw a dark
future, and had a presentiment that trouble had entered the house with
Serge Panine. What could she do? Combat the infatuation of her daughter!
She knew that life would be odious for her if Micheline ceased to laugh
and to sing. Her daughter's tears would conquer her will. Pierre had
told her truly. Where was th