parent effort, by the mere pressure of his thighs, that
impetuous steed.

Then she would give her horse a touch with the whip, and off she would
go at a gallop, feeling happy with the wind blowing in her face, and
he whom she loved by her side to smile on and encourage her. Then they
would scamper along; the dog with his thin body almost touching the
ground, racing and frightening the rabbits, which shot across the road
swift as bullets. Out of breath by the violent ride, Micheline would
stop, and pat the neck of her lovely chestnut horse. Slowly the young
people would return to the Rue Saint-Dominique, and, on arriving in the
courtyard, there was such a pawing of feet as brought the clerks to
the windows, hiding behind the curtains. Tired with healthy exercise,
Micheline would go smiling to the office where her mother was hard at
work, and say:

"Here we are, mamma!"

The mistress would rise and kiss her daughter beaming with freshness.
Then they would go up to breakfast.

Madame Desvarennes's doubts were lulled to rest. She saw her daughter
happy. Her son-in-law was in every respect cordial and charming
toward her. Cayrol and his wife had scarcely been in Paris since their
marriage. The banker had joined Herzog in his great scheme of the
"Credit," and was travelling all over Europe establishing offices and
securing openings. Jeanne accompanied him. They were then in Greece.
The young wife's letters to her adopted mother breathed calmness and
satisfaction. She highly praised her husband's kindness to her, and said
it was unequalled.

No allusion was made to that evening of their marriage, when, escaping
from Cayrol's wrath, she had thrown herself in Madame Desvarennes's
arms, and had allowed her secret to be found out. The mistress might
well think then that the thought which at times still troubled her mind
was a remembrance of a bad dream.

What contributed especially to make her feel secure was Jeanne's
absence. If the young woman had been near Serge, Madame Desvarennes
might have trembled. But Micheline's beautiful rival was far away, and
Serge seemed very much in love with his wife.

Everything was for the best. The formidable projects which Madame
Desvarennes had formed in the heat of her passion had not been earned
out. Serge had as yet not given Madame Desvarennes cause for real
displeasure. Certainly he was spending money foolishly, but then his
wife was so rich!

He had put his household on an extr