like phantoms. Afar off, in the depths of the country, she
caught sight of a light glimmering, and she loved to picture a family
gathered by the fire, the children asleep and the mother working in the
silence.

Children! She often thought of them, and never without a sigh of regret
rising to her lips. She had been married for some months, and her dreams
of becoming a mother had not been realized. How happy she would have
been to have a baby, with fair hair, to fondle and kiss! Then the idea
of a child reminded her of her own mother. She thought of the deep love
one must feel for a child. And the image of the mistress, sad and alone,
in the large house of the Rue Saint-Dominique, came to her mind. A vague
remorse seized her heart. She felt she had behaved badly. She said to
herself: "If, to punish me, Heaven will not grant me a child!" She
wept, and soon her grief and trouble vanished with her tears. Sleep
overpowered her, and when she awoke it was broad daylight and they were
in Provence.

From that moment everything was dazzling. The arrival at Marseilles;
the journey along the coast, the approach to Nice, were all matters of
ecstacy to Micheline. But it was when the carriage, which was waiting
for them at the railway station, stopped at the gates of the villa,
that she broke into raptures. She could not feast her eyes enough on the
scene which was before her. The blue sea, the sky without a cloud,
the white houses rising on the hill amid the dark foliage, and in the
distance the mountaintops covered with snow, and tinged with pink under
the brilliant rays of the sun. All this vigorous and slightly wild
nature surprised the Parisienne. It was a new experience. Dazzled by
the light and intoxicated with the perfumes, a sort of languor came over
her. She soon recovered and became quite strong--something altogether
new for her, and she felt thoroughly happy.

The life of the Prince and the Princess became at Nice what it had been
in Paris during the early days of their marriage. Visitors flocked to
their house. All that the colony could reckon of well-known Parisians
and foreigners of high repute presented themselves at the villa. The
fetes recommenced. They gave receptions three times a week; the other
evenings Serge went to the Cercle.

This absorbing life had gone on for two months. It was the beginning
of February, and already nature was assuming a new appearance under
the influence of spring. One evening, three p