Panine was there. Evidently he was expecting her. On seeing Madame Desvarennes he rose, with a smile:
“One can see that you are at home,” said he, ironically; “you come in without knocking.”
“No nonsense; the moment is ill-chosen,” briefly retorted the mistress. “Why did you run away when you saw me a little while ago?”
“You have such a singular way of accosting people,” he answered, lightly. “You come on like a charge of cavalry. The person with whom I was talking was frightened, she ran away and I followed her.”
“She was doing wrong then if she was frightened. Does she know me?”
“Who does not know you? You are almost notorious—in the corn-market!”
Madame Desvarennes allowed the insult to pass without remark, and advancing toward Serge, said:
“Who is this woman?”
“Shall I introduce her to you?” inquired the Prince, quietly. “She is one of my countrywomen, a Polish—”
“You are a liar!” cried Madame Desvarennes, unable to control her temper any longer. “You are lying most impudently!”