“Cayrol, you are truly a good man!”
“I know it,” said Cayrol, smiling to hide his emotion, “and you may rely upon me.”
Micheline appeared on the threshold of the room. Through the half-open door the dancers could be seen passing to and fro, and the sound of music floated in the air.
“What has become of you, mamma? I hear that you have been here for more than an hour.”
“I was talking on business matters with these gentlemen,” answered Madame Desvarennes, smoothing from her brow the traces of her cares by an effort of will. “But you, dear, how do you feel? Are you not tired?”
“Not more so than usual,” replied Micheline, looking round to follow the movements of her husband, who was trying to reach Jeanne.
“Why did you come to this party? It was unwise.”
“Serge wished me to come, and I did not care to let him come without me.”
“Eh! dear me!” exclaimed Madame Desvarennes. “Let him do what he likes. Men are savages. When you are ill it won’t hurt him.”
“I am not ill, and I won’t be,” resumed Micheline, warmly. “We are going away now.”