She motioned to Serge with her fan. Panine came to her.
“You will take me home, won’t you, Serge?”
“Certainly, dear one,” answered Serge.
Jeanne, who was listening at a distance, raised her hand to her forehead as a sign that she wanted him. A feeling of surprise came over the Prince, and he did not understand what she meant. Micheline had seen the sign. A deadly pallor spread over her features, and a cold perspiration broke out on her forehead. She felt so ill that she could have cried out. It was the first time she had seen Serge and Jeanne together since the dreadful discovery at Nice. She had avoided witnessing their meeting, feeling uncertain of herself, and fearing to lose her self-control. But seeing the two lovers before her, devouring each other with their looks, and making signs to each other, made her feel most terribly jealous and angry.
Serge had decided to obey the imperious signs which Jeanne made to him, and turning toward his wife, said:
“I remember now, my dear, that before going home I must call at the club. I promised, and cannot put it off. Excuse my not going with you, and ask your mother to accompany you.”
“Very well,” said Micheline, in a trembling voice. “I will ask her. You are not going just yet?”
“In a moment.”
“I, too, shall leave in a moment.”
The young wife did not want to lose one detail of the horrible comedy being played under her very eyes. She remained to learn, unawares, the reason for which Jeanne kept her husband.