“I read it in his joyful looks. I love him. He cannot hide anything from me. A traitor to me, and a traitor toward his friend, that is the man whom—I am ashamed to own it—I love!”
“Compose yourself! Someone is coming,” said Madame Desvarennes, and at the same time the door opened and Jeanne appeared, followed by Marechal, who was anxious at their disappearance.
“Is Micheline ill?” inquired Madame Cayrol, coming forward.
“No; it is nothing. Just a little fatigue,” said Madame Desvarennes. “Marechal, give my daughter your arm, and take her to her carriage. I shall be down in a minute.”
And holding Jeanne by the hand to prevent her following Micheline, she added:
“Stay; I have something to say to you.”
Jeanne looked surprised. Madame Desvarennes was silent for a moment. She was thinking about Serge coming there that night. She had only to say one word to Cayrol to prevent his going away. The life of this wretch was entirely in her hands then! But Jeanne! Was she going to ruin her? Had she the right thus to destroy one who had struggled and had defended herself? Would it be just? Jeanne had been led on against her will. She must question her. If the poor girl were suffering, if she repented, she must spare her.
Madame Desvarennes, having thus made up her mind, turned toward Jeanne who was waiting.
“It is a long time since I have seen you, my dear, and I find you happy and smiling. It is the first time since your marriage that you have seemed so happy.”
Jeanne looked at the mistress without answering. In these words she detected irony.