“I have scarcely slept,” answered Micheline. “I was so anxious. I sat up for you part of the night. I had left you without saying good-night. It was the first time it had occurred, and I wanted to beg your pardon. But you came in very late.”
“Micheline, it is I who am ungrateful,” interrupted Panine, making the young wife sit down beside him. “It is I who must ask you to be indulgent.”
“Serge! I beg of you!” said the young wife, taking both his hands. “All is forgotten. I would not reproach you, I love you so much!”
Micheline’s face beamed with joy, and tears filled her eyes.
“You are weeping,” said Panine. “Ah! I feel the weight of my wrongs toward you. I see how deserving you are of respect and affection. I feel unworthy, and would kneel before you to say how I regret all the anxieties I have caused you, and that my only desire in the future will be to make you forget them.”
“Oh! speak on! speak on!” cried Micheline, with delight. “What happiness to hear you say such sweet words! Open your heart to me! You know I would die to please you. If you have any anxieties or annoyances confide in me. I can relieve them. Who could resist me when you are in question?”
“I have none, Micheline,” answered Serge, with the constrained manner of a man who is feigning. “Nothing but the regret of not having lived more for you.”
“Is the future not in store for us?” said the young wife, looking lovingly at him.
The Prince shook his head, saying:
“Who can answer for the future?”