Serge's departure was a relief to Micheline. Between these two men to whom she belonged, to the one by a promise, to the other by an avowal, she felt ashamed. Left alone with Pierre she recovered her self- possession, and felt full of pity for the poor fellow threatened with such cruel deception. She went tenderly to him, with her loving eyes of old, and pressed his hand:
"I am very glad to see you again, my dear Pierre; and my mother will be delighted. We were very anxious about you. You have not written to us for some months."
Pierre tried to joke: "The post does not leave very often in the desert.
I wrote whenever I had an opportunity."
"Is it so very pleasant in Africa that you could not tear yourself away a whole year?"
"I had to take another journey on the coast of Tripoli to finish my labors. I was interested in my work, and anxious not to lose the result of so much effort, and I think I have succeeded—at least in—the opinion of my employers," said the young man, with a ghastly smile.
"My dear Pierre, you come in time from the land of the sphinx," interrupted Jeanne gravely, and glancing intently at Micheline. "There is here, I assure you, a difficult enigma to solve."
"What is it?"
"That which is written in this heart," she replied, lightly touching her companion's breast.
"From childhood I have always read it as easily as a book," said Pierre, with tremulous voice, turning toward the amazed Micheline.
Mademoiselle de Cernay tossed her head.