"No nonsense; the moment is ill-chosen," briefly retorted the mistress.
"Why did you run away when you saw me a little while ago?"
"You have such a singular way of accosting people," he answered, lightly. "You come on like a charge of cavalry. The person with whom I was talking was frightened, she ran away and I followed her."
"She was doing wrong then if she was frightened. Does she know me?"
"Who does not know you? You are almost notorious—in the corn-market!"
Madame Desvarennes allowed the insult to pass without remark, and advancing toward Serge, said:
"Who is this woman?"
"Shall I introduce her to you?" inquired the Prince, quietly. "She is one of my countrywomen, a Polish—"
"You are a liar!" cried Madame Desvarennes, unable to control her temper any longer. "You are lying most impudently!"
And she was going to add, "That woman was Jeanne!" but prudence checked the sentence on her lips.
Serge turned pale.