She spoke the last words of exhortation and hope with a bitter tone that Florence did not recognize. As she listened to the young girl telling of the little misunderstanding that separated her and Verdier, she had a keen sensation of her own misery. This lovers' quarrel was only a dispute between a child--as she had called Miss Marsh--and another child. She thought of her rupture with Pierre. She thought of all the bitterness and vileness and inexpiable offence that there was between them. Face to face with the pretty American's pride before an unjust suspicion, she felt more vividly the horror of being justly accused and of being obliged either to lie or to own her shame while asking for pity. At the same time she was overwhelmed with a flood of indignation at the thought of the odious means employed by the Archduke to keep Verdier with him. She found in it the same sentiment that had aroused her hatred against Olivier the night before: the attachment of man for man, the friendship that is jealous of love, that is hostile to woman, that pursues and tracks her in order to preserve the friend. True, the sentiment of the Prince for his coadjutor was not precisely the same that Pierre felt for Olivier and that Olivier felt for Pierre. It was the affection of a scientist for his companion of the laboratory, of a master for his disciple, almost of a father for a son. But this friendship, intellectual though it might be, was not the less intense after its kind. Madame de Carlsberg, therefore, felt a personal satisfaction as though she were avenging herself in taking steps to thwart the Prince's schemes as soon as she had left the Jenny. It was a poor revenge. It did not prevent her feeling that her heart was broken by the despair caused by her vanished love, even amid all the intrigues necessary to protect another's happiness. Her first step after her conversation with Florence was to go to the villa that Andryana occupied on the road to Fréjus, at the other end of Cannes. She had no need to ask anything of the generous Italian. No sooner had she heard of the misunderstanding that separated Verdier and Miss Marsh, than she cried:-- "But why did she not speak? Poor, dear girl! I felt sure something was the matter these last few days. And that was it? But I will go straight away and see Verdier, see the Prince and tell them all the truth. They must know that Florence would never countenance any evil. Besides, I have had enough of living in hiding. I have had enough of being obliged to lie. I mean to disclose the fact of my marriage to-day. I only awaited some reason for deciding Corancez, and here it is." "How about your brother?" asked Ely. "What? My brother? My brother?" repeated the Venetian.