"What I imagine, or rather what I am certain of, I will not say, out of respect to you. My interference is a fulfillment of my duty. After rearing you with a view to create for you a future according to my ambition, after having made a princess of you, I will not suffer you to ruin everything on account of a ridiculous caprice." Lise Olsdorf could not master a thrill of anger and pain. The glitter in her great eyes told her mother that she had overshot the mark. A ridiculous caprice, this ungovernable passion that had thrown her into Paul Meyrin's arms! She recovered herself somewhat, however, and replied bitterly: "Yes, that is true. You have made a princess of me, and, as you say--to satisfy your ambition. You would have acted more wisely if you had made me a happy woman. You forced me to marry a man who did not love me, and whom I did not and could not love. Is it my fault if the blood of an artiste runs in my veins?" "Well--of an artiste?" said Mme. Podoi, haughtily. "Bah! As if these tastes and these aspirations were not derived from yourself!" The ex-comédienne at these words started indignantly. The past that she had long since forgotten and wished never to recall, her daughter reminded her of. How came she to know so much? Did she not know still more? Possessed by this thought, she said, more gently: "It is no question of tastes or aspirations but of your honor and that of the prince, and you repay poorly my care for your peace of mind in trying to offend me. It would be better, I think, for both of us not to prolong the interview. I have spoken to you and to Monsieur Paul Meyrin, as it was my duty to speak. His going will seem quite natural when he has excused it as I have advised him to do. He will write to the prince, as I have suggested, and at least any scandal will be avoided. The day will come when you will thank me." Lise's only reply to these last words was an ironical smile. As soon as her mother was gone, she quickly finished her toilet and went down to the dining-room, where most of the guests were already gathered. Paul Meyrin entered the room a few moments later. He was so pale and so evidently preoccupied that several persons asked him if he were not unwell. "No," he replied, "but I have had bad news from Paris, and must leave Pampeln to-day." At that moment the princess signed to him to come to her, and when he had done so she said, in a low, rapid voice: "I know what has passed between my mother and you. I will wait for you in my room after luncheon." Mme. Podoi, who had only come into the room leaning on the general's arm at that moment, did not notice what was going on. Besides, she had made up her mind not to interfere between her daughter and the painter, to avoid an outburst. M. Paul Meyrin was going away; that was the main thing in her eyes.