“Ah! fool that you are,” replied Madame Desvarennes. “The guilty will not feel your blows, but the innocent. When my daughter and I are in despair will you be less unhappy! Oh! Cayrol, take heed that you lose not in dignity what you gain in revenge. The less one is respected by others the more one must respect one’s self. Contempt and silence elevate the victim, while rage and hatred make him descend to the level of those who have outraged him.” “Let people judge me as they please. I care only for myself! I am a vulgar soul, and have a low mind--anything you like. But the idea that that woman belongs to another drives me mad. I ought to hate her, but, notwithstanding everything, I cannot live without her. If she will come back to me I will forgive her. It is ignoble! I feel it, but it is too strong for me. I adore her!” Before that blind love Madame Desvarennes shuddered. She thought of Micheline who loved Serge as Cayrol loved Jeanne. “Suppose she chooses to go away with Serge,” said the mistress to herself. In a moment she saw the house abandoned, Micheline and Serge in foreign lands, and she alone in the midst of her overthrown happiness, dying of sadness and regrets. She made a last effort to move Cayrol. “Come, must I appeal in vain? Can you forget that I was a sure and devoted friend to you, and that you owe your fortune to me? You are a good man and will not forget the past. You have been outraged and have the right of seeking revenge, but think that in carrying it out you will hurt two women who have never done you any harm. Be generous! Be just! Spare us!” Cayrol remained silent; his face did not relax. After a moment he said: “You see how low I have fallen, by not yielding at once to your supplications! Friendship, gratitude, generosity, all the good feelings I had, have been consumed by this execrable love. There is nothing left but love for her. For her, I forget everything. I degrade and debase myself. And what is worse than all, is that I know all this and yet I cannot help myself.” “Miserable man!” murmured the mistress. “Oh! most miserable,” sobbed Cayrol, falling into an armchair. Madame Desvarennes approached him, and quietly placed her hand on his shoulder. “Cayrol, you are weeping? Then, forgive.” The banker arose and, with lowering brow, said: “No! my resolution is irrevocable. I wish to place a world between Jeanne and Serge. If he has not gone away by tonight my complaint will be lodged in the courts of justice.” Madame Desvarennes no longer persisted. She saw that the husband’s heart was permanently closed. “It is well. I thank you for having warned me. You might have taken action without doing so. Good-by, Cayrol. I leave your conscience to judge between you and me.” The banker bowed, and murmured: “Good-by!” And with a heavy step, almost tottering, he went out.