She smiled affectionately on him. Two grateful tears sparkled in the young man’s eyes, and fell on Mademoiselle de Cernay’s hair. Micheline, led away by the example and without quite knowing what she was doing, found herself in Pierre’s arms. The situation was becoming singularly perplexing to Serge. Cayrol, who had not lost his presence of mind, understood it, and turning toward the Prince, said: “Monsieur Pierre Delarue: an old friend and companion of Mademoiselle Desvarennes’s; almost a brother to her,” thus explaining in one word all that could appear unusual in such a scene of tenderness. Then, addressing Pierre, he simply added--“Prince Panine.” The two men looked at each other. Serge, with haughty curiosity; Pierre, with inexpressible rage. In a moment, he guessed that the tall, handsome man beside his betrothed was his rival. If looks could kill, the Prince would have fallen down dead. Panine did not deign to notice the hatred which glistened in the eyes of the newcomer. He turned toward Micheline with exquisite grace and said: “Your mother receives her friends this evening, I think, Mademoiselle; I shall have the honor of paying my respects to her.” And taking leave of Jeanne with a smile, and of Pierre with a courteous bow, he left, accompanied by Cayrol. 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. “Who knows? Perhaps her disposition has changed during your absence;” and nodding pleasantly, she went toward the house. Pierre followed her for a moment with his eyes, then, turning toward his betrothed, said: