Madame Desvarennes could not resist drawing her daughter once more to her heart. "Dear child," she said with emotion, "you need affection, as flowers need the sun! But I love you, there." She stopped and added: "We love you." And she held out her hand to her son-in-law. Then changing the subject: "But I am thinking, Cayrol, as you are returning to Paris, you might take some orders for me which I will write out." "What? Business? Even on my wedding-day?" exclaimed Micheline. "Eh! my daughter, we must have flour," replied the mistress, laughing. "While we are enjoying ourselves Paris eats, and it has a famous appetite." Micheline, leaving her mother, went to her husband. "Serge, it is not yet late. Suppose we put in an appearance at the work- people's ball? I promised them, and the good folks will be so happy!" "As you please. I am awaiting your orders. Let us make ourselves popular!" Madame Desvarennes had gone to her room. Carol took the opportunity of telling his coachman to drive round by the park to the door of the little conservatory and wait there. Thus, his wife and he would avoid meeting any one, and would escape the leave-taking of friends and the curiosity of lockers-on. Micheline went up to Jeanne, and said: "As you are going away quietly, dear, I shall not see you again this evening. Adieu!" And with a happy smile, she kissed her. Then taking her husband's arm she led him toward the park. CHAPTER X CAYROL'S DISAPPOINTMENT Jeanne left alone, watched them as they disappeared with the light and easy movements of lovers. Serge, bending toward Micheline, was speaking tenderly. A rush of bitter feeling caused Jeanne's heart to swell. She was alone, she, while he whom she loved-her whole being revolted. Unhappy one! Why did she think of this man? Had she the right to do so now? She no longer belonged to herself. Another, who was as kind to her as Serge was ungrateful, was her husband. She thought thus in sincerity of heart. She wished to love Cayrol. Alas, poor Jeanne! She would load him with attentions and caresses! And Serge would be jealous, for he could never have forgotten her so soon. Her thoughts again turned to him whom she wished to forget. She made an effort, but in vain. Serge was uppermost; he possessed her. She was afraid. Would she never be able to break off the remembrance? Would his name be ever on her lips, his face ever before her eyes? Thank heaven! she was about to leave. Travelling, and the sight of strange places other than those where she had lived near Serge, would draw her attention from the persecution she suffered. Her husband was about to take her away, to defend her. It was his duty, and she would help him with energy. With all the strength of her will she summoned Cayrol. She clung violently to him as a drowning person catches at a straw, with the vigor of despair.