‘Why, Colette, of course! You must have had a suspicion.’ ‘Not the least,’ said Paul. ‘And what shall you get for it?’ She murmured triumphantly, ‘Eight thousand pounds!’ [Illustration: Well, by your schemes I have lost a million 192] ‘Well, by your schemes I have lost a million!--a million, and a wife!’ He grasped her by the wrists in his anger, and hissed into her face, ‘You selfish marplot!’ The news took away her breath and her senses. It was Paul then, Paul, from whom proceeded the force which acted, as she had occasionally perceived, against her influence; it was Paul whom the little fool was thinking of when she said, sobbing in her arms, ‘If you only knew!’ And now, just at the end of the mines which with so much cunning and skilful patience they had each been driving towards the treasure, one last stroke of the axe had brought them face to face, empty-handed! They sat silent, looking at each other, with corresponding crooks in their noses and the same fierce gleam in both pairs of grey eyes, while all around them were the stir of people coming and going and the buzz of conversation. Rigid indeed is the discipline of society, seeing that it could repress in these two creatures all the cries and groans, all the desire to roar and slay, which filled and shook their hearts. Madame Astier was the first to express her thoughts aloud: ‘If only the Princess were not gone!’ And she writhed her lips with rage at the thought that the sudden departure had been her own suggestion. ‘We will get her back,’ said Paul. ‘How?’ Without answering her question, he asked, ‘Is Sammy here to-night?’ ‘Oh, I don’t think so, as _she_ is---- Where are you going? what do you mean to do?’ ‘Keep quiet, won’t you? Don’t interfere. You are too unlucky for me.’ He left with a crowd of visitors who were driven away by the end of the _entr’acte_, and she went back to her seat on Madame Ancelin’s left. Her hostess worshipped with the same ecstasy as before, and it was one perpetual giving of thanks. ‘Oh, look at Coquelin! What humour he has! My dear, do look at him!’ ‘My dear’ was indeed not attending; her eyes wandered, and on her lips was the painful smile of a dancer hissed off the boards. With the excuse that the footlights dazzled her, she was turning every moment towards the audience to look for her son. Perhaps there would be a duel with the Prince, if he was there. And all her fault--all through her stupid bungling. ‘Ah, there’s Delaunay! Di’ y’ see him? Di’ y’ see?’