"Never!" she said. "Ah, that is an avowal!" exclaimed Cayrol. "You have deceived me unworthily by your pretended kindness," interrupted Jeanne, proudly, "I will not say anything more." Cayrol flew at her--the churl reappeared. He muttered a fearful oath, and seizing her by the arm, shouted: "Take care! Don't play with me. Speak, I insist, or--" and he shook her brutally. Jeanne, indignant, screamed and tore herself away from him. "Leave me," she said, "you fill me with horror!" The husband, beside himself, pale as death and trembling convulsively, could not utter a word, and was about to rush upon her when the door opened, and Madame Desvarennes appeared, holding in her hand the letters which she had written for Cayrol to take back to Paris. Jeanne uttered a cry of joy, and with a bound threw herself into the arms of her who had been a mother to her. CHAPTER XI CONFESSION Madame Desvarennes understood the situation at a glance. She beheld Cayrol livid, tottering, and excited. She felt Jeanne trembling on her breast; she saw something serious had occurred. She calmed herself and put on a cold manner to enable her the better to suppress any resistance that they might offer. "What is the matter?" she asked, looking severely at Cayrol. "Something quite unexpected," replied the banker, laughing nervously. "Madame refuses to follow me." "And for what reason?" she asked. "She dare not speak!" Cayrol resumed, whose excitement increased as he spoke. "It appears she has in her heart an unhappy love! And as I do not resemble the dreamed-of type, Madame has repugnances. But you understand the affair is not going to end there. It is not usual to come and say to a husband, twelve hours after marriage, 'Sir, I am very sorry, but I love somebody else!' It would be too convenient. I shall not lend myself to these whims." "Cayrol, oblige me by speaking in a, lower tone," said Madame Desvarennes, quietly. "There is some misunderstanding between you and this child." The husband shrugged his broad shoulders. "A misunderstanding? Faith! I think so! You have a delicacy of language which pleases me! A misunderstanding! Say rather a shameful deception! But I want to know the gentleman's name. She will have to speak. I am not a scented, educated gentleman. I am a peasant, and if I have to--" "Enough," said Madame Desvarennes, sharply tapping with the tips of her fingers Cayrol's great fist which he held menacingly like a butcher about to strike. Then, taking him quietly aside toward the window, she added: "You are a fool to go on like this! Go to my room for a moment. To you, now, she will not say anything; to me she will confide all and we shall know what to do." Cayrol's face brightened. "You are right," he said. "Yes, as ever, you are right. You must excuse rile, I do not know how to talk to women. Rebuke her and put a little sense in her head. But don't leave her; she is fit to commit any folly." Madame Desvarennes smiled.