Cayrol and Jeanne had gone for a drive to Mentone. With a single glance the Prince took in the attitude of one and all, and after a polite exchange of words and a careless kiss on Micheline’s brow, he seated himself at table. The repast was silent. Each one seemed preoccupied. Serge anxiously asked himself whether Pierre had spoken. Marechal, deeply interested in his plate, answered briefly, when addressed by Madame Desvarennes. All the guests seemed constrained. It was a relief when they rose from the table.
Micheline took her husband’s arm and leading him into the garden, under the shade of the magnolias, said to him:
“My mother leaves us to-night. She has received a letter recalling her to Paris. Her journey here was, you no doubt know, on our account. Our absence made her sad, and she could no longer refrain from seeing me, so she came. On her return to Paris she will feel very lonely, and as I am so often alone--”
“Micheline!” interrupted Serge, with astonishment.
“It is not a reproach, dear,” continued the young wife, sweetly. “You have your engagements. There are necessities to which one must submit; you do what you think is expected of you, and it must be right. Only grant me a favor.”
“A favor? To you?” replied Serge, troubled at the unexpected turn the interview was taking. “Speak, dear one; are you not at liberty to do as you like?”
“Well,” said Micheline, with a faint smile, “as you are so kindly disposed, promise that we shall leave for Paris this week. The season is far advancing. All your friends will have returned. It will not be such a great sacrifice which I ask from you.”
“Willingly,” said Serge, surprised at Micheline’s sudden resolution. “But, admit,” added he, gravely, “that your mother has worried you a little on the subject.”
“My mother knows nothing of my project,” returned the Princess, coldly. “I did not care to say anything about it to her until I had your consent. A refusal on your part would have seemed too cruel. Already, you are not the best of friends, and it is one of my regrets. You must be good to my mother, Serge; she is getting old, and we owe her much gratitude and love.”
Panine remained silent. Could such a sudden change have come over Micheline in one day? She who lately sacrificed her mother for her husband now came and pleaded in favor of Madame Desvarennes. What had happened?