“I have not forgotten anything,” replied Micheline, moved by these passionate expressions.  “And in my heart you still hold the same place.”

The mistress looked at the young wife, then, in a sad tone, said: 

“It is no longer the first place.”

This simple, selfish view made Micheline smile.

“It is just like you, you tyrant!” she exclaimed.  “You must be first.  Come, be satisfied with equality!  Remember that you were first in the field, and that for twenty years I have loved you, while he has to make up for lost time.  Don’t try to make a comparison between my love for him and my affection for you.  Be kind:  instead of looking black at him, try to love him.  I should be so happy to see you united, and to be able, without reservation, to think of you both with the same tenderness!”

“Ah! how you talk me over.  How charming and caressing you can be when you like.  And how happy Serge ought to be with a wife like you!  It is always the way; men like him always get the best wives.”

“I don’t suppose, mamma, you came all the way from Paris to run down my husband to me.”

Madame Desvarennes became serious again.

“No; I came to defend you.”

Micheline looked surprised.

“It is time for me to speak.  You are seriously menaced,” continued the mother.

“In my love?” asked the young wife, in an altered tone.

“No; in your fortune.”

Micheline smiled superbly.

“If that be all!”

This indifference made her mother positively jump.

“You speak very coolly about it!  At the rate your husband is spending, there will be nothing left of your dowry in six months.”

“Well!” said the Princess, gayly, “you will give us another.”

Madame Desvarennes assumed her cold businesslike manner.

“Ta! ta! ta!  Do you think there is no limit to my resources?  I gave you four millions when you were married, represented by fifteen hundred thousand francs, in good stock, a house in the Rue de Rivoli, and eight hundred thousand francs which I prudently kept in the business, and for which I pay you interest.  The fifteen hundred thousand francs have vanished.  My lawyer came to tell me that the house in the Rue de Rivoli had been sold without a reinvestment taking place.”

The mistress stopped.  She had spoken in that frank, determined, way of hers that was part of her strength.  She looked fixedly at Micheline, and asked: 

“Did you know this, my girl?”

The Princess, deeply troubled, because now it was not a question of sentiment, but of serious moment, answered, in a low tone: 

“No, mamma.”

“How is that possible?” Madame Desvarennes demanded, hotly.  “Nothing can be done without your signature.”

“I gave it,” murmured Micheline.

“You gave it!” repeated the mistress in a tone of anger.  “When?”