Serge, in an elegant morning suit, was going round his stables when he had been attracted by this discussion.  The Englishman, uneasy, sought to frame an excuse.

“Hold your tongue!” exclaimed the Prince, sharply, “and go and wait my orders.”

And turning toward the mistress: 

“Since this man refuses to drive you, I shall have the pleasure of taking you to the station myself,” he said, with a charming smile.

And as Madame Desvarennes remonstrated,

“Oh!  I can drive four-in-hand,” he added.  “For once in my life that talent will have been of some use to me.  Pray jump in.”

And opening the door of the mail-coach he handed her into the vast carriage.  Then, climbing with one bound to the box, he gathered the reins and, cigar in mouth, with all the coolness of an old coachman, he started the horses in the presence of all the grooms, and made a perfect semicircle on the gravel of the courtyard.

The incident was repeated favorably for Serge.  It was agreed that he had behaved like a true nobleman.  Micheline was proud of it, and saw in this act of deference to her mother a proof of his love for her.  As to the mistress, she understood the advantage this clever manoeuvre gave to the Prince.  At the same time she felt the great distance which henceforth separated her from the world in which her daughter lived.

The insolence of that servant was a revelation to her.  They despised her.  The Prince’s coachman would not condescend to drive a plebeian like her.  She paid the wages of these servants to no purpose.  Her plebeian origin and business habits were a vice.  They submitted to her; they did not respect her.

Although her son-in-law and daughter were perfect toward her in their behavior, she became gloomy and dull, and but seldom went now to Cernay.  She felt in the way, and uncomfortable.  The smiling and superficial politeness of the visitors irritated her nerves.  These people were too well bred to be rude toward Panine’s mother-in-law, but she felt that their politeness was forced.  Under their affected nicety she detected irony.  She began to hate them all.

Serge, sovereign lord of Cernay, was really happy.  Every moment he experienced new pleasure in gratifying his taste for luxury.  His love for horses grew more and more.  He gave orders to have a model stud-house erected in the park amid the splendid meadows watered by the Oise; and bought stallions and breeding mares from celebrated English breeders.  He contemplated starting a racing stable.

One day when Madame Desvarennes arrived at Cernay, she was surprised to see the greensward bordering the woods marked out with white stakes.  She asked inquiringly what these stakes meant?  Micheline answered in an easy tone: 

“Ah! you saw them?  That is the track for training.  We made Mademoiselle de Cernay gallop there to-day.  She’s a level-going filly with which Serge hopes to win the next Poule des Produits.”