other Cayrol, were eager for the day: the one because he saw the
realization of his ambitious dreams, the other because he loved so madly.
Serge, gracious and attentive, allowed himself to be adored by Micheline,
who was never weary of listening to and looking at him whom she loved.
It was a sort of delirium that had taken possession of the young girl.
Madame Desvarennes looked on the metamorphosis in her child with
amazement. The old Micheline, naturally indolent and cold, just living
with the indolence of an odalisque stretched on silk cushions, had
changed into a lively, loving sweetheart, with sparkling eyes and
cheerful lips. Like those lowers which the sun causes to bloom and be
fragrant, so Micheline under a look from Serge became animated and grown
handsomer.

The mother looked on with bitterness; she spoke of this transformation in
her child with ironical disdain, She was sure Micheline was not in
earnest; only a doll was capable of falling in love so foolishly with a
man for his personal beauty. For to her mind the Prince was as regards
mental power painfully deficient. No sense, dumb as soon as the
conversation took a serious turn, only able to talk dress like a woman,
or about horses like a jockey. And it was such a person upon whom
Micheline literally doted! The mistress felt humiliated; she dared not
say anything to her daughter, but she relieved herself in company of
Marechal, whose discretion she could trust, and whom she willingly called
the tomb of her secrets.

Marechal listened patiently to the confidences of Madame Desvarennes,
and he tried to fight against the growing animosity of the mistress
toward her future son-in-law. Not that he liked the Prince--he was too
much on Pierre's side to be well disposed toward Panine; but with his
good sense he saw that Madame Desvarennes would find it advantageous to