The Prince talked in whispers to Micheline, but every now and then he was
obliged to speak to Jeanne. These were painful moments to Serge. He was
always in dread of some outburst, knowing her ardent and passionate
nature. Thus, before Jeanne, he made Micheline behave in a less
demonstrative manner. Mademoiselle Desvarennes was proud of this
reserve, and thought it was tact and good breeding on the part of the
Prince, without doubting that what she thought reserve in the man of the
world was the prudence of an anxious lover.

Jeanne endured the tortures of Hades. Too proud to say anything after
the explanation she had had with Serge, too much smitten to bear calmly
the sight of her rival's happiness, she saw draw near with deep horror
the moment when she would belong to the man whom she had determined to
marry although she did not love him. She once thought of breaking off
the engagement; as she could not belong to the man whom she adored,
at least she could belong to herself. But the thought of the struggle
she would have to sustain with those who surrounded her, stopped her.
What would she do at Madame Desvarennes's? She would have to witness
the happiness of Micheline and Serge. She would rather leave the house.

With Cayrol at least she could go away; she would be free, and perhaps
the esteem which she would surely have for her husband would do instead
of love. Sisterly or filial love, in fact the least affection, would
satisfy the poor man, who was willing to accept anything from Jeanne.
And she would not have that group of Serge and Micheline before her eyes,
always walking round the lawn and disappearing arm in arm down the narrow
walks. She would not have the continual murmur of their love-making in
her ears, a murmur broken by the sound of kisses when they reached shady
corners.