avoid. And it was her husband who was aiding this inevitable and
execrable meeting. A bitter smile played on her lips. There was
something mournfully comic in this stubbornness of Cayrol's, in throwing
her in the way of Serge.

Cayrol, embarrassed by Jeanne's silence, waited a moment.

"What is the matter?" he asked. "You are just like the Prince when I
spoke to him on the subject."

Jeanne turned away abruptly. Cayrol's comparison was too direct. His
blunders were becoming wearisome.

The banker, quite discomfited on seeing the effect of his words,
continued:

"You object to this journey? If so, I am willing to give it up."

The young wife was touched by this humble servility.

"Well, yes," she said, softly, "I should be grateful to you."

"I had hoped to please you," said Cayrol. "It is for me to beg pardon
for having succeeded so badly. Let us remain in Paris. It does not
matter to me what place we are in! Being near to you is all I desire."

He approached her, and, with beaming eyes, added:

"You are so beautiful, Jeanne; and I have loved you so long a time!"