Madame Desvarennes mechanically stopped to listen. A sense of sorrow
came over this mother who was a prey to the most cruel mental anguish.
She thought that she could have been very happy on that splendid night,
if her heart had been full of quietude and serenity. Her two daughters
were married; her last task was accomplished. She ought to have nothing
to do but enjoy life after her own fashioning, and be calm and satisfied.
Instead of that, here were fear and dissimulation taking possession of
her mind; and an ardent, pitiless struggle beginning against the man who
had deceived her daughter and lied to her. The bark which carried her
fortune, on reaching port, had caught fire, and it was necessary to begin
laboring again amid cares and pains.

A dull rage filled her heart. To have so surely built up the edifice of
her happiness, to have embellished it every hour, and then to see an
intruder audaciously taking possession of it, and making his despotic and
hateful authority prevail! And what could she do against this new
master? Nothing. He was marvellously protected by Micheline's mad love
for him. To strike Serge would be to wound Micheline, surely and
mortally. So this scoundrel could laugh at her and dare her with
impunity!

What must she do? Take him aside and tell him that she knew of his
disloyal conduct, and tell him of her contempt and hatred for him? And
after that? What would be the consequence of this outburst of violence?
The Prince, using his power over Micheline, would separate the daughter
from the mother. And Madame Desvarennes would be alone in her corner,
abandoned like a poor dog, and would die of despair and anger. What
other course then? She must dissemble, mask her face with indifference,
if possible with tenderness, and undertake the difficult task of