after coming out of that furnace. The cheering had ceased, and the
orchestra was playing a polka. Micheline had taken her husband's arm.

They went along slowly, and close together. Not a word was exchanged;
they all three seemed to be listening within themselves. When they
reached the house, they went up the steps leading into the greenhouse,
which served also as a boudoir to Madame Desvarennes.

The atmosphere was still warm and scented, the lamps still burning. The
guests had left; Micheline looked round. The remembrance of this happy
evening, which had been the crowning of her happiness, filled her heart
with emotion. Turning toward her mother with a radiant face, she cried:

"Ah! mamma! I am so happy," and threw her arms around her.

Serge started at this cry. Two tears came to his eyes, and looking a
little pale, he stretched out to Madame Desvarennes his hands, which she
felt trembling in hers, and said:

"Thank you."

Madame Desvarennes gazed at him for a moment. She did not see the shadow
of a wicked thought on his brow. He was sincerely affected, truly
grateful. The idea occurred to her that Jeanne had deceived her, or had
deceived herself, and that Serge had not loved her. A feeling of relief
took possession of her. But distrust had unfortunately entered her mind.
She put away that flattering hope. And giving her son-in-law such a
look, which, had he been less moved, he would have understood, she
murmured,