"Are you not dancing to-night, Mademoiselle?" he asked.

"I am waiting to be invited," she answered, sadly, "and, like sister
Anne, I see nobody coming. There are ugly reports abroad about my
father's fortune, and the Argonauts are drawing off."

"Will you give me a dance?" said Marechal. "I don't dance to
perfection, never having practised much, but with a good will."

"Thank you, Monsieur Marechal, I would rather talk. I am not very
cheerful to-night, and, believe me, I only came because Madame
Desvarennes wished it. I would rather have remained at home. Business
has gone wrong with my father by what I can hear, for I don't know what
goes on at the office. I feel more inclined to cry than to laugh. Not
that I regret the loss of money, you know; I don't care for it, but my
father must be in despair."

Marechal listened silently to Suzanne, not daring to tell her what he
thought of Herzog, and respected the real ignorance or willing blindness
of the young girl who did not doubt her father's loyalty.

The Princess, leaning on Cayrol's arm, had just finished promenading
round the rooms, when she perceived Suzanne and, leaving the banker, came
and seated herself beside her. Many of the guests looked at each other
and whispered words which Micheline did not hear, and if she had heard
would not have understood. "It is heroic!" some said. Others answered,
"It is the height of impudence."

The Princess was talking with Suzanne and was looking at her husband who,
leaning against a door, was following Jeanne with his eyes.