him her fortune as a stepping-stone to raise him as high as she chooses
him to go."

Inwardly she was thinking of Pierre Delarue, who had just taken honors at
the Polytechnic school, and who seemed to have a brilliant career before
him. This woman, humbly born, was proud of her origin, and sought a
plebeian for her son-in-law, to put into his hand a golden tool powerful
enough to move the world.

Micheline was ten years old when her father died. Alas, Michel was not a
great loss. They wore mourning for him; but they hardly noticed that he
was absent. His whole life had been a void. Madame Desvarennes, it is sad
to say, felt herself more mistress of her child when she was a widow. She
was jealous of Micheline's affections, and each kiss the child gave her
father seemed to the mother to be robbed from her. With this fierce
tenderness, she preferred solitude around this beloved being.

At this time Madame Desvarennes was really in the zenith of womanly
splendor. She seemed taller, her figure had straightened, vigorous and
powerful. Her gray hair gave her face a majestic appearance. Always
surrounded by a court of clients and friends, she seemed like a
sovereign. The fortune of the firm was not to be computed. It was said
Madame Desvarennes did not know how rich she was.

Jeanne and Micheline grew up amid this colossal prosperity. The one,
tall, brown-haired, with blue eyes changing like the sea; the other,
fragile, fair, with dark dreamy eyes. Jeanne, proud, capricious, and
inconstant; Micheline, simple, sweet, and tenacious. The brunette
inherited from her reckless father and her fanciful mother a violent and
passionate nature; the blonde was tractable and good like Michel, but