And nimbly springing behind a clump of lilac-trees in flower, Micheline
disappeared.

Pierre mechanically went toward the house. He ascended the marble steps
and entered the drawing-room. As he shut the door, Madame Desvarennes
appeared.

CHAPTER V

A CRITICAL INTERVIEW

Madame Desvarennes had been driven to the Hotel du Louvre without losing
a minute. She most wanted to know in what state of mind her daughter's
betrothed had arrived in Paris. Had the letter, which brutally told him
the truth, roused him and tightened the springs of his will? Was he ready
for the struggle?

If she found him confident and bold, she had only to settle with him as
to the common plan of action which must bring about the eviction of the
audacious candidate who wished to marry Micheline. If she found him
discouraged and doubtful of himself, she had decided to animate him with
her ardor against Serge Panine.

She prepared these arguments on the way, and, boiling with impatience,
outstripped in thought the fleet horse which was drawing her past the
long railings of the Tuileries toward the Hotel du Louvre. Wrapped in her
meditations she did not see Pierre. She was saying to herself:

"This fair-haired Polish dandy does not know with whom he has to deal. He
will see what sort of a woman I am. He has not risen early enough in the
morning to hoodwink me. If Pierre is only of the same opinion as I, we
shall soon spoil this fortune-hunter's work."

The carriage stopped.

"Monsieur Pierre Delarue?" inquired the mistress.

"Madame, he went out a quarter of an hour ago."

"To go where?"

"He did not say."

"Do you know whether he will be absent long?"

"I don't know."

"Much obliged."

Madame Desvarennes, quite discomfited by this mischance, reflected. Where
could Pierre have gone? Probably to her house. Without losing a minute,
she reentered the carriage, and gave orders to return to the Rue
Saint-Dominique. If he had gone at once to her house, it was plain that
he was ready to do anything to keep Micheline. The coachman who had
received the order drove furiously. She said to herself:

"Pierre is in a cab. Allowing that he is driving moderately quick he will
only have half-an-hour's start of me. He will pass through the office,
will see Marechal, and however eager he be, will lose a quarter of an
hour in chatting to him. It would be most vexing if he did anything
foolish in the remaining fifteen minutes! The fault is mi