pale that the
latter was frightened.

"Mother," she said, in trembling tones, "if ever you say one word to my
husband, take care! I shall never see you again!"

Madame Desvarennes flinched before her daughter. It was no longer the
weak Micheline who trusted to her tears, but a vehement woman ready to
defend him whom she loved. And as she remained silent, not daring to
speak again:

"Mother," continued Micheline, with sadness, yet firmly, "this
explanation was inevitable; I have suffered beforehand, knowing that I
should have to choose between my affection for my husband and my respect
for you."

"Between the one and the other," said the mistress, bitterly, "you don't
hesitate, I see."

"It is my duty; and if I failed in it, you yourself, with your good
sense, would see it."

"Oh! Micheline, could I have expected to find you thus?" cried the
mother, in despair. "What a change! It is not you who are speaking; it is
not my daughter. Fool that you are! Don't you see whither you are being
led? You, yourself, are preparing your own misfortune. Don't think that
my words are inspired by jealousy. A higher sentiment dictates them, and
at this moment my maternal love gives me, I fear, a foresight of the
future. There is only just time to rescue you from the danger into which
you are running. You hope to retain your husband by your generosity?
There where you think you are giving proofs of love he will only see
proofs of weakness. If you make yourself cheap he will count you as
nothing. If you throw yourself at his feet he will trample on you."

The Princess shook her head haughtily, and smiled.

"You don't know him, mamma. He is a gentleman; he understands all these
delicacies, and there is more to be gained by submitting one's self to
his discretion, than by trying to resist his will. You blame his manner
of existence, but you don't understand him. I know him. He belongs to a
different race than you and I. He needs refinements of luxury which would
be useless to us, but the deprivation of which would be hard to him. He
suffered much when he was poor, he is making up for it now. We are guilty
of some extravagances, 'tis true; but what does it matter? For whom have
you made a fortune? For me! For what object? My happiness! Well, I am
happy to surround my Prince with the glory and pomp which suits him so
well. He is grateful to me; he loves me, and I hold his love dearer than
all else in the world; for if ever he ceases t