nable to read his companion's thoughts, Cayrol sincerely believed
that he had been unnecessarily anxious, and that Jeanne's troubles had
only been passing fancies. He took credit of the change in his wife to
himself, and was proud of it.

"Cayrol, oblige me by removing that lamp; it hurts my eyes," said Madame
Desvarennes, anxious that the traces on her face, caused by her late
discussion with her daughter, should not be visible. "Then ask Jeanne to
come here for a few minutes. I have something to say to her."

"Certainly," said Cayrol, taking the lamp off the table and carrying it
into the adjoining room.

Darkness did Madame Desvarennes good. It refreshed her mind and calmed
her brow. The noise of dancing reached her. She commenced thinking. So it
had vainly tried to prove to her that a life of immoderate pleasure was
not conducive to happiness. The young wife had stopped her ears so that
she might not hear, and closed her eyes that she might not see. Her
mother asked herself if she did not exaggerate the evil. Alas! no. She
saw that she was not mistaken. Examining the society around her, men and
women: everywhere was feverish excitement, dissipation, and nullity. You
might rummage through their brains without finding one practical idea; in
all their hearts, there was not one lofty aspiration. These people, in
their daily life were like squirrels in a cage, and because they moved,
they thought they were progressing. In them scepticism had killed belief;
religion, family, country, were, as they phrased it, all humbug. They had
only one aim, one passion--to enjoy themselves. Their watchword was
"pleasure." All those who did not perish of consumption would die in
lunatic asylums.

What was she doing in the midst of this rottenness? She, the woman of
business? Could she hope to regenerate these poor wretches by her
example? No! She could not teach them to be good, and they excelled in
teaching others harm. She must leave this gilded vice, taking with her
those she loved, and leave the idle and incompetent to consume and
destroy themselves.

She felt disgusted, and resolved to do all to tear Micheline away from
the contagion. In the meantime she must question Jeanne. A shadow
appeared on the threshold: it was hers. In the darkness of the gallery
Serge crept behind her without being seen. He had been watching Jeanne,
and seeing her go away alone, had followed her. In the angle of the large
bay-window, opening into the