er
so much. She had never done anything wrong, and her conduct was worthy of
esteem.

"Unhappy woman!" she said.

"Yes, unhappy, indeed," resumed Jeanne, "because I have nothing to cling
to, nothing to sustain me. My mind is afflicted with feverish thoughts,
my heart made desolate with bitter regrets. My will alone protects me,
and in a moment of weakness it may betray me."

"You still love him?" asked Madame Desvarennes, in a deep voice which
made Serge quiver.

"Do I know? There are times when I think I hate him. What I have endured
since I have been here is incredible! Everything galls me, irritates me.
My husband is blind, Micheline unsuspicious, and Serge smiles quietly, as
if he were preparing some treachery. Jealousy, anger, contempt, are all
conflicting within me. I feel that I ought to go away, and still I feel
a, horrible delight in remaining."

"Poor child!" said Madame Desvarennes. "I pity you from my soul. Forgive
my unjust words; you have done all in your power. You have had momentary
weaknesses like all human beings. You must be helped, and may rely on me.
I will speak to your husband to-morrow; he shall take you away. Lacking
happiness, you must have peace. Go you are a brave heart, and if Heaven
be just, you will be rewarded."

Serge heard the sound of a kiss. In an embrace, the mother had blessed
her adopted daughter. Then the Prince saw Madame Desvarennes go slowly
past him. And the silence was broken only by the sobs of Jeanne who was
half lying on the sofa in the darkness.

CHAPTER XVI

THE TELLTALE KISS

Serge slipped from his hiding-place and came toward Jeanne. The carpet
deadened the sound of his steps. The young woman was gazing into vacancy
and breathing with difficulty. He looked at her for a moment without
speaking; then, leaning over her shoulder.

"Is it true, Jeanne," he murmured, softly, "that you hate me?"

Jeanne arose, bewildered, exclaiming,

"Serge!"

"Yes, Serge," answered the Prince, "who has never ceased to love you."

A deep blush spread over the young woman's face.

"Leave me," she said. "Your language is unworthy of a man. I will not
listen to you."

And with a quick step she walked toward the gallery. Serge threw himself
in her way, saying:

"You must stop; you cannot escape me."

"But this is madness," exclaimed Jeanne, moving away. "Do you forget
where we are?"

"Do you forget what you have just been saying?" retorted Serge. "I was
there; I