s too cunning not to
know this, and Cayrol having declined to join him, he looked round in
search of a suitable person to inspire the shareholders with confidence.

His daughter often went to the Rue Saint-Dominique. Madame Desvarennes
and Micheline had taken a fancy to her, as she was serious, natural, and
homelike. They liked to see her, although her father was not congenial to
their taste. Herzog had not succeeded in making friends with the
mistress; she disliked and instinctively mistrusted him.

One day it was rumored that Suzanne Herzog had gone in for an examination
at the Hotel de Ville, and had gained a certificate: People thought it
was very ridiculous. What was the good of so much learning for a girl who
would have such a large fortune, and who would never know want. Savinien
thought it was affectation and most laughable! Madame Desvarennes thought
it was most interesting; she liked workers, and considered that the
richer people were, the more reason they had to work. Herzog had allowed
his daughter to please herself and said nothing.

Springtime had come, and fine weather, yet Micheline's health did not
improve. She did not suffer, but a sort of languor had come over her. For
days she never quitted her reclining-chair. She was very affectionate
toward her mother, and seemed to be making up for the lack of affection
shown during the first months of her marriage.

She never questioned Serge as to his manner of spending his time, though
she seldom saw him, except at meal hours. Every week she wrote to Pierre,
who was buried in his mines, and after every despatch her mother noticed
that she seemed sadder and paler.

Serge and Jeanne grew bolder. They felt that they were not watched. The
little house seemed too small for them, and they longed to go beyond the
garden, as the air of the Bois was so sweet and scented with violets. A
feeling of bravado came over them, and they did not mind being seen
together. People would think they were a newly-married couple.

One afternoon they sallied forth, Jeanne wearing a thick veil, and
trembling at the risk she was running, yet secretly delighted at going.
They chose the most unfrequented paths and solitary nooks. Then, after an
hour's stroll, they returned briskly, frightened at the sounds of
carriages rolling in the distance. They often went out after that, and
chose in preference the paths near the pond of Madrid where, behind
sheltering shrubs, they sat talking and