moment's delay."

She sent this ominous letter to the young man, who was then in Tripoli.
That done, she returned to her business as if nothing had happened. Her
placid face did not once betray the anguish of her heart during those
three weeks.

The term fixed by Madame Desvarennes with the Prince had expired that
morning. And the severity with which the mistress had received the
Minister of War's Financial Secretary was a symptom of the agitation in
which the necessity of coming to a decision placed Micheline's mother.
Every morning for the last week she had expected Pierre to arrive. What
with having to give an answer to the Prince as she had promised, and the
longing to see him whom she loved as a son, she felt sick at heart and
utterly cast down. She thought of asking the Prince for a respite. It was
for that reason she was glad to see Cayrol.

The latter, therefore, had arrived opportunely. He looked as if he
brought startling news. By a glance he drew Madame Desvarennes's
attention to Marechal and seemed to say:

"I must be alone with you; send him away."

The mistress understood, and with a decided gesture said:

"You can speak before Marechal; he knows all my affairs as well as I do
myself."

"Even the matter that brings me here?" replied Cayrol, with surprise.

"Even that. It was necessary for me to have some one to whom I could
speak, or else my heart would have burst! Come, do your errand. The
Prince?"

"A lot it has to do with the Prince," exclaimed Cayrol, in a huff.
"Pierre has arrived!"

Madame Desvarennes rose abruptly. A rush of blood rose to her face, her
eyes brightened, and her lips opened with a smile.

"At last!" she cried. "But where is he? How did you hear of his return?"

"Ah! faith, it was just by chance. I was shooting yesterday at
Fontainebleau, and I returned this morning by the express. On arriving at
Paris, I alighted on the platform, and there I found myself face to face
with a tall young man with a long beard, who, seeing me pass, called out,
'Ah, Cayrol!' It was Pierre. I only recognized him by his voice. He is
much changed; with his beard, and his complexion bronzed like an
African."

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing. He pressed my hand. He looked at me for a moment with
glistening eyes. There was something on his lips which he longed to ask,
yet did not; but I guessed it. I was afraid of giving way to tenderness,
that might have ended in my saying something fooli