og, he is at the mercy of my husband, who has sworn
to ruin him."

"Your husband!"

"Yes, he is his rival. If you could ruin me, would you not do it?" said
Jeanne.

"You!" retorted Micheline, passionately. "Do you think I am going to
worry about you? Serge is my first thought. You say you came to warn
him. What must be done?"

"Without a moment's delay he must go away!"

A strange suspicion crossed Micheline's mind. She approached Jeanne, and
looking earnestly at her, said:

"He must go away without delay, eh? And it is you, braving everything,
without a thought of the trouble you leave behind you, who come to warn
him? Ah! you mean to go with him?"

Jeanne hesitated a moment. Then, boldly and impudently, defying and
almost threatening the legitimate wife:

"Well, yes, I wish to! Enough of dissimulation! I love him!" she
exclaimed.

Micheline, transfigured by passion, strong, and ready for a struggle,
threw herself in Jeanne's way, with arms outstretched, as if to prevent
her going to Serge.

"Well!" she said; "try to take him from me!"

"Take him from you!" answered Jeanne, laughing like a mad woman. "To
whom does he most belong? To the woman who was as ignorant of his love
as she was of his danger; who could do nothing toward his happiness, and
can do nothing for his safety? Or to the mistress who has sacrificed her
honor to please him and risks her safety to save him?"

"Ah! wretch!" cried Micheline, "to invoke your infamy as a right!"

"Which of us has taken him from the other?" continued Jeanne, forgetting
respect, modesty, everything. "Do you know that he loved me before he
married you? Do you know that he abandoned me for you--for your money, I
should say? Now, do you wish to weigh what I have suffered with what you
suffer? Shall we make out a balance-sheet of our tears? Then, you will
be able to tell which of us he has loved more, and to whom he really
belongs."

Micheline had listened to this furious address almost in a state of
stupor, and replied, vehemently:

"What matter who triumphs if his ruin is certain. Selfish creatures that
we are, instead of disputing about his love, let us unite in saving
him! You say he must go away! But flight is surely an admission of
guilt--humiliation and obscurity in a strange land. And that is what you
advise, because you hope to share that miserable existence with him.
You are urging him on to dishonor. His fate is in the hands of a man
who adores you, w