ho would sacrifice everything for you, as I would for
Serge, and yet you have not thrown yourself at his feet! You have not
offered your life as the price of your lover's! And you say that you
love him!"

"Ah!" stammered Jeanne, distracted. "You wish me to save him for you!"

"Is that the cry of your heart?" said Micheline, with crushing disdain.
"Well, see what I am ready to do. If, to remove your jealous fears, it
is necessary to sacrifice myself, I swear to you that if Serge be saved,
he shall be perfectly free, and I will never see him again!"

Micheline, chaste and calm, with hands raised to Heaven, seemed to grow
taller and nobler. Jeanne, trembling and overpowered, looked at her
rival with a painful effort, and murmured, softly:

"Would you do that?"

"I would do more!" said the lawful wife, bending before the mistress. "I
ought to hate you, and I kneel at your feet and beseech you to listen
to me. Do what I ask you and I will forgive you and bless you. Do not
hesitate! Follow me! Let us throw ourselves at the feet of him whom you
have outraged. His generosity cannot be less than ours, and to us,
who sacrifice our love, he will not be able to refuse to sacrifice his
vengeance."

This greatness and goodness awaked feelings in Jeanne's heart which she
thought dead. She was silent for a moment and then her breast heaved
with convulsive sobs, and she fell helpless into the arms which
Micheline, full of pity, held out to her.

"Forgive me," moaned the unhappy woman. "I am conquered. Your rights are
sacred, and you have just made them still more so. Keep Serge: with you
he will once more become honest and happy, because, if your love is not
greater than mine, it is nobler and purer."

The two women went hand in hand to try to save the man whom they both
adored.

All this time Serge remained in the little drawing-room enjoying the
hope of returning peace. It was sweet to him, after the troubles he had
gone through. He had not the slightest suspicion of the scene in the
adjoining room between Jeanne and Micheline. The fond heroism of his
wife and the self-denial of his mistress were unknown to him.

Time was passing. At least an hour had sped since Micheline left him to
go to her mother, and Serge was beginning to think that the interview
was very long, when a light step made him tremble. It came from the
gallery. He thought it was Micheline, and opening the door, he went to
meet her.

He drew back disappoi