oth money-bag and heart had been placed at Mademoiselle de Cernay's
feet. This strange girl was certainly destined to millions. She had just
missed being Madame Desvarennes's heiress, and now Cayrol had taken it
into his head to marry her.

But that was not all. And when Marechal told Savinien that the fair
Jeanne flatly refused to become the wife of Cayrol, there was an
outburst of joyful exclamations. She refused! By Jove, she was mad! An
unlooked-for marriage--for she had not a penny, and had most extravagant
notions. She had been brought up as if she were to live always in velvet
and silks--to loll in carriages and think only of her pleasure. What
reason did she give for refusing him! None. Haughtily and disdainfully
she had declared that she did not love "that man," and that she would
not marry him.

When Savinien heard these details his rapture increased. One thing
especially charmed him: Jeanne's saying "that man," when speaking of
Cayrol. A little girl who was called "De Cernay" just as he might call
himself "Des Batignolles" if he pleased: the natural and unacknowledged
daughter of a Count and of a shady public singer! And she refused
Cayrol, calling him "that man." It was really funny. And what did worthy
Cayrol say about it?

When Marechal declared that the banker had not been damped by this
discouraging reception, Savinien said it was human nature. The fair
Jeanne scorned Cayrol and Cayrol adored her. He had often seen those
things happen. He knew the baggages so well! Nobody knew more of women
than he did. He had known some more difficult to manage than proud
Mademoiselle Jeanne.

An old leaven of hatred had festered in Savinien's heart against Jeanne
since the time when the younger branch of the Desvarennes had reason
to fear that the superb heritage was going to the adopted daughter.
Savinien had lost the fear, but had kept up the animosity. And
everything that could happen to Jeanne of a vexing or painful nature
would be witnessed by him with pleasure.

He was about to encourage Marechal to continue his revelations, and had
risen and was leaning on the desk. With his face excited and eager, he
was preparing his question, when, through the door which led to Madame
Desvarennes's office, a confused murmur of voices was heard. At the
same time the door was half opened, held by a woman's hand, square, with
short fingers, a firm-willed and energetic hand. At the same time,
the last words exchanged betwee