This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By GEORGES OHNET
The first two months of this union were truly enchanting. Serge andMicheline never left each other. After an absence of eight days they hadreturned to Paris with Madame Desvarennes, and the hitherto dull mansionin the Rue Saint-Dominique was filled with joyful bustle. The splendidstables, formerly too large for the mistress's three horses, were nowinsufficient for the service of the Prince. There were eight splendidcarriage-horses, a pair of charming ponies—bought especially forMicheline's use, but which the young wife had not been able to make upher mind to drive herself—four saddle-horses, upon which every morningabout eight o'clock, when the freshness of night had perfumed the Bois deBoulogne, the young people took their ride round the lake.
A bright sun made the sheet of water sparkle between its borders of darkfir-trees; the flesh air played in Micheline's veil, and the tawnyleather of the saddles creaked. Those were happy days for Micheline, whowas delighted at having Serge near her, attentive to her every want, andcontrolling his thoroughbred English horse to her gentle pace. Every nowand then his mount would wheel about and rear in revolt, she followinghim with fond looks, proud of the elegant cavalier who could subduewithout apparent effort, by the mere pressure of his thighs, thatimpetuous steed.
Then she would give her horse a touch with the whip, and off she would goat a gallop, feeling happy with the wind blowing in her face, and he whomshe loved by her side to smile on and encourage her. Then they wouldscamper along; the dog with his thin body almost touching the ground,racing and frightening the rabbits, which shot across the road swift asbullets. Out of breath by the violent ride, Micheline would stop, andpat the neck of her lovely chestnut horse. Slowly the young people wouldreturn to the Rue Saint-Dominique, and, on arriving in the courtyard,there was such a pawing of feet as brought the clerks to the windows,hiding behind the curtains. Tired with healthy exercise, Micheline wouldgo smiling to the office where her mother was hard at work, and say:
"Here we are, mamma!"
The mistress would rise and kiss her daughter beaming with freshness.
Then they would go up to breakfast.
Madame Desvarennes's doubts were lulled to rest. She saw her daughterhappy. Her son-in-law was in every respect cordial and charming towardher. Cayrol and his wife had scarcely been in Paris since theirmarriage. The banker had joined Herzog in his great scheme of the"Credit," and was travelling all over Europe establishing offices andsecuring openings. Jeanne accompanied him. They were then in Greece.The young wife's letters to her adopted mother breathed calmness andsatisfaction. She highly praised her husband's kindness to her, and saidit was unequalled.
No allusion was made to that evening of their marriage, when, escapingfrom Cayrol's wrath, she had thrown herself in Madame Desvarennes's arms,and had allowed her secret to be found out. The mistress might wellthink then that the thought which at times still troubled her mind was aremembrance of a bad dream.
What contributed especially to