Madame Desvarennes flinched before her daughter. It was no longer the
weak Micheline who trusted to her tears, but a vehement woman ready to
defend him whom she loved. And as she remained silent, not daring to
speak again:

"Mother," continued Micheline, with sadness, yet firmly, "this
explanation was inevitable; I have suffered beforehand, knowing that I
should have to choose between my affection for my husband and my respect
for you."

"Between the one and the other," said the mistress, bitterly, "you don't
hesitate, I see."

"It is my duty; and if I failed in it, you yourself, with your good
sense, would see it."

"Oh! Micheline, could I have expected to find you thus?" cried the
mother, in despair. "What a change! It is not you who are speaking;
it is not my daughter. Fool that you are! Don't you see whither you
are being led? You, yourself, are preparing your own misfortune.
Don't think that my words are inspired by jealousy. A higher sentiment
dictates them, and at this moment my maternal love gives me, I fear, a
foresight of the future. There is only just time to rescue you from the
danger into which you are running. You hope to retain your husband by
your generosity? There where you think you are giving proofs of love he
will only see proofs of weakness. If you make yourself cheap he will
count you as nothing. If you throw yourself at his feet he will trample
on you."

The Princess shook her head haughtily, and smiled.