One day it was rumored that Suzanne Herzog had gone in for an examination
at the Hotel de Ville, and had gained a certificate: People thought it
was very ridiculous. What was the good of so much learning for a girl
who would have such a large fortune, and who would never know want.
Savinien thought it was affectation and most laughable! Madame
Desvarennes thought it was most interesting; she liked workers, and
considered that the richer people were, the more reason they had to work.
Herzog had allowed his daughter to please herself and said nothing.

Springtime had come, and fine weather, yet Micheline's health did not
improve. She did not suffer, but a sort of languor had come over her.
For days she never quitted her reclining-chair. She was very
affectionate toward her mother, and seemed to be making up for the lack
of affection shown during the first months of her marriage.

She never questioned Serge as to his manner of spending his time, though
she seldom saw him, except at meal hours. Every week she wrote to
Pierre, who was buried in his mines, and after every despatch her mother
noticed that she seemed sadder and paler.

Serge and Jeanne grew bolder. They felt that they were not watched.
The little house seemed too small for them, and they longed to go beyond
the garden, as the air of the Bois was so sweet and scented with violets.
A feeling of bravado came over them, and they did not mind being seen
together. People would think they were a newly-married couple.

One afternoon they sallied forth, Jeanne wearing a thick veil, and
trembling at the risk she was running, yet secretly delighted at going.
They chose the most unfrequented paths and solitary nooks. Then, after
an hour's stroll, they returned briskly, frightened at the sounds of