money? What has become of your Russian? Has he left you, your Cossack?"
When she recognised the voice of Max, Madame de Piennes had at first been almost as much astonished as Arsène. Her surprise had prevented her from showing herself immediately; then she had begun to reflect whether to show herself or not, and when one reflects and listens at the same time, one does not decide quickly. The consequence was that she heard the edifying dialogue which I have just reported; but then she recognised that if she were to remain in the alcove she was exposed to the necessity of hearing more. She decided upon her course, and stepped into the chamber with the calm and dignified bearing which a self-possessed woman rarely loses, and which she commands at need.
"Max," she said, "you are injuring that poor girl; leave the room. Come and talk with me in an hour."
Max had turned as pale as death when Madame de Piennes appeared in the last place in the world where he would have expected to meet her; his first impulse was to obey, and he took a step toward the door.
"You are going!—don't go!" cried Arsène, raising herself in her bed with an effort of despair.
