After leaving the villa, Paul's only thought was to hasten to his mother to tell her of his happiness. He engaged a carriage, and promising a handful of silver to the driver, was soon galloping over the sandy, dusty road to HyÈres. He was to marry Odette! The wind was blowing almost a gale, the surf dashed furiously against the rocks, the sand was blown up into fantastic wreaths, whirling along the road; the branches of the trees were tossing wildly above him, and the carriage was dashing madly along, enveloped in a cloud of dust. Life seemed to him too short for his happiness! Odette had accepted him! God was good, and life was bliss!

Paul found his mother alone. Claude with his usual sympathetic instinct had gone "to hunt up a landscape," leaving the mother to welcome her son after four years of separation. If they would leave the address, he would follow them on his return.

"You love her, and she loves you," said Mme. Sirvin, after an hour or so spent in conversation. "I am not jealous, dear. I know that our hearts are large enough to contain two boundless affections at the same time. I know you are convinced that she is the most beautiful, the most charming, the most accomplished being in the world. I am satisfied. I know that you are incapable of loving any one unworthy of you. Claude has already told me of your complete surrender."

"My step-father has been an angel to me to-day. Tell him that I seal my gratitude by embracing you."

Elaine Sirvin might have posed for the Venus of Milo. There was absolutely nothing to criticize in her faultless face and figure. Her beautiful blonde hair was wound like a crown around her queenly head. Her large eyes were as pure and blue as a mountain lake; her delicate, sweet mouth, fresh as a ripe peach; her exquisite profile—twenty times had Claude commenced to paint this ideal beauty, and twenty times had he abandoned the half-finished portrait, saying his genius was not equal to such a model.

Paul left directions for Claude to follow them, and set out with his mother for the villa. As they only spoke of Odette, the ride seemed very short to him; he looked neither to right nor left, and yet the scene was well worthy of attention. The wind had died away; the air was clear and perfumed; the sky shone soft as an opal, and the Mediterranean lay before them in silvery loveliness. Paul noticed nothing, not even a shadowy form that started from the rocks as the carriage approached and came towards it; but, as he happened to speak just then to his driver, the vague, white shadow stopped, and, turning, disappeared.

It was Odette. Ten minutes before this, she had complained of a sudden headache, and refusing her sister's offers of aid, said she was going down to the beach, and would soon return. Her father remarked that it would be more polite to remain to receive the expected guests; but saying they would excuse her, as she was indisposed, she sauntered down to the beach. She sat down on a rock near the road, and recalled the past. The sea moaned and murmured softly at her feet. Above her lay the vast expanse of deep blue sky, while in her heart raged a tempest of sorrow and passionate despair.

She saw, as in a dream, the little ivy-clad cottage where she had spent that month at Pornic; and, then, the day when she was strolling by the sea and met the friends who introduced her to Claude Sirvin. Ah! those eyes! so full of genius and fascination! At the first glance Odette felt she was conquered. Violent were her struggles against this sudden passion; but all were in vain. Her heart had found its master. Claude soon discovered her love, and returned it in his way. He had come to Pornic for some "sea effects," and as he daily went out to sketch, they were constantly meeting. As all looked up to the great painter with wondering admiration, Odette's infatuation was not noticed by her friends. Claude's love for her was ephemeral, though bright while it lasted; and, when, one morning he received a despatch announcing his wife's sudden illness at Paris, he left immediately, leaving a short letter of excuses for Odette.

"She will forget me soon," he thought to himself. But she had never forgotten him. She soon learned the truth through her friends and by her own womanly instinct. At first, she hated his wife; but soon repented of her injustice in this. She never expected to marry; but when Paul consented to make her his wife, knowing of her former infatuation, and make her the daughter-in-law of the man she loved, she hailed it as a means of escape from her misery. Revolving these things in her mind, Odette sat alone by the sea. She had completely forgotten the villa and Paul's arrival.

Mme. Sirvin readily excused Odette's absence by her sudden illness, and the thought never came to Paul that she could do anything that called for an excuse.

As he was quietly dreaming in a chair on the terrace, a little hand took his, and a sweet voice cried, "M. Frager! I am very glad to meet you again."

Paul stared at Germaine with the greatest astonishment.

"Will you not walk with me in the garden?"

"With pleasure. I have not forgotten our meeting at Naples, and your kindness to me there."

"My aunt is dead, and I have returned home, to be with my father and sister."

"Is it possible that you are Odette's sister? Why, of course, the name of Laviguerie,—I might have known"——

Germaine noticed that even her name had escaped his memory.

"Yes," she continued, "I am soon to be your sister-in-law. You did not know that when you saw me last!"

If the moon had shone under the trees, as it shone on the sea and the rocks, it would have sparkled on the tears falling from her eyes.

They strolled around the garden, and as they returned, Paul remarked, "How surprised Odette will be."

"But, my dear friend, she must never know we have ever met before."

"Not know"——

"I am afraid I can not explain myself clearly; but you know we always sent each other a letter every day. As it happened, at the time of your visit, my aunt was not very well, so I did not have the leisure to write as fully as usual. You must excuse me, but afterwards, the little incident quite escaped my memory; and I am afraid now, if Odette hears of it for the first time, she will be a little annoyed. Please do not mention it to her."

"Certainly not."

"Thank you; and do not smile at my anxiety to avoid causing Odette any uneasiness."

Odette, meanwhile, was gazing sadly at the sea; suddenly she heard the sound of carriage wheels. It must be Claude! Her heart beat loud and fast. The carriage approached in the moonlight, and Odette shuddered as she recognized him. When the horses were within a few steps, she called, "Stop!" in such a tone of command that, involuntarily, the driver drew rein. Then advancing to the astonished Claude, she said, "It is I!"

"You!"

He left the carriage; the driver, turning around, drove off.

They were alone. Nothing but the sea and the rocks to listen to their words.

"Did your step-son give you the name of the young lady he is to marry?"

"No; he seemed to prefer waiting until he was sure of her consent."

"She is before you!"

"You!"

Claude seemed overwhelmed at this revelation; finally he said, "But you know it is impossible!"

"Why?"

He did not reply, so she continued:

"Because I have loved you? Your step-son knows it; that is, he knows that I have loved before. He forgave me, for he has a noble heart. So I can never marry? My life is to be blasted for ever? I can not marry a man that I, at least, esteem and admire? But how will he ever know you were my first love? You are incapable of the cowardice of betraying my secret, and no one else knows it."

"But it would be wrong to marry the son, after having loved the father."

She parted her hair which had fallen over her pale face, and, gazing fixedly at him, said:

"After having loved you? I love you still! I have struggled to forget, but in vain. The thought of you is always gnawing, gnawing at my heart. At the idea of becoming your daughter, I shouted in my joy, for I was saved! Duty will succeed where every thing else has failed, and I shall be free from this disgraceful love which is my despair!"

As her dark eyes flamed in their anguish, Claude hesitated, then repeated:

"This marriage shall never take place."

"Who will prevent it?"

"I will."

"You can not! I defy you to do your utmost. You can not prevent it now!"