Four weeks later Odette's marriage took place.

Odette was right when she said Claude would find it impossible to prevent it. The only way in which it could have been done, would have been to tell Paul of that passionate love in Odette's heart; and Claude, of course, could not reveal her secret.

As time passed on, he became more accustomed to the idea; and resolving to see as little of Odette as possible in the future, and always to be formally ceremoniously reserved whenever he was obliged to meet her, he was forced to let things take their course.

Among the witnesses to the ceremony was Grenoble, Claude's most intimate friend. He is celebrated for his sparkling, witty conversation in all the salons of Paris. For twenty-five years, he was one of that noble army of martyrs who fling themselves before the Juggernaut car of art. His genius as a sculptor made him famous, but left him to starve.

We often think that genius is all that is necessary to win fame and riches, and we are usually right as regards painting and literature; but it is different with music and sculpture.

When an earnest, talented sculptor is poor, his life is one long torture. His only income is what he occasionally receives for some small statuette, which the dealers condescend to buy—merely an aggravation, when, like Grenoble, one's imagination is teeming with grand statues, immortal works of art.

There are fanatics in art as well as in religion. His advanced, republican ideas made him the enemy of the reigning government, and, in spite of the solicitations of his friends who recognized his genius, no minister would give him an order. As a member of the Imperial Cabinet said to Claude one day, as he was arguing for Grenoble: "But, my dear Claude, do you not see that it is as much as we can do to reward our friends? You would not have us lavish money and commissions on our enemies!"

With the Republic came honor, fame and wealth to Grenoble. But it was too late. He had lived in poverty for so many years that he had become accustomed to it, and would not leave the little studio in Claude's house, to which he had become so attached. He repaid Claude's hospitality by presenting him from time to time with some noble statue, or an exquisite bronze; and he was always ready to give his friend sincere and valuable advice on any subject.

He advised Paul not to go to Italy or Spain on his wedding-trip. "There is no need to go so far away to find glorious scenery and grand cathedrals. Go to Bordeaux and, taking the south-eastern railroad, stop at Albi, with its magnificent cathedral, then at Montauban, one of the most picturesquely situated towns in the world; then at Toulouse, the former capital of southern France, full of grand, old palaces, half buried under piles of rubbish, and worthy of a long visit. As you come nearer the Mediterranean, stop at Carcassonne,—you will imagine you are living in the thirteenth century while you are there. Narbonne comes next, the old Roman colony; then Nismes, with its Roman amphitheatre; Montpellier, with its fine museums; and then you arrive, once more, at the beautiful shores of the Mediterranean."

This trip pleased both Paul and Odette, and accepting Grenoble's advice, they left for Bordeaux. Paul was in heaven. Odette was his wife! That glorious splendor of hair, those deep, dark eyes, that perfect form; all belonged to him, and he never tired of gazing at her. His love for her was complete. He loved her with his whole heart and his mind. And yet he sought to know her thoughts, to study the workings of her heart and imagination, for a worm was gnawing at his heart, one thought was tormenting him incessantly,—the thought of that other, of that man whom she had loved before! However, he believed she had forgotten him; she was so gentle, so loving and sweet. One night, while she was sleeping, he raised himself on his elbow to look at her by the pale light of the night-lamp. How infinitely lovely she looked as she lay there so quietly, and how inexpressibly sad it was that another had stolen into her heart before him! He gazed at that beautiful face in its frame of golden hair, her exquisite teeth shining between her moist lips. She opened her eyes under his burning gaze, and smiling sweetly, said, "You were looking at me asleep?" She could not help being pleased and touched at the adoration and humble worship that Paul lavished at her feet. She had been studying him since her marriage, and was astonished at the cultivation his mind had received. He could discuss painting, sculpture and poetry, as if he were himself a painter or a poet. He understood his chosen profession, law, as not one lawyer in a thousand does. His frank, beautiful eyes, and fine profile, made him remarkably handsome, and his goodness of heart was constantly being shown in numberless little instances. No poor person could apply to him in vain. Many a time had Odette surprised him in that simple, quiet charity that pleases most on high.

One evening, Paul sat down at the piano and sang in a charming, cultivated voice, a little Russian song.

Odette cried, "And are you a musician, too? You have every talent!"

"I have only one, and that is to love my wife."

She sprang to him and embraced him, saying, "I love you, dear Paul." And no one would have suspected that she was saying to herself, "I must love him; he is worthy of my whole heart."

So time passed on. They had been traveling now for a couple of months, and, as February approached, they decided to return to Carqueirannes for a few weeks. Odette was changing gradually; growing gentler, sweeter and more loving, as the days drifted by in such dreamy tranquillity. After nights of feverish anxiety and sleepless despair, came this refreshing peace. Every day she grew happier, and more affectionately disposed towards her husband. The hours seemed to have wings. Mornings, they would stroll into the country, or explore the depths of the forest, as light-hearted and gay as two little children. Paul would stop from time to time to wreathe flowers in her hair. Suddenly, in front of them they would see the Mediterranean, and would sit down on the fresh grass to enjoy the lovely scene. Neither would say a word, but would listen to the voices of the forest. The birds, singing and chattering as they flew from branch to branch; the trees, nodding to each other as if they had some secrets to impart; the insects, buzzing and hiding in the grass and moss; the continual murmur that Nature has in her solitude, all combined to intoxicate the young couple. Sometimes Odette would spring up, saying: "The idyl has lasted long enough this morning. Let us go and get some lunch." So they would return, laughing and gay, for Odette was gay from morning till night in this new life. After lunch they would have music, and the rest of the day would pass so quickly that when night spread her dark mantle over the earth, they could hardly refrain from exclaiming, "What! already!"

Ah! if Paul had only had the key to her heart! But he was too passionately in love to notice the delicate shades of her character. He did not see that her nervous, feverish restlessness was slowly leaving her for ever. But he occasionally seemed to feel an intuition of something of the kind, for one night he said: "You remind me of that story in the Arabian Nights, where the only cure for the sick woman was marriage. You came to me an invalid, but when we return home you will be strong and well."

Odette started and grew pale. She felt she was not cured yet, but only on the road to health, and was sad and thoughtful for a few minutes. Her new happiness soon restored her cheerfulness, and the day passed as pleasantly as usual. The next day they strolled down to the beach and were soon in the midst of the immense rocks and boulders that the waves have dashed against for centuries.

Odette said: "Do you know what day of the month it is?"

"No."

"To-day is Thursday, the twelfth of February. Do you not remember it was the twelfth, and a Thursday, when you first spoke to me of love?" She added, "Would you have killed yourself, if I had refused your offer?"

"Do you doubt it?"

"No; but I was thinking that I am not worthy of such love. No one ought to throw away his life for a woman. And you, just entering life, would you have destroyed all your hopes and dreams of the future for such a weak creature as I am?"

Paul shuddered as he replied: "You do not love me as I love you: or you would understand that there is no medium—either the bliss of possession, or the consolation of death; and if I thought you would ever cease to love me, I—"

"What would you do?" she said, looking almost haughtily at him.

"I would dash you to death now, against these rocks!"

"Dear, dear Paul!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms, subdued by his cry of jealous fury.

This was the happiest day since their marriage. They revelled in the glorious sunshine of this southern Spring that sends the blood dancing through the veins, and fills the heart with happiness and joy. They were late in returning home, as they lunched at a little wayside inn, like a couple of merry young students. Paul found a letter from Paris awaiting him on his return, and glanced over it while Odette was dressing for dinner. It was from Mme. Sirvin, who complained of their long wanderings. She said it seemed a year since the marriage, and begged them to come home soon. She was hoping to be so happy with her dear son with her once more! for, it had been arranged that "the children" were to live at home, and their rooms had long been ready for their arrival. She had had some trouble to reconcile Claude to this plan, as he did not think the young couple would like it very much. Odette, perhaps, wished for a separate establishment; but no where could she be more at home than with her parents, in their large and elegant mansion on the avenue.

Paul read the letter through again, and admired the delicate thoughtfulness of his step-father for Odette's slightest wishes. He was delighted with his mother's plan, and saw no reason why it would not be charming in every respect. His unreasonable jealousy had separated him from her for so long, and he was so tenderly fond and proud of her, that the idea of living once more in the same house, pleased him beyond measure. When Odette returned, he gave her the letter, saying, "Here is some good news for us." As she read Mme. Sirvin's offer of a home, she trembled, and it required all her strength to keep from showing her agitation.

"Well, what do you say?" said Paul, smiling.

"I say—that M. Sirvin is right. I should not like it at all to live with them."

"I thought you would say so; but read on. My mother says we can be as free as we could be any where. We have the whole of the second story to ourselves, with separate table and entrance, and need never see the Sirvins if we do not wish to."

"I thought, perhaps, we could travel for a longer time."

"But, dearest Odette, we must settle down some time, and here is a charming nest all prepared for us. Besides, I can not study or write while we live as we have been living lately."

Odette was in despair. She, like Claude, was struggling in vain against this dangerous plan. And she, like him, would be forced to submit to circumstances, unless she wished to excite suspicion. As she was silent, Paul supposed she was convinced.

"You agree with me?" he said.

"Not at all," she replied; "I implore you to refuse your mother's offer."

"You implore me! That is too formidable a word for such a simple matter. You do not wish to live with my mother? I love you too much to refuse you any thing, Odette; but it will be a great sacrifice to me. I hoped to regain those four years of happiness that I have lost. It would be a wonderful pleasure to be always near her; but, since you think otherwise, we will give up the idea. It is a little curious that both you and Claude should oppose the plan."

This union of her name with Claude's frightened her, and, interrupting him hastily, she said: "I see now how selfish it would be to oppose it any longer. You can write your mother that you accept." As Paul thanked her with a tender embrace, she continued: "But not just yet! Let us have another month or so of this sweet, idle life. Not just yet."

"We will stay as long as you please. You shall fix the day yourself for our return to civilization."

The shadows cleared away from her face. Instinctively she clung to Paul; but he only saw an expression of tender affection in what was really the appeal to him for protection and help.

So their former pleasant life was resumed, and the days passed as happily as before. Towards the end of February, Paul proposed to go to Italy, stopping at Nice. But Odette said, "No." She did not wish to leave Carqueirannes, where they were so happy. Finally, one day, about the middle of March, Paul found her emptying closets, etc., and asked the reason.

She replied, "I am getting ready to have the trunks packed. You left it to me to fix the day for our return, you know, and I have decided upon to-morrow. Only, I wish to stop one day in Dijon, to see my old cousin, Anna. I will arrange everything; now you can go and smoke your cigar in the garden, for you will be in my way."

"All right; I obey; but first, my reward." Odette smiled, and offered him her fresh, sweet lips. He seemed disposed to linger over them, but she pushed him gently aside and then sent him off. She followed him with her eyes and exclaimed, with an indescribable air of triumph and pride, "I love him! He is good; he is handsome; he is intelligent. I love him at last!"

And she could have shouted aloud in her joy. She had shaken off the old love, and she felt free from its degrading chains. Now she was safe. She could return to Paris serene and calm. What did it matter where she lived now? She was at peace with herself and all the world. She would at first see as little of Claude as possible, and never would have any more to do with him than was necessary for appearances.