"What do I care if I am the second in your heart? I will surround you with such divine tenderness, such glowing passion, that you can not help loving me."
Odette's firmness returned. She was on the point of saying No, when Paul interrupted her.
"You would be so happy with me. My family would worship you almost as I do. You know how I love my mother. She is beautiful, good, and the most cultivated woman I ever knew. I have never spoken of my step-father, because—because until to-day I had the greatest dislike for him. But I always acknowledged his great genius. You have admired his paintings a hundred times—Claude Sirvin. My family, you see, is worthy of even you."
Paul stopped, startled at Odette's sudden pallor. If a bomb-shell had exploded at her feet, it would not have shocked her as did this name of Claude Sirvin. Her teeth chattered. The young man cried:
"My God! Odette! what is the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing; a dizziness merely." Her will-power was very strong, evidently, as she regained self-possession almost immediately, and, smiling faintly: "You see, it is nothing!" And, as he was about to speak, she said: "If you will leave me alone three minutes, I will give you my final answer. Go down to the foot of the garden, and back."
"And you will tell me——?"
She smiled and pointed to the door. Hardly had he disappeared, when her features became gloomy, and the line in her forehead deepened. "I, the daughter-in-law of Claude Sirvin!" then started as if frightened at the sound of her own voice. She seemed torn by conflicting emotions. Suddenly, as if to put an end to her indecision, she sprang to the door and ran after Paul. "Paul," she almost screamed to him. The young man was slowly returning up the garden walk. At the sound of her voice, he sprang to her. Odette grasped his hand:
"Swear that you will forget my confession."
"I solemnly swear it."