Odette was beaming with joy at the thought of her darling sister, so soon to be with her. Her important interview with Paul had sobered her for awhile; but, now, she was only thinking of how happy she was. Her head was full of plans for the amusement of "darling Germaine," and she chattered on to her father, the picture of hope and happiness. Laviguerie said, "You are exquisitely lovely to-day, my child;" and, as she said gayly, "Just wait till you have seen Germaine—she will eclipse me and every body else!" the philosopher felt a jealous pang as he thought, "How she worships her!"
Odette had hastened their starting to such an extent that they had now over half an hour to wait. Her father sat down quietly in the shade of the little white station, while Odette walked impatiently up and down the platform, asking the men around anxiously, if the train was not late—consulting her watch a dozen times at least, and comparing it with the big clock over the door. Finally, she said to herself, she would walk six times around the building, and had just accomplished the third circuit, when she heard the shrill whistle of the locomotive. She sprang to the edge of the platform, and looked eagerly down the track. She saw the train far away, skirting the shore of the Mediterranean, with its white plume of steam floating in the air. These three or four minutes seemed an eternity. Finally, the train stopped before her, a door opened, and a young lady stepped out, followed by her waiting-maid.
The young traveler had no time to look around her before Odette was embracing her; they cried "Odette!" "Germaine!" and crying and laughing at the same time, they embraced again and again. M. Laviguerie looked on, more affected than he would have supposed possible. Germaine had changed so completely from the delicate, nervous child he remembered. Her black, abundant hair was drawn back from her broad, noble brow, where purity and dignity seemed to reign. She had grown tall, was very finely proportioned, and her large, gray eyes only added to the general impression of sincerity and sweet refinement.
The two sisters were lost in their examination and admiration of each other,—they paid no attention to the train steaming past, to the baggage piled up around them, nor to M. Laviguerie standing impatiently near them. He finally interrupted them by saying, "Isn't it my turn now?" and as Germaine came to him, he kissed her almost affectionately, then leading them to the carriage, he left them, saying, "I will walk home, after sending your maid and your luggage in the omnibus."
The sisters were alone in the carriage. They only stopped embracing to embrace again,—they had so many years to make up! At last, Odette said, "Dear Germaine, you are so beautiful! Your photographs never showed the lovely soul looking out through your eyes! Oh! if you only knew how happy I am."
And as Germaine sighed, "I know you are sad over Mme. Rozan's death—forgive me, please, for seeming to rejoice at what is your sorrow!"
"There is nothing to forgive, my darling Odette," replied Germaine. "But you know, for eleven years, Mme. Rozan has been the kindest, sweetest, most loving and devoted of mothers to me." And leaning her head against Odette's shoulder, she wept softly, while Odette caressed her tenderly. They soon drove up the avenue to the villa, and Germaine tried to control her emotion, as she saw that it grieved her sister, and besides, she was to meet strangers at the house. Odette smiled and said, "You will soon have the pleasure of being introduced to M. and Mme. Descoutures. That will cheer you up somewhat; and to add to your happiness, you will meet the 'venerable Mme. Bricourt' and her 'admirable son.'"
Germaine could not help smiling as she replied, "I know them now, from your descriptions, as well as if I had been living here with you." They entered the house. Corinne met them smiling, and appearing to admire Germaine exceedingly; as they passed through the drawing-room, Germaine noticed a small gentleman bowing to her in the shadow of the curtains. She answered his salutation, but Corinne said, naïvely, "Oh, never mind him, that is only my husband." This was the introduction of the master of the house to the oldest daughter of his most intimate friend.
When Odette and Germaine were finally alone in their room, Odette locked the doors, and seating her sister on the sofa, she sat down at her feet, on the carpet. "Now, darling," she commenced, "how much we have to tell each other! One can not write about everything, you know. With your wonderful beauty you must have set many a heart on fire. I have always heard, too, the Italians were very inflammable."
"I never went into society at all, you know."