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."