Grenoble repeated his advice about the Danae at breakfast and dinner, again and again, until all had become so accustomed to the idea, that Odette's disinclination seemed almost childish. Claude sincerely thought (he was always sincere), that perhaps he could get free from her haunting image, if he could once get it fairly on the canvas.
So Claude yielded, Odette yielded, and the result was, that one pleasant afternoon in April, they were sitting alone in the studio. It was quite warm in the room. On a table near by, some pastilles were burning to perfume the smoke-laden air. Buried in an arm-chair, her head posed according to directions, Odette lay lost in thought, her eye gazing at vacancy. Around her the thousand and one curious objects to be found in all studios—here a pile of armor glistening in the sun, there some drapery thrown carelessly over an easel; every where frames and pictures of all shapes and sizes. She was posing in a low-necked dress to show her throat fully; around her neck a heavy pearl necklace—Danae's pearls, her first temptation. They had not spoken for more than two hours. At first Odette had taken a large Spanish knife in her hand, playing with it to hide her nervousness somewhat; but it dropped from her fingers, and she sat quiet, staring at vacancy, trying to control her wildly beating heart. She would rather die than let him see the intense agitation this tête-à-tête was causing her.
Claude commenced to paint with great energy; but the sweet intoxication of her presence gradually mounted to his brain. He had just completed the face, when the necklace slipped on her neck. He rose, and, speaking for the first time in two hours, said: "If you will allow me, I will—" As he approached, she looked at him. Did he see the love in her eyes? or, was he conquered by his own passion? His fingers had just touched the necklace, when he seized her passionately in his arms, and, kissing her bare white throat, he murmured: "I love you." At one bound she was on her feet. She escaped from his arms, haggard and trembling. She extended her hand to protect herself, and the large knife she still held struck his cheek, making a slight wound which began to bleed. Then Odette, with a cry of horror, fled from the room.
Claude did not follow her. He stood where she had left him, mechanically wiping away the drops of blood from his cheek. He seemed to see clearly now, and for the first time, that this passion for Odette was the one love of his whole life; all else had been nothing in comparison. Did she love him? He could not decide. While he was thus reflecting, time was passing. He heard the noise of a carriage being driven to the door, and, looking out of the window, he saw Odette and her husband get into it. One of the servants placed a small trunk beside the driver, the gate was opened, and the coupé drove off. So she was going away. He was seized with the utmost anxiety, for, if Odette had proclaimed his rashness, he knew well that his wife would despise him ever after. But gradually his love again gained the ascendancy, and he said to himself the next hour would decide his fate. Either Odette had left forever with her husband, or else she had invented some trivial excuse to leave home for a short time, showing she was afraid of her own weakness, and this fear would prove that she returned Claude's love. He seated himself on the sofa, burying his face in his hands, while his heart was torn with love and remorse. Night came on gradually, until all was dark outside, as his heart was, it being covered with the black pall of his disgraceful passion. He did not reflect that this woman he loved was the daughter-in-law of her who bore his name! At first he almost wished that Odette had left his house to return no more. He supposed that, if they never met again, he could conquer this love in time. But as the hours passed, his former thoughts returned to him, and he would have bought with his life's blood the assurance that he would soon see Odette again. When he heard the outside door open, and distinguished Paul's voice, he uttered a cry of joy. The young man came up to the studio almost immediately. "Why, you are in the dark!" he exclaimed, "Odette must have been sitting for you when her cousin's telegram was brought to her. I wished to go with her to Dijon, but she said it was quite unnecessary."
As the studio was so dark, Paul could not see Claude's excitement.
He asked almost unconsciously: "What train did she take?"
"The accommodation train. She will not reach Dijon till midnight. I tried to persuade her to wait for the eight o'clock express, but she wished to start as soon as possible. So she has gone."
Claude was not mistaken. Odette was fleeing from him and from herself. When she escaped from the studio, she hurried to her room, with his kiss still burning on her neck. It seemed as if she must be branded there, and every one would see the mark. Again she said, "I am lost," as she had said it a few weeks ago. And she was lost. The curse had come upon her, and she could not escape her destiny. But her conscience filled her with contempt and disgust for her own self. A voice seemed to cry, "Flee! flee for your life!" but where? and with whom? She never thought that her only safety now was in her husband; that she must confess every thing to him, and flee with him far, far away, never, never to return. She did not know that this was her last chance. She only felt the necessity of flight for to-day. She thought not of the morrow. Her mind formed a dozen plans. Finally, she decided, and trying to regain self-possession, she went to her husband's room.
Paul was busily writing. He looked up as the door opened, and cried joyfully: "Welcome, welcome! I am so glad to see you! How goes the Danae?"