He approached Claude, who was listening with down-cast eyes, not even seeking to defend himself with a word. He took his hand. "My poor friend, you have done wrong."
Claude raised his head and answered hastily: "Of course, I have done wrong! Do I not know that? I feel that I have committed a great crime! But you do not know that we loved each other before she was married. We had met long ago. Is it my fault, or hers, that the love revived in our hearts?"
"Do not seek excuses. There are none. You have fallen with her into an abyss. You think it an excuse that you had met and loved before her marriage! You call that an excuse. If she loved you, what caused her to marry Paul? If you loved her, why did you consent to the marriage? The more I reflect, the less I understand. The only thing I do understand is that you are dishonored. I am not condemning you. I am only trying to open your eyes to the truth."
He put his arm around Claude as if he were a little child.
"You must leave home, or she must. I beseech you, do not refuse me. Am I not your friend, your brother? Breaking off this shameful intrigue now—this minute—you can not erase the past, but you can at least preserve the future. Think of that noble woman, your wife! She would never survive such a shock as this would be! She worships in you the incarnation of genius and love. Do not force her to dash you from the pedestal where she has placed you. It is not alone for her I speak, but for yourself. Elaine is half your inspiration. Your paintings have been marvelous works of art ever since your marriage; and, now that you are untrue to her, see! you have not painted a stroke in two months. But I am only appealing to your interest. I wish to touch your heart. You are good; you would not voluntarily torture that loyal woman, who loves you so fondly, who worships you next to her Maker, whose life is purity and innocence itself. You are good and noble, Claude. Will you not promise me to shake off these odious fetters? Will you not, dear, dear friend?"
Sirvin had gently extricated himself from Grenoble's embrace. Sinking into an arm-chair, he sat motionless, his head bowed, listening, but not touched by what his friend was saying. The sculptor saw that words, reproaches, supplications, were all in vain. He became angry, and, tearing the wet cloths from the bust of Claude in the center of the studio, he gravely, solemnly examined his work. Gradually tears came to his eyes. "It is fine," he said. "I love you, Claude. I put all my talent, all my soul, into this clay. I molded what I saw in you—your beauty, your warm heart, your genius, your inspired eloquence. It is wonderful, but I added goodness, and the portrait is not perfect—you are not good!"
He buried his fingers in the soft clay, destroying in one moment the work of so many months, and, tearing it to pieces, threw the moist clay on the floor.
"All gone! I thought you had a noble, loyal heart; you have none at all. I thought you a genius; but you are not. You are cruel, you are wicked, without strength and without goodness. There was a Claude Sirvin that I used to love; he is dead. Farewell, dear Claude—dead, dead and buried! buried and gone! Another grand promise of genius and truth crumbles to dust when the hour of fulfillment has arrived. Wretched man that I am! Claude is dead! Truth is dead! Oh, wretched world!" And he sobbed like a little child, while Claude dashed out of the room, conquered by his emotion. He heard Grenoble's accusations ringing in his ears, and he knew they were all true. This odious passion was destroying every thing good and noble in his character. His talent had flown, his honor was tarnished. He saw Elaine dying of grief, Paul committing suicide to end his disgrace.
He remembered that Odette must be awaiting him in the drawing-room, as they were to take a walk together at two. This drawing-room, very large and elegant, occupied the front of the first floor, with four large windows opening on the avenue. The curtains were carefully closed to shut out the hot June sunshine, so that it was quite dark in the room. At each end was a large door, hung with heavy tapestry. One of these doors opened into Elaine's apartment, the other into the hall. When Claude entered, he found Odette already waiting for him.