So Paul left her and went to his mother's room. As soon as he had entered the house she walked quickly to Claude's studio, and finding it empty, went in and locked the door. At last she was alone! She had had no time yet to think. Ever since her trip to Dijon had she been haunted by the dread of discovery, although she had always tried to banish the thought. If it did intrude she had always answered it by thinking that Paul would kill her, or else that she and Claude would commit suicide together. As she crouched now in a corner of the sofa these thoughts thronged her brain; she lived over again the frightful scene with Elaine, and grovelled in spirit before her sublime sacrifice. She compared herself to Elaine, and writhed at the abyss separating them; one so pure and noble, the other so degraded. It grew dark; her mind was full of despair and anguish. Would Claude never come to put an end to this cruel uncertainty?
At last she heard his step outside. He fitted his key in the lock and opened the door. He lighted a wax taper on the mantelpiece and started when he saw Odette. He had been walking aimlessly, miles and miles, into the country, trying to find some way to retrieve his honor and extricate himself from the quicksands where his passion had led him. But he had arrived at no decision, and had returned as miserable and anxious as when he started.
"I have been waiting hours for your return," said Odette, "for it was your wife that overheard us in the drawing-room."
"Elaine?"
"Yes! She knows all. So I was waiting till you came, to——"
"To what?"
"To commit suicide."
"Commit suicide!"
"What else can we do, now that your wife has discovered our secret? I wish you could have seen her! She knew our guilt, and yet she had the superhuman strength to speak to me, to smile and take my hand, so that she could shield her son from the blow. But no human being could stand such a struggle without succumbing sooner or later. And, besides, I should die under her contempt. My own seems, sometimes, more than I can endure. We must die!"
Claude did not reply. His was one of those natures that look upon a secret crime as comparatively harmless. Only when it is dragged to the light do they see its guilt in its true color. And now he felt degraded in his own sight, and torn by conflicting emotions.