Where could she go? To her father? Claude was away, and besides, in this supreme hour, she saw clearly that Claude would abandon her after such public disgrace. She was walking hurriedly down the road to Montrétout. She could see Paris in front of her; the thousands of lights twinkled in the distance like stars; no buildings could be separately distinguished, only a dark mass, stretched as far as she could see. The Seine lay like a ribbon before her, a belt that the proud city has wound around her waist; yonder lay a dark shadow that she knew was the Bois de Boulogne, with its thick foliage. Odette stopped to gaze at the scene before her. So that was Paris—Paris that had crowned her one of the queens of fashion and beauty! Paris that was so indulgent to respectable vice; so forgiving to concealed crimes, and so pitilessly cruel when the thin disguise was removed; so relentless when the Rubicon has once been crossed.
The distant murmur that came to her from the great city seemed a thousand voices, crying Shame. She was an outcast!
The train was just starting as she sprang into the car. Fortunately, she met none of her acquaintances.
The scandal to-morrow would be known all over the city. The famous artist's love for his daughter-in-law would be the sensation of the hour.
Germaine alone remained to her. Germaine would receive her.
She was driven to the old house on the Quai Voltaire, and, in spite of the late hour, found Germaine still busy at work, sewing. The door stood open into little Bessie's bed-room, so that as she worked she could watch the little one's peaceful slumber.
Germaine raised her head as the door opened, and looked quietly at her sister.
"You are astonished at seeing me, Germaine."
"I was expecting you."