Odette replied:
"Oh, you brave, noble heart! I am guilty and miserable; but I am not degraded enough to accept your noble offer."
She embraced her sister tenderly, humbly; then she rose.
"Farewell, dear Germaine! I must go to my doom. Farewell."
As she entered Germaine's sitting-room, she met her father, and saw by his agitation and the open letter in his hand, that he had heard from Paul.
"You, here!" he exclaimed. "Miserable girl!"
Odette had her hand on the door, but turned at these words.
"You, at least, can not reproach me, father! An hour of irresistible temptation comes to us women. We feel ourselves dragged to the edge of the precipice with a terrible grasp. Other women have some thing to cling to, some God to cry to; but I could find nothing to seize hold of. I screamed for help, but none came. I looked to Heaven, but you had taught me it was empty. I know what you are going to say. My shame and disgrace are known all over the city. I can feel the pitiless finger of scorn pointed at me. I am fallen so low that, if I did not have an angel for a sister, not one compassionate glance would fall on me. This degradation is your work, father. Are you not proud of it? God, the soul, eternity, the Virgin—they may be foolish, old-fashioned superstitions; but women without them are helpless and lost."
She turned again to the door.