Elaine Sirvin might have posed for the Venus of Milo. There was absolutely nothing to criticize in her faultless face and figure. Her beautiful blonde hair was wound like a crown around her queenly head. Her large eyes were as pure and blue as a mountain lake; her delicate, sweet mouth, fresh as a ripe peach; her exquisite profile--twenty times had Claude commenced to paint this ideal beauty, and twenty times had he abandoned the half-finished portrait, saying his genius was not equal to such a model. Paul left directions for Claude to follow them, and set out with his mother for the villa. As they only spoke of Odette, the ride seemed very short to him; he looked neither to right nor left, and yet the scene was well worthy of attention. The wind had died away; the air was clear and perfumed; the sky shone soft as an opal, and the Mediterranean lay before them in silvery loveliness. Paul noticed nothing, not even a shadowy form that started from the rocks as the carriage approached and came towards it; but, as he happened to speak just then to his driver, the vague, white shadow stopped, and, turning, disappeared. It was Odette. Ten minutes before this, she had complained of a sudden headache, and refusing her sister's offers of aid, said she was going down to the beach, and would soon return. Her father remarked that it would be more polite to remain to receive the expected guests; but saying they would excuse her, as she was indisposed, she sauntered down to the beach. She sat down on a rock near the road, and recalled the past. The sea moaned and murmured softly at her feet. Above her lay the vast expanse of deep blue sky, while in her heart raged a tempest of sorrow and passionate despair. She saw, as in a dream, the little ivy-clad cottage where she had spent that month at Pornic; and, then, the day when she was strolling by the sea and met the friends who introduced her to Claude Sirvin. Ah! those eyes! so full of genius and fascination! At the first glance Odette felt she was conquered. Violent were her struggles against this sudden passion; but all were in vain. Her heart had found its master. Claude soon discovered her love, and returned it in his way. He had come to Pornic for some "sea effects," and as he daily went out to sketch, they were constantly meeting. As all looked up to the great painter with wondering admiration, Odette's infatuation was not noticed by her friends. Claude's love for her was ephemeral, though bright while it lasted; and, when, one morning he received a despatch announcing his wife's sudden illness at Paris, he left immediately, leaving a short letter of excuses for Odette.