His happiest hours were when he could sit and watch her quietly as she leaned back in her arm-chair, gazing into the fire. He had never dreamed it possible that, as his step-daughter, he could look upon her with anything more than a fatherly interest; so he was not watching his heart at all, until suddenly he found himself bound hand and foot, like an eagle caught in a net. He was frightened and dismayed when he realized the extent and depth of his passionate admiration. He tried to forget himself in his work, but his thoughts were always with her, working or idle. One morning he commenced painting quite early, and worked busily for two or three hours at his great Danae painting; suddenly he rose and stepped back a few feet to judge of the effect. With horror, he saw that his Danae was an exact portrait of Odette. Seizing a cloth, he hastily rubbed out the whole morning's work, and patiently recommenced to sketch Danae's head. Again, after hours of labor, did the golden hair and glorious dark eyes smile at him from the canvas. This time he erased the paint with his pen-knife, as if no trace should remain of his insane infatuation. He threw his brush into a corner of the studio, and as Grenoble happened to enter just then, he said "Come, I will sit for you to-day, I can not paint;" and taking off some wet cloths wound around a bust, in the center of the room, he sat down opposite it. Grenoble had been working at this portrait bust of his friend for some months, and every one said it was the finest work he had ever accomplished. It was Claude Sirvin, the man and the artist, human and inspired. Before answering, Grenoble stopped in front of the Danae. "Splendid!" he said. "Your Jupiter is perfect! and this drapery is marvelous. But, your Danae seems to bother you. Why don't you take my advice and take your daughter-in-law for your model?" and, without noticing Claude's agitation, he quietly sat down on his camp-stool and said, "As you are kind enough to sit, I will see what I can accomplish to-day." Grenoble repeated his advice about the Danae at breakfast and dinner, again and again, until all had become so accustomed to the idea, that Odette's disinclination seemed almost childish. Claude sincerely thought (he was always sincere), that perhaps he could get free from her haunting image, if he could once get it fairly on the canvas.