Claude was not mistaken. Odette was fleeing from him and from herself. When she escaped from the studio, she hurried to her room, with his kiss still burning on her neck. It seemed as if she must be branded there, and every one would see the mark. Again she said, "I am lost," as she had said it a few weeks ago. And she was lost. The curse had come upon her, and she could not escape her destiny. But her conscience filled her with contempt and disgust for her own self. A voice seemed to cry, "Flee! flee for your life!" but where? and with whom? She never thought that her only safety now was in her husband; that she must confess every thing to him, and flee with him far, far away, never, never to return. She did not know that this was her last chance. She only felt the necessity of flight for to-day. She thought not of the morrow. Her mind formed a dozen plans. Finally, she decided, and trying to regain self-possession, she went to her husband's room. Paul was busily writing. He looked up as the door opened, and cried joyfully: "Welcome, welcome! I am so glad to see you! How goes the Danae?" "I had to break off the sitting. A telegram was brought me from Dijon. My cousin Anna is very sick, and sends for me. I should like to start immediately." Her first lie necessitated another, and then another, without the thought occurring to her that, if Paul had asked the servants about the despatch, he would have discovered her falsehood. But the young man never stooped to any thing like that. Such trust and confidence as his is never suspicious. He tried to persuade her to wait for the express, but in vain, as she insisted upon starting immediately.