Elaine felt herself fainting away. The thought of appearing so weak before Odette, gave her strength enough to drag herself to the window, where she leaned against the frame. The sun streamed in uninterrupted on the furniture, the pictures and the carpet. Its dazzling brilliancy flooded the whole room and the two women who stood there, dumb and immovable as statues--Odette, her eyes flashing anguish and suspense; Elaine, struggling against her deathly faintness. She held fast to the window-frame, her teeth chattering. The avenue was full of people--carriages dashing past to the Bois de Boulogne; the sidewalks filled with gay loungers, enjoying the glorious weather. An orange-man had raised his little stall across the avenue, and was crying his oranges in a shrill, loud voice. The trees waved gently in the soft June air. Some children were playing on the lawn between the sidewalk and the street. None of these details escaped Elaine's eyes, which yet were staring at vacancy, while her brain was burning with thoughts and ideas dashing against each other like waves on the ocean in a storm. She wanted to scream to Paul, "Kill this guilty wretch!" then the thought of Paul's despair restrained her. And the other woman saw her dilemma and gloated over it. What could she do? Her heart writhed in her breast. Could she see her at her table, eat in the same room, smile at her, talk to her? That would be more than human nature could endure! In spite of herself, her mouth would scream the truth, and Paul would kill himself. The poor woman felt as if she were in a cage of red-hot iron. Whichever way she turned, she hit against the bars that burned into her flesh. Paul would kill himself if she told him the truth, and she could not plunge the knife into her son's heart. She shook convulsively from head to foot. Then she forced her will to obey her, and, turning suddenly, faced Odette. She would sacrifice her life for her son--any thing--rather than that he should learn the truth. Her life was ended. She offered her heart and pride on the altar of maternity. She resolved to tear herself to pieces with her own hands, rather than have Paul suffer. She heard him outside, giving an order to a servant. She did not even tremble, but advanced to Odette, took her arm, forced her to sit down on the sofa, and sat down by her side. Paul came in. At the first glance he cast upon them, he cried: "My God! what is the matter, Odette? You are so pale, mother!" Elaine took Odette's hand affectionately. "I was very faint. Fortunately your wife was here to help me. I am quite well again now." Paul supposed it was the effects of his conversation with his mother; so he was not so much alarmed. "The weather is magnificent. Go, my children." Paul replied: "But we will not leave you if you are not well." "No, no; go! It will do you both good to take a walk. This glorious sunshine is so delightful."