The path of duty lay plain before him. Prevent his mother from suspecting the truth; take his wife to America, for he must earn his own livelihood now. That infamous gift of Claude's should be cast in his teeth! He raised his head, strengthened by his decisions, and turned to retrace his steps; but where could he go? Return to Claude's house--eat his bread? Never! And yet he would be obliged to, for he must avoid giving his mother the least cause for suspicion. He would go to St. Cloud the next day to acquaint Odette with his decision. He thought of her quite calmly now; his scorn and contempt had killed his love. It was long past midnight when he found himself again in his study. He shuddered, for he was surrounded by the traces of Odette's presence. He saw her in the book she had been reading, in the furniture, arranged according to her taste, in the paintings she admired. He staggered into her bedchamber, where he fell into a chair, his heart beating fast. Every thing was as he had left it. The oaken cabinet faced him with its open doors and contents in disorder. The letters still lay scattered about the floor. Her room! And he had loved her so! The delicate perfume that she was accustomed to use floated in the air; in one corner stood the tiny book-case with her favorite books; Germaine's portrait smiled at him from the wall. He shivered from head to foot; and he thought his love had been killed by contempt! How foolish he had been to think that his passionate love, stronger than death itself, had been destroyed in an hour! He hated her; he despised her; and he adored her! He threw himself, still dressed, on the bed, and all night long he tossed and turned, his brain teeming with these burning thoughts, his heart bleeding with anguish, and his imagination recalling scenes of happiness and despair. The sun stood high in the heavens when sleep came at last to soothe his fevered brain. Elaine wondered what made her son sleep so unusually late this morning, but would not allow him to be disturbed. Between four and five she went to his room and knocked lightly. As she received no reply she opened the door, and saw Paul throwing clothes and books into his trunk. "Are you going away, my son?" He turned hastily, hesitated an instant, then tenderly embraced her. She supposed he was going to spend a day or so with Odette, and the thought filled her with sorrow and indignation; but she must conceal her feelings, so she said: "Is it a pleasant day?" He, too, had his terrible secret. If the room had been lighter she would have read it in his blood-shot eyes, in his drawn features, and his livid pallor. But she saw nothing of it. "Very pleasant, mother."