A long silence. Both hesitating and embarrassed; neither daring to glance at the other. Elaine saw his reflection in the mirror and started at his paleness. Could he have any suspicions? Did he know of his wife's dishonor? How could she find out? Turning to the window, she said, "Why, here is a carriage at the door. How tiresome; some one has come to call, and I'm not dressed. But, no; it is Grenoble, and there is Claude." "He?" cried Paul, angrily. Elaine turned around. She said, "You know all." Without replying, he buried his head in his hands. Elaine went to him, put her arms around him, and drew his head to her bosom. "My poor child, how you must suffer." "Oh, mother!" and he wept like a little child. She kissed him, caressed him, as if he were again the little son of so many years ago. A son never seems a man in his mother's eyes, and when he is in trouble, she takes him again to her heart, as she did in his childhood. She whispered: "And have you found it out? And did you try to conceal it from me to save my happiness, as I have kept it from you to save yours, my brave Paul?" In the midst of her bitter anguish, she still felt a glow of pride at this proof of her son's noble character. They seemed drawn still closer together by their mutual suffering--their mutual sacrifice. Grieving over his sorrow, she forgot her own. He was so young. He had barely raised the cup of life and happiness to his lips, when it was dashed from his hand. So young, so brave, so noble! Finally, she raised her head: "We must weep no longer, Paul. Every crime must have its punishment. Do your duty. Those two criminals deserve no mercy. They have dishonored the mother and the son. You know where to find them. Do your duty--my revenge and yours!" She raised her hand and pointed to the door, beautiful as Truth, implacable as Destiny! CHAPTER XV. A little beyond Montrétout, the road makes a sudden turn to the left. At this point commences a magnificent avenue of old elms, leading to a country house built in the days of Louis XIV, and now hardly visible through the dense foliage surrounding it. Here lived M. and Mme. de Smarte, and here Odette was spending a few days with her friend. Adèle de Smarte was one of the loveliest and best women in Paris, stylish and witty. It is not difficult to acquire a reputation for brilliancy by making cruel, sarcastic remarks about one's friends; but Adèle's witty conversation never belied her loving, loyal heart. Towards eight o'clock, the guests, scattered about the grounds since dinner, gradually re-assembled in the drawing-rooms. It was one of those exquisite Summer evenings, when mere existence is bliss. "Do not forget your promise to give us some music this evening, dear Odette," said Mme. de Smarte. "I have not forgotten it," she replied.