though she were committing a sacrilege to let herself imagine
that she, who was only Marie-Louise Bernier, a fishergirl of
Bernay-sur-Mer, was the model for Jean's beautiful work that made all
the great people of France so proud to call him one of themselves! It
was not strange that she had failed to understand what that sense of
familiarity in the clay faces had meant--she would never, never have
dared to think of such a thing by herself--and it would have been so
far away, that thought, that of itself it would never have come. Why
was she suddenly so weak now, as though a wondrous joy, so great that
it overwhelmed her, was surging upon her--and why was that cold fear,
that seemed to tell the joy that it was trespassing where it had no
place, stirring within her? What did this thing mean for her--that
those lips of clay were hers! It brought so much, so many different
emotions, and each of them was so overpowering in itself, and they all
came crowding so upon her at once, that it seemed she must cry out in
her cruel bewilderment.

And then Paul Valmain was standing before her again.

"So!"--he flung out his arms. "So--it is out at last, the secret! He
has kept you well under cover, mademoiselle!"

The words came to her with a shock, rousing her from her thoughts. He
did not understand. He must not think that Jean knew; because that was
why she was there now--to tell him that Jean must not know.

"No!" she said quickly. "No, no, monsieur! And, oh, monsieur, you
must not let--let Jean know that I was here to-night. It--it is some
mistake about--about the model, monsieur. He has not seen me since he
has been in Paris, and--"

"What!" he broke in harshly. "You deny that you have been coming here?"

"Only last night, monsieur," she said eagerly. "Only last night for
the first time."

"It is well that you admit at least that!" he jeered, in a sort of
furious irony. "I congratulate you, mademoiselle! My profound
respects! In a single visit then you have accomplished wonders, even
with so beautiful a face and figure! You have made Jean Laparde famous
all over the world; and you have made me perhaps--a murderer!"

She stared at him wide-eyed. What did he mean?

"But, monsieur--monsieur--I swear it to you!" she stammered. "It was
only last night for the first time."

He laughed mirthlessly, and shrugged his shoulders.

"As you will, mademoiselle! A night or a thousand spent with Monsieur
Laparde