beloved one's dress. Leaning over the
banisters, he gazed fondly down. Soon she appeared, and in a short time
had gained the open door of the studio.

"You see, Andre," said she, extending her hand, "you see that I am true
to my time."

Pale, and trembling with emotion, Andre pressed the little hand to his
lips.

"Ah! Mademoiselle Sabine, how kind you are! Thanks, a thousand thanks."

Yes, it was indeed Sabine, the scion of the lordly house of Mussidan,
who had come to visit the poor foundling of the Hotel de Vendome in his
studio, and who thus risked all that was most precious to her in
the world, her honor and her reputation. Yes, regardless of the
conventionalities among which she had been reared, dared to cross that
social abyss which separates the Avenue de Matignon from the Rue de la
Tour d'Auvergne. Cold reason finds no excuse for such a step, but the
heart can easily solve this seeming riddle. Sabine and Andre had been
lovers for more than two years. Their first acquaintance had commenced
at the Chateau de Mussidan. At the end of the summer of 1865, Andre,
whose constant application to work had told upon his health, determined
to take a change, when his master, Jean Lanier, called him, and said,--

"If you wish for a change, and at the same time to earn three or four
hundred francs, now is your time. An architect has written to me, asking
me for a skilled stone carver, to do some work in the country at a
magnificent mansion in the midst of the most superb scenery. Would you
care about undertaking this?"

The proposal was a most acceptable one to Andre, and in a week's time he
was on his way to his work with a prospect of living for a month in
pure country air. Upon his arrival at the Chateau, he made a thorough
examination of the work with which he had been entrusted. He saw that he
could finish it with perfect ease, for it was only to restore the carved
work on a balcony, which would not take more than a fortnight. He did
not, however, press on the work, for the beautiful scenery enchanted
him.

He made many exquisite sketches, and his health began to return to him.
But there was another reason why he was in no haste to complete his
task, one which he hardly ventured even to confess to himself: he had
caught a glimpse of a young girl in the park of the Chateau who had
caused a new feeling to spring up in his heart. It was Sabine de
Mussidan. The Count, as the season came on, had gone to Germany, the
Co