lthy?" replied she.

"The one would bring in the most money," he returned, "and the other
most credit."

"Then accept the offer of M. Gandelu."

The old cuckoo-clock in the corner struck five.

"Before we part, dear Andre," resumed she, "I must tell you of a fresh
trouble which threatens us; there is a project for marrying me to M. de
Breulh-Faverlay."

"What, that very wealthy gentleman?"

"Just so."

"Well, if I oppose my father's wishes, an explanation must ensue, and
this just now I do not desire. I therefore intend to speak openly to M.
de Breulh-Faverlay, who is an honorable, straightforward man; and when I
tell him the real state of the case, he will withdraw his pretensions."

"But," replied Andre, "should he do so, another will come forward."

"That is very possible, and in his turn the successor will be
dismissed."

"Ah!" murmured the unhappy man, "how terrible will be your life,--a
scene of daily strife with your father and mother."

After a tender farewell, Sabine and Modeste left. Andre had wished to
be permitted to go out and procure a vehicle, but this the young girl
negatived, and took her leave, saying.--

"I shall see M. de Breulh-Faverlay to-morrow."

For a moment after he was left alone Andre felt very sad, but a happy
thought flashed across his brain.

"Sabine," said he, "went away on foot, and I may follow her without
injury to her reputation."

In another moment he was in the street, and caught a glimpse of Sabine
and her maid under a lamp at the next corner. He crossed to the other
side of the way and followed them cautiously.

"Perhaps," murmured he, "the time is not far distant when I shall have
the right to be with her in her walks, and feel her arm pressed against
mine."

By this time Sabine and her companion had reached the Rue Blanche, and
hailing a cab, were rapidly driven away. Andre gazed after it, and as
soon as it was out of sight, decided to return to his work. As he passed
a brilliantly lighted shop, a fresh young voice saluted him.

"M. Andre, M. Andre."

He looked up in extreme surprise, and saw a young woman, dressed in
the most extravagant style, standing by the door of a brougham, which
glittered with fresh paint and varnish. In vain he tried to think who
she could be, but at length his memory served him.

"Mademoiselle Rose," said he, "or I am much mistaken."

A shrill, squeaky voice replied, "Madame Zora Chantemille, if you
please."

Andre turned