to him now?"

"Yes, I will. My mother is still in her dressing-room, and no one
will venture to disturb my father in the library. If I meet M. de
Breulh-Faverlay in the hall and take him into the drawing-room, I shall
have time for a quarter of an hour's talk, and that will be sufficient."

Calling up all her courage, she left her room on her errand. Had Andre
seen the man selected by the Count de Mussidan for his daughter's
husband, he might well have been proud of her preference for him. M. de
Breulh-Faverlay was one of the best known men in Paris, and fortune
had showered all her blessings on his head. He was not forty, of an
extremely aristocratic appearance, highly educated, and witty; and, in
addition, one of the largest landholders in the country. He had always
refused to enter public life. "For," he would say to those who spoke to
him on the matter, "I have enough to spend my money on without making
myself ridiculous." He was a perfect type of what a French gentleman
should be--courteous, of unblemished reputation, and full of chivalrous
devotion and generosity. He was, it is said, a great favorite with the
fair sex; but, if report spoke truly, his discretion was as great as
his success. He had not always been wealthy, and there was a mysterious
romance in his life. When he was only twenty, he had sailed for South
America, where he remained twelve years, and returned no richer than
he was before; but shortly afterward his aged uncle, the Marquis de
Faverlay, died bequeathing his immense fortune to his nephew on the
condition that he should add the name of Faverlay to that of De Breulh.
De Breulh was passionately fond of horses; but he was really a lover of
them, and not a mere turfite, and this was all that the world knew of
the man who held in his hands the fates of Sabine de Mussidan and Andre.
As soon as he caught sight of Sabine he made a profound inclination.

The girl came straight up to him.

"Sir," said she, in a voice broken by conflicting emotions, "may I
request the pleasure of a short private conversation with you?"

"Mademoiselle," answered De Breulh, concealing his surprise beneath
another bow, "I am at your disposal."

One of the footmen, at a word from Sabine, threw open the door of the
drawing-room in which the Countess had thrown down her arms in her duel
with Dr. Hortebise. Sabine did not ask her visitor to be seated, but
leaning her elbow on the marble mantel-piece, she said, after a si