She uttered no word on her way home, where she arrived just in time totake her place at the dinner table, and never was a more dismalcompany assembled for the evening meal. Her own miseries occupiedSabine, and her father and mother were suffering from their interviewswith Mascarin and Dr. Hortebise. What did the liveried servants, whowaited at table with such an affectation of interest, care for thesorrows of their master or mistress? They were well lodged and wellfed, and nothing save their wages did they care for. By nine o'clockSabine was in her own room trying to grow accustomed to the thoughtsof an interview with M. de Breulh-Faverlay. She hardly closed her eyesall night, and felt worn out and dispirited by musing; but she neverthought of evading the promise she had made to Andre, or of putting itoff for a time. She had vowed to lose no time, and her lover waseagerly awaiting a letter from her, telling him of the result. In theperplexity in which she found herself, she could not confide in eitherfather or mother, for she felt that a cloud hung over both theirlives, though she knew not what it was. When she left the conventwhere she had been educated, and returned home, she felt that she wasin the way, and that the day of her marriage would be one ofliberation to her parents from their cares and responsibilities. Allthis prayed terribly upon her mind, and might have driven a less pure-minded girl to desperate measures. It seemed to her that it would beless painful to fly from her father's house than to have thisinterview with M. de Breulh-Faverlay. Luckily for her, frail as shelooked, she possessed an indomitable will, and this carried herthrough most of her difficulties.
For Andre's sake, as well as her own, she did not wish to violate anyof the unwritten canons of society, but she longed for the hour tocome when she could acknowledge her love openly to the world. At onemoment she thought of writing a letter, but dismissed the thought asthe height of folly. As the time passed Sabine began to reproachherself for her cowardice. All at once she heard the clang of theopening of the main gates. Peeping from her window, she saw a carriagedrive up, and, to her inexpressible delight, M. de Breulh-Faverlayalighted from it.
"Heaven has head my prayer, and sent him to me," murmured she.
"What do you intend to do, Mademoiselle?" asked the devoted Modeste;"will you speak to him now?""Yes, I will. My mother is still in her dressing-room, and no one willventure 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 havetime 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 Andreseen the man selected by the Count de Mussidan for his daughter'shusband, 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 fortunehad showered all her blessings on his head. He was not forty, of anextremely aristocratic appearance, highly educated, and witty; and, inaddition, one of the largest landholders in the country. He had alwaysrefused to enter public life. "For," he would say to those who spoketo him on the matter, "I have enough to spend my money on withoutmaking myself ridiculous." He was a perfect type of what a Frenchgentleman should be--courteous, of unblemished reputation, and full ofchivalrous devotion and generosity. He was, it is said, a greatfavorite with the fair sex; but, if report spoke truly, his discretionwas as great as his success. He had not always been wealthy, and therewas a mysterious romance in his life. When he was only twenty, he hadsailed for South America, where he remained twelve years, and returnedno richer than he was before; but shortly afterward his aged uncle,the Marquis de Faverlay, died bequeathing his immense fortune to hisnephew on the condition that he should add the name of Faverlay tothat of De Breulh. De Breulh was passionately fond of horses; but hewas really a lover of them, and not a mere turfite, and this was allthat the world knew of the man who held in his hands the fates ofSabine de Mussidan and Andre. As soon as he caught sight of Sabine hemade a profound inclination.
The girl came straight up to him.
"Sir," said she, in a voice broken by conflicting emotions, "may Irequest the pleasure of a short private conversation with you?""Mademoiselle," answered De Breulh, concealing his surprise beneathanother bow, "I am at your disposal."One of the footmen, at a word from Sabine, threw open the door of thedrawing-room in which the Countess had thrown down her arms in herduel with Dr. Hortebise. Sabine did not ask her visitor to be seated,but leaning her elbow on the marble mantel-piece, she said, after asilence equally trying to both,--"This strange conduct on my part, sir, will show you, more than anyexplanation, my sincerity, and the perfect confidence with which youhave inspired me."She paused, but De Breulh made no reply, for he was perfectlymystified.
"You are," she continued, "my parents' intimate friend, and must haveseen the discomforts of our domestic hearth, and that though both myfather and mother are living, I am as desolate as the veriest orphan."Fearing that M. de Breulh might not understand her reason for speakingthus, she threw a shade of haughtiness into her manner as sheresumed,--"My reason, sir, for seeing you to-day is to ask,--nay, to entreatyou, to release me from my engagement to you, and to take the wholeresponsibility of the rupture on yourself."Man of the world as he was, M. de Breulh could not conceal hissurprise, in which a certain amount of wounded self-love was mingled.
"Mademoiselle!" commenced he--Sabine interrupted him.
"I am asking a great favor, and your granting it will spare me manyhours of grief and sadness, and," she added, as a faint smileflickered across her pallid features, "I am aware that I am asking buta trifling sacrifice on your part. You know scarcely anything of me,and therefore you can only feel indifference toward me.""You are mistaken," replied the young man gravely; "and you do notjudge me rightly. I am not a mere boy, and always consider a stepbefore I take it; and if I asked for your hand, it was because I hadlearned to appreciate the greatness both of your heart and intellect;and I believe that if you would condescend to accept me, we could bevery happy together."The girl seemed about to speak, but De Breulh continued,--"It seems, however, that I have in some way displeased you,--I do notknow how; but, believe me, it will be a source of sorrow to me for therest of my life."De Breulh's sincerity was so evident, that Mademoiselle de Mussidanwas deeply affected.
"You have not displeased me in any way," answered she softly, "and arefar too good for me. To have become your wife would have made me aproud and happy woman."Here she stopped, almost choked by her tears, but M. de Breulh wishedto fathom this mystery.
"Why then this resolve?" asked he.
"Because," replied Sabine faintly, as she hid her face,--"because Ihave given all my love to another."The young man uttered an exclamation so full of angry surprise, thatSabine turned upon him at once.
"Yes, sir," answered she, "to another; one utterly unknown to myparents, yet one who is inexpressibly dear to me. This ought not toirritate you, for I gave him my love long before I met you. Besides,you have every advantage over him. He is at the foot, while you are atthe summit, of the social ladder. You are of aristocratic lineage,--heis one of the people. You have a noble name,--he does not even knowhis own. Your wealth is enormous,--while he works hard for his dailybread. He has all the fire of genius, but the cruel cares of life dragand fetter him to the earth. He carries on a workman's trade to supplyfunds to study his beloved art."Incautiously, Sabine had chosen the very means to wound this noblegentleman most cruelly, for her whole beauty blazed out as, inflamedby her passion, she spoke so eloquently of Andre and drew such aparallel between the two young men.
"Now, sir," said she, "do you comprehend me? I know the terriblesocial abyss which divides me from the man I love, and the future mayhold in store some terrible punishment for my fidelity to him, but noone shall ever hear a word of complaint from my lips, for----" shehesitated, and then uttered these simple words--"for I love him."M. de Breulh listened with an outwardly impassible face, but thevenomed tooth of jealousy was gnawing at his heart. He had not toldSabine the entire truth, for he had studied her for a long time, andhis love had grown firm and strong. Without an unkind thought the girlhad shattered the edifice which he had built up with such care andpain. He would have given his name, rank, and title to have been inthis unknown lover's place, who, though he worked for his bread, andhad no grand ancestral name, was yet so fondly loved. Many a man inhis position would have shrugged his shoulders and coldly sneered atthe words, "I love him," but he did not, for his nature wassufficiently noble to sympathize with hers. He admired her courage andfrankness, which disdaining all subterfuges, went straight andunhesitatingly to the point she desired to reach. She might beimprudent and reckless, but in his eyes these seemed hardly to befaults, for it is seldom that convent-bred young ladies err in thisway.
"But this man," said he, after a long pause,--"how do you manage everto see him?
"I meet him out walking," replied she, "and I sometimes go to hisstudio.""To his studio?""Yes, I have sat to him several times for my portrait; but I havenever done anything that I need blush to own. You know all now, sir,"continued Sabine; "and it has been very hard for a young girl like meto say all this to you. It is a thing that ought to be confided to mymother."Only those who have heard a woman that they are ardently attached tosay, "I do not love you," can picture M. de Breulh's frame of mind.
Had any one else than Sabine made this communication he would not havewithdrawn, but would have contested the prize with his more fortunaterival. But now that Mademoiselle de Mussidan had, as it were, thrownherself upon his mercy, he could not bring himself to take advantageof her confidence.
"It shall be as you desire," said he, with a faint tinge of bitternessin his tone. "To-night I will write to your father, and withdraw mydemand for your hand. It is the first time that I have ever gone backfrom my word; and I am sure that your father will be highlyindignant."Sabine's strength and firmness had now entirely deserted her. "Fromthe depth of my soul, sir," said she, "I thank you; for by this act ofgenerosity I shall avoid a contest that I dreaded.""Unfortunately," broke in De Breulh, "you do not see how useless toyou will be the sacrifice that you exact from me. Listen! you have notappeared much in society; and when you did, it was in the character ofmy betrothed; as soon as I withdraw hosts of aspirants for your handwill spring up."Sabine heaved a deep sigh, for Andre had foreseen the same result.
"Then," continued De Breulh, "your situation will become even a moretrying one; for if your noble qualities are not enough to exciteadmiration in the bosoms of the other sex, your immense wealth willarouse the cupidity of the fortune-hunters."When De Breulh referred to fortune-hunters, was this a side blow atAndre? With this thought rushing through her brain, she gazed upon himeagerly, but read no meaning in his eyes.
"Yes," answered she dreamily, "it is true that I am very wealthy.""And what will be your reply to the next suitor, and to the one afterthat?" asked De Breulh.
"I know not; but I shall find some loophole of escape when the timecomes; for if I act in obedience to the dictates of my heart andconscience, I cannot do wrong, for Heaven will come to my aid."The phrase sounded like a dismissal; but De Breulh, man of the worldas he was, did not accept it.
"May I permit myself to offer you a word of advice?""Do so, sir.""Very well, then; why not permit matters to remain as they now are? Solong as our rupture is not public property, so long will you be leftin peace. It would be the simplest thing in the world to postpone alldecisive steps for a twelvemonth, and I would withdraw as soon as younotified me that it was time."Sabine put every confidence in this proposal, believing thateverything was in good faith. "But," said she, "such a subterfugewould be unworthy of us all."M. de Breulh did not urge this point; a feeling of deep sympathy hadsucceeded to his wounded pride; and, with all the chivalrous instinctof his race, he determined to do his best to assist these lovers.
"Might I be permitted," asked he, "now that you have placed so muchconfidence in me, to make the acquaintance of the man whom you havehonored with your love?"Sabine colored deeply. "I have no reason to conceal anything from you:
his name is Andre, he is a painter, and lives in the Rue de la Tourd'Auvergne."De Breulh made a mental note of the name, and continued,--"Do not think that I ask this question from mere idle curiosity; myonly desire is to aid you. I should be glad to be a something in yourlife. I have influential friends and connections----"Sabine was deeply wounded. Did this man propose patronizing Andre, andthus place his position and wealth in contrast with that of theobscure painter? In his eagerness de Breulh had made a false move.
"I thank you," answered she coldly; "but Andre is very proud, and anyoffer of assistance would wound him deeply. Forgive my scruples, whichare perhaps exaggerated and absurd. All he has of his own are hisself-respect and his natural pride."As she spoke, Sabine rang the bell, to show her visitor that theconversation was at an end.
"Have you informed my mother of M. de Breulh-Faverlay's arrival?"asked she, as the footman appeared at the door.
"I have not, mademoiselle; for both the Count and Countess gave thestrictest order that they were not to be disturbed on any pretextwhatsoever.""Why did you not tell me that before?" demanded M. de Breulh; and,without waiting for any explanation, he bowed gravely to Sabine, andquitted the room, after apologizing for his involuntary intrusion, andby his manner permitted all the domestics to see that he was much putout.
"Ah!" sighed Sabine, "that man is worthy of some good and true woman'saffection."As she was about to leave the room, she head some one insisting uponseeing the Count de Mussidan. Not being desirous of meeting strangers,she remained where she was. The servant persisted in saying that hismaster could receive no one.
"What do I care for your orders?" cried the visitor; "your masterwould never refuse to see his friend the Baron de Clinchain;" and,thrusting the lackey on one side, he entered the drawing-room; and hisagitation was so great that he hardly noticed the presence of theyoung girl.
M. de Clinchain was a thoroughly commonplace looking personage inface, figure, and dress, neither tall nor short, handsome nor ill-looking. The only noticeable point in his attire was that he wore acoral hand on his watch chain; for the Baron was a firm believer inthe evil eye. When a young man, he was most methodical in his habits;and, as he grew older, this became an absolute mania with him. When hewas twenty, he recorded in his diary the pulsations of his heart, adat forty he added remarks regarding his digestion and general health.
"What a fearful blow!" murmured he; "and to fall at such a moment whenI had indulged in a more hearty dinner than usual. I shall feel it forthe next six months, even if it does not kill me outright."Just then M. de Mussidan entered the room, and the excited man ran upto him, exclaiming,--"For Heaven's sake, Octave, save us both, by cancelling yourdaughter's engagement with M. de--"The Count laid his hand upon his friend's lips.
"Are you mad?" said he; "my daughter is here."In obedience to a warning gesture, Sabine left the room; but she hadheard enough to fill her heart with agitation and terror. Whatengagement was to be cancelled, and how could such a rupture affecther father or his friend? That there was some mystery, was proved bythe question with which the Count had prevented his friend from sayingany more. She was sure that it was the name of M. de Breulh-Faverlaywith which the Baron was about to close his sentence, and felt thatthe destiny of her life was to be decided in the conversation about totake place between her father and his visitor. It was deep anxietythat she felt, not mere curiosity; and while these thoughts passedthrough her brain, she remembered that she could hear all from thecard-room, the doorway of which was only separated from the drawing-room by a curtain. With a soft, gliding step she gained her hiding-place and listened intently. The Baron was still pouring out hislamentations.
"What a fearful day this has been!" groaned the unhappy man. "I atemuch too heavy a breakfast, I have been terribly excited, and camehere a great deal too fast. A fit of passion caused by a servant'sinsolence, joy at seeing you, then a sudden interruption to what I wasgoing to say, are a great deal more than sufficient to cause a seriousillness at my age."But the Count, who was usually most considerate of his friend'sfoibles, was not in a humor to listen to him.
"Come, let us talk sense," said he sharply; "tell me what hasoccurred.""Occurred!" groaned De Clinchain; "oh, nothing, except that the wholetruth is known regarding what took place in the little wood so manyyears back. I had an anonymous letter this morning, threatening mewith all sorts of terrible consequences if I do not hinder you frommarrying your daughter to De Breulh. The rogues say that they canprove everything.""Have you the letter with you?"De Clinchain drew the missive from his pocket. It was to the full asthreatening as he had said; but M. de Mussidan knew all its contentsbeforehand.
"Have you examined your diary, and are the three leaves reallymissing?""They are.""How were they stolen? Are you sure of your servants?""Certainly; my valet has been sixteen years in my service. You knowLorin? The volumes of my diary are always locked up in the escritoire,the key of which never leaves me. And none of the other servants everenter my room.""Some one must have done so, however."Clinchain struck his forehead, as though an idea had suddenly flashedacross his brain.
"I can partly guess," said he. "Some time ago Lorin went for aholiday, and got drunk with some fellows he picked up in the train.
Drink brought on fighting, and he was so knocked about that he waslaid up for some weeks. He had a severe knife wound in the shoulderand was much bruised.""Who took his place?""A young fellow that my groom got at a servants' registry office."M. de Mussidan felt that he was on the right track, for he rememberedthat the man who had called on him had had the audacity to leave acard, on which was marked:
"B. MASCARIN, Servants' Registry Office,"Rue Montorgueil.""Do you know where this place is?" asked he.
"Certainly; in the Rue du Dauphin nearly opposite to my house."The Count swore a deep oath. "The rogues are very wily; but, my dearfellow if you are ready, we will defy the storm together."De Clinchain felt a cold tremor pass through his whole frame at thisproposal.
"Not I," said he; "do not try and persuade me. If you have come tothis decision, let me know at once, and I will go home and finish itall with a pistol bullet."He was just the sort of nervous, timorous man to do exactly as hesaid, and would sooner have killed himself than endure all kinds ofannoyance, which might impair his digestion.
"Very well," answered his friend, with sullen resignation, "then Iwill give in."De Clinchain heaved a deep sigh of relief, for he, not knowing whathad passed before, had expected to have had a much more difficulttask in persuading his friend.
"You are acting like a reasonable man for once in your life," said he.
"You think so, because I give ear to your timorous advice. A thousandcurses on that idiotic habit of yours of putting on paper not onlyyour own secrets, but those of others."But at this remark Clinchain mounted his hobby.
"Do not talk like that," said he. "Had you not committed the act, itwould not have appeared in my diary."Chilled to the very bone, and quivering like an aspen leaf, Sabine hadlistened to every word. The reality was even more dreadful than shehad dreamed of. There was a hidden sorrow, a crime in her father'spast life.
Again the Count spoke. "There is no use in recrimination. We cannotwipe out the past, and must, therefore, submit. I promise you, on myhonor, that this day I will write to De Breulh, and tell him thismarriage must be given up."These words threw the balm of peace and safety into De Clinchain'ssoul, but the excess of joy was too much for him, and murmuring, "Toomuch breakfast, and the shock of too violent an emotion," he sankback, fainting, on a couch.
The Count de Mussidan was terrified, he pulled the bell furiously, andthe domestics rushed in, followed by the Countess. Restoratives wereapplied, and in ten minutes the Baron opened one eye, and raisedhimself on his elbow.
"I am better now," said he, with a faint smile. "It is weakness anddizziness. I know what I ought to take--two spoonfuls of /eau descarmes/ in a glass of sugar and water, with perfect repose of bothmind and body. Fortunately, my carriage is here. Pray, be prudent,Mussidan." And, leaning upon the arm of one of the lackeys, hestaggered feebly out, leaving the Count and Countess alone, and Sabinestill listening from her post of espial in the card-room.
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