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Updated: May 16, 2025
"Good, very good; he was told to pay himself, and yet he never looked to see if the money was there, but gave a receipt at once. Of course, as Van Klopen kept the pocketbook, the Marquis could have had nothing in it besides the exact sum that was required." "It does seem odd," muttered De Breulh. "But," said Andre, "your bill was not exactly twenty thousand francs, was it?"
"Well," broke in M. de Breulh, "what do you say to ten thousand francs?" "Too much," returned Andre with a deprecatory wave of his hand; "far too much. If I succeed in it, as I hope to do, I will ask six thousand francs for it." "Agreed!" answered De Breulh, taking from his pocket an elegant note-case with his crest and monogram upon it and extracting from it three thousand francs.
The generosity of M. de Breulh, the kindness of Madame Bois Arden, his suspicions, his inquiries, his projects, and his hopes. M. de Mussidan gazed once more upon his daughter's portrait, and then taking the hand of the young painter, said, "M. Andre, if ever we can free ourselves from those miscreants, whose daggers are pointed at our hearts, Sabine shall be your wife."
But my humility added to his annoyance, and taking a seat in an armchair, he declared that he would not move from it until he received his money, or had seen my husband." "What was Croisenois doing all this time?" asked M. de Breulh.
"Don't trouble yourself;" and with these words M. de Breulh ascended the staircase that led to the painter's studio and knocked on the door. As he did so, he heard a quick, light step upon the stairs, and a young and very dark man, dressed in a weaver's blouse and carrying a tin pail which he had evidently just filled with water from the cistern, came up. "Are you M. Andre?" asked De Breulh.
M. de Breulh paused for a moment and then replied, "Of course I could do so, but such a step would be very damaging to your reputation. I have no proof; and if I went to him, he would deny everything of course, and it would make him your enemy for life." "Besides," added Andre, "you would put him on his guard, and he would escape us."
The footman were surprised at seeing their master on such terms of intimacy with the shabbily dressed young man, but ventured, of course, on no remarks. Not a word was exchanged during the brief drive to Madame de Bois Arden's house. "Wait for me," exclaimed De Breulh, springing from the vehicle as soon as it drew up; "I will be back directly."
The reality was even more dreadful than she had dreamed of. There was a hidden sorrow, a crime in her father's past life. Again the Count spoke. "There is no use in recrimination. We cannot wipe out the past, and must, therefore, submit. I promise you, on my honor, that this day I will write to De Breulh, and tell him this marriage must be given up."
M. de Breulh had now finished his survey, and had come to the conclusion that though many of Andre's productions were crude and lacking in finish, yet that he had the true artistic metal in him. He extended his hand to the young man and said forcibly, "I am no longer influenced by the opinion of a friend.
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.
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