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Updated: June 16, 2025
M. de Breulh did not inflict the torture of suspense upon his young friend a moment longer than was necessary. "This morning, about twelve o'clock, as I was crossing the Avenue de Matignon, I saw Modeste, who had been waiting for you more than an hour." "I could not help it." "I know that. As soon as she saw me, she ran up to me at once.
He was a born diplomatist, and fully realized that cunning and treachery must be met by similar weapons. He must not break his engagement to M. Gandelu; but how could he superintend the workmen and keep an eye on Croisenois at the same time? Money was absolutely necessary, and yet he felt a strange disinclination to accept a loan from M. de Breulh.
"Something terrible," answered she with a sob; "but you may be able to help me. Can you lend me twenty thousand francs?" De Breulh smiled; a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart. "If that is all you require, do not shed any more tears." "But I want them at once." "Can you give me half an hour?" "Yes; but lose no time." De Breulh drew a check and despatched his valet for the money.
Andre started on hearing this name, and his cheek crimsoned. The man whom he most hated in this world; the wretch who, by his possession of some compromising secret, was forcing Sabine into a detested marriage; the villain whom he, M. de Breulh, and Madame de Bois Arden had sworn to overreach, was within a few paces of him, and that now he should see him face to face.
"I came here by the advice of one of my friends;" he stopped for an instant, endeavoring to think of a name. "By Prince Crescensi, perhaps," suggested Andre. "Yes, yes," continued M. de Breulh, eagerly snatching at the rope the artist held out to him. "The Prince sings your praises everywhere, and speaks of your talents with the utmost enthusiasm.
Sabine put every confidence in this proposal, believing that everything was in good faith. "But," said she, "such a subterfuge would be unworthy of us all." M. de Breulh did not urge this point; a feeling of deep sympathy had succeeded to his wounded pride; and, with all the chivalrous instinct of his race, he determined to do his best to assist these lovers.
Just as she did so, Sabine uttered a wild shriek, and fell to the ground. She was raised up and laid upon the bed, but since then she has neither moved nor spoken." "That is not all," said De Breulh, who had watched his cousin keenly. The Viscountess started, and avoided meeting her cousin's eye. "I do not understand," she faltered. "Why do you look at me like that?"
The sketch was one of real life, denuded of any sham element of romance, and this was the one that M. de Breulh had chosen. The two men discussed the size of the picture, and not a single detail was omitted. "I am sure that you will do all that is right," remarked De Breulh. "Let your own inspiration guide you, and all will be well."
"Then," resumed De Breulh, "Mademoiselle de Mussidan is really ill, and our information is correct." "She is." "Did you see her?" "I did, Gontran; and had you seen her, your heart would have been filled with pity, and you would have repented your conduct toward her. The poor girl did not even know me. She lay in her bed, whiter than the very sheets, cold and inanimate as a figure of marble.
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.
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