THE SLAVES OF PARIS.
27

had not always been wealthy; an orphan, with
a very insignificant patrimony, Monsieur de
Bruehl embarked at the age of twenty for South
America, fie remained there twelve years, and
returned to France as poor as at his departure,
when his uncle, the old Marquis de Faverlay,
died, bequeathing to him his immense fortune,
on the condition that he should add to his name
of Bruelh that of Faverlay.
The young man had but one strong passion,
and that was for horses ; but he showed this taste
after the manner of a grand seigneur, not like
a horse-jockey. This is all that the world knew
of a man who held in his hands the destinies
of Andre and Sabine de Mussidan.
He was standing in the hall speaking to the
lacqueys, who had risen at his approach, when,
seeing Sabine on the lowest step of the stair-
case, he bowed profoundly. The girl came
directly toward him.
"Sir," she said, in a voice that was almost
unintelligible from agitation, "I ask a few
minutes conversation with you alone."
De Breulh concealed his astonishment under
another bow even more profound than the first.
"Mademoiselle," he said, gravely, "I am
entirely at your orders."
Upon a sign from Sabine one of the foot-
men threw open the door of the same
salon where Dr. Hortebise had seen the
haughty Comtesse de Mussidan almost on
her knees before him. The young girl pre-
ceded her visitor in utter carelessness of the
conjectures and opinions of the servants.
She did not ask Monsieur de Breulh to take
a chair, and, standing herself, she leaned
against the marble slab of the chimney as if her
strength were nearly gone. After a long silence,
frightfully embarrassing to both, the young
girl finally succeeded in overcoming her agita-1
tion.
"My extraordinary conduct," she began,
" will prove to you, sir, better than the most
lengthy explanations, the sincerity of my re-
spect for your character and the absolute con-
fidence with which you have inspired me."
She hesitated—but De Breulh did not speak.
What was the girl about to say? He could not
form the slightest idea. "You are a friend of
my parents," she continued. " You have been
able to form some opinion of the discomforts of
my home, of the unhappiness of our interior.
You know, that though my father and mother
are living, that I am absolutely as forsaken and
desolate as any orphan-----"   She was silent,
overwhelmed with shame.
The idea that Monsieur de Breulh might mis-
understand her, and think that she was seeking
to excuse herself by blaming others, revolted
her pride. It was consequently with a shade
of haughtiness, which might have seemed mis-
placed under the circumstances, that she re-
sumed.
"But I do not propose to justify myself.
In venturing to ask an interview, sir, it is
simply that I wished to say to you—to ask
you—in short, sir, to entreat you to relinquish
a project which is in contemplation, and to
take upon yourself all the responsibility of the
rupture."
So utterly unexpected were these words, that
Monsieur de Breulh, great as was the self-
control acquired by constant intercourse with
the world, found it impossible to conceal his
astonishment and also a certain mortification.
"Mademoiselle-----" he began.
Sabine interrupted him. "It is a great fa-
vor," she said, "that I ask at your hands.
Your generosity will spare me many sad and
sorrowful hours. " A dreary smile flickered over
her pale face, as she added: "I am aware that
it is a very trifling sacrifice that I demand of
you. I have the honor of being but slightly
known to you, and it is impossible that you
can be other than indifferent to me."
The young man answered very gravely:
" You are mistaken, mademoiselle, and you
judge me ill. I have long since passed the age
at which a man takes sudden resolutions. If I
asked your hand, itwas because I knew how to
appreciate, as they merited, your noble qualities
of head and of heart. I believe that we two
could be happy if you would condescend to ac-
cept my name."
The girl's lips parted to speak, but De. Breulh
went on :
" And now, mademoiselle, have I displeased
you? I do not know. Only, mademoiselle,
believe me when I tell you that I shall deplore
it as a misfortune all the rest of my life."
The sincerity of Monsieur de Breulh's regret
and disappointment was so evident that Sabine
was really touched.
" You have not displeased me, sir, and you
honor me far beyond my merits. I should
have been proud and happy to become your
wife-----"    She stopped, choked by her tears,
but Monsieur de Breulh was cruel enough to
insist on her continuing.
"If?" he asked.
Sabine turned her head away, and in a faint
voice, replied:
" If I had not given my heart and promised
my hand to another."
The young man uttered an exclamation : Ah !
Jealousy, accident, or intention, had given to
this " ah!" a sarcastic intonation which wound-
ed Sabine sorely. She turned quickly, and
with uplifted head met the interrogative eyes of
De Breulh.
" Yes, sir; another—chosen by myself, with-
out the knowledge of my family. Another to
whom I am as dear as is he to me. "
The young man did not speak.
"And this should not in any way offend
you," continued the girl, " for when I met him I
was as ignorant of your existence as you were
of mine. There is, besides, no possible com-
parison between you. He is at the foot of the
social ladder, you at the top. You are noble ;
he belongs to the people. You are proud of
having a title—the world speaks of De Brulh
as they do of De Coney—-he has not even a
name. Your fortune is beyond all your desires;
he struggles in obscurity for his daily bread.
Yes, sir; he may have genius, but the sordid
cares of life weigh him down to the earth. To
enable him to study art he learned a mechanic's
trade, and if you ever take his hand you will
find it hard with toil."
Had Mademoiselle Mussidan endeavored to
pain this gallant man whom she asked to serve
her, she could hardly have spoken differently.
In her inexperience she thought entire frankness
would best heal the wound she inflicted. Never,
however, had she been so lovely as at that mo-
ment, wtien her whole nature was shaken by
the breath of passion. Her voice had acquired
a fuller, richer meaning; her soul looked out
the windows of her eyes.
"Now, sir," she said, "do you understand
my preferences? The more profound the abyss
which separates, may seem to you, the greater
will be my fidelity to my oath. I shall be called
headstrong and undutiful. It may be even
that the future has in store for me some terrible
chastisement, but no one will ever hear one
word of complaint from my lips.    For-----"
She hesitated and then added, with quiet firm-
ness: " For I love him!"
Monsieur de Breulh listened, apparently cold
and unmoved, but in reality the most frightful
of passions—jealousy—was gnawing at his
heart.
He had given the girl a hint only of the
truth; he had loved Sabine for a long time. It
was the edifice of his whole future that, with-
out realizing what she had done, the girl had
just thrown down. Yes, he was noble, he was
rich ; but he would have given all—titles and
fortune—to be in the place of the other, who
worked for his bread, who was nameless, but
who was beloved. Many another man in his
place would have shrugged his shoulders and
explained Sabine's conduct with the one word—
"romantic!" But he did not; his nature was
sufficiently noble to understand hers. And
that which he admired the most in her was the
frankness with which she went directly to the
end she had in view without excuses or subter-
fuges; he admired hei courage and honesty.
Of course she was imprudent and reckless in
a certain way, but these qualities lost her noth-
ing in his eyes. It is not often that young
ladies brought up in the convent wherein
Sabine was educated err in the same direction.
In these days of shallow gallantries, of low and
vulgar intrigues, at an epoch when the notary
who draws up the marriage contract repre-
sents all that there is of poetry in the greater
part of the marriages that take place, Mon-
sieur de Breulh found himself for the first time
in his life in the presence of a woman capable
of a great and rigorous passion. This woman
he had hoped to make his wife, and now he
found how ill-founded were his hopes. He
turned to question her a little further, longing
for a ray of hope.
" And this other,"he said, "how is it possi-
ble for you ever to see him?"
"I meet him out walking," she answered;
"and I have even been to his rooms-----"
' ' To his rooms-----"
" Yes, I have given him repeated sittings for
my portrait, and," she added, haughtily, " I
have^nothing for which to blush."
The young man was utterly confounded.
" You know all, sir," resumed Sabine. "It
has been very hard for me, a young girl, to say
this to you—to say to you what I dared not tell
my mother. What ought I to do, and what
will you do?"
Only those few persons who have heard a
woman, with whom they were madly in love,
say: " I do not love you; I have given my life
to another; I can never love you; relinquish all
hope "—only those persons can form any just
idea of the state of mind to which Monsieur de
Breuhl was thrown. He was certain of one
thing, and that simply, that had he been made
aware, in any other way, of Sabine's love affair,
he would never have retired. He would have
accepted the contest with the hope of triumph-
ing over the happy mortal whom she preferred
to himself. But now, when Mademoiselle de
Mussidan asked his assistance and advice, to
take advantage of her confidence was an im-
possibility.
"It shall be as you wish, mademoiselle," he
replied, not without bitterness." " I will write
to-night to your father to give him back his
promise; and it will be the first time in my life
that I have ever broken my own. I have not
yet decided what pretext I shall advance. I am
sure that your father's indignation will be great,
but I obey you."
By this time Sabine had no strength left.
" I thank you, sir," she said, " from the bot-
tom of my heart. I shall escape, thanks to
you, a contest, the very thoughts of which fill
me with dread.    And now—¦—"
De Breulh did not appear to show the sense
of security which he had imparted to Sabine,
and interrupted her quickly.
" Unfortunately, mademoiselle," he said,
"you do not seem to realize the uselessness of
the sacrifice you exact from me. Permit me to
explain. Up to this time you have been very
little in the world; and as soon as you ap-
peared in society, the intentions of your parents
in regard to you and myself were well known.
Consequently you attracted comparatively lit-
tle attention. But to-morrow, when it is known
that I have retired, twenty aspirants will spring
up in my place."
Sabine sighed, for this was the same objec-
tion that Andre had made.
"And," continued De Breulh, "your situ-
ation will be infinitely more difficult. If
your noble qualities are calculated to awaken
the most elevated sentiments, your great fut-
ure is equally likely to arouse the cupidity
of the men you meet."
What did De Breulh mean by these words,
fortune and cupidity? Were they in allusion
to Andre?
She looked at him earnestly, but she read no
irony in his eyes.
"It is true," she said, sadly, "my dowry is
enormous."
" What will be your reply to the next per-
son who presents himself?"
" I do notf^know; ]but, doubtless, I shall find
some plausible reasons for my refusal. Besides,
if I act in obedience to the voice of my heart
and conscience, I cannot do wrong. God will
take pity on me!"
This last phrase was a dismissal, and De
Breulh, a thorough man of the world, could not
fail to so understand it; nevertheless, he did
not move.
" If I dared, mademoiselle," he began, " if I
could hope that you would permit me, as a
friend, to offer you a word of advice-----"
" Go on, sir, I beg of you."
"Well, then, why not remain on the terms
on which we now stand? So long as our rupt-
ure is not known, just so long and no longer is
your peace secured. It would be a very simple
thing to postpone for a year, all decisive steps,
and I should be ready to retire on the day and
hour you should signify."
Was there anything concealed behind this
generosity? No; and Sabine did not for a
moment doubt her friend.
"No, sir, no," she answered, earnestly.
"This would be taking a most shameful ad-
vantage of you, and would place you in a mor-
tifying position. Besides, reflect a moment,
this subterfuge would be unworthy of you, of
me, and of him."
Monsieur de Breulh did not urge this point.
To his first feeling of wounded pride had suc-
ceeded a certain tenderness—a plan worthy of
his Chivalric character had occurred to him, but