“Keep up your courage.  Madame de Bois Arden had not heard of Mademoiselle Sabine’s illness, and this looks as if it was not a very serious matter.  We shall have the real facts in three hours.”

“Three hours!” groaned Andre, “what a lapse of time!”

“It is rather long, I admit; but we will talk of her while we wait, for you must stay and dine with me.”

Andre yielded, for he had no longer the energy to contest anything.  The dinner was exquisite, but the two men were not in a condition of mind to enjoy it, and scarcely consumed anything.  Vainly did they endeavor to speak on indifferent subjects, and when the coffee had been served in the library, they relapsed into utter silence.  As the clock struck ten, however, a knock was heard at the door, then whisperings, and the rustle of female attire, and lastly Madame de Bois Arden burst upon them like a tornado.

“Here I am,” cried she.

It was certainly rather a hazardous step to pay such a late visit to a bachelor’s house, but then the Viscountess de Bois Arden did exactly as she pleased.

“I have come here, Gontran,” exclaimed she, with extreme vehemence, “to tell you that I think your conduct is abominable and ungentlemanly.”

“Clotilde!”

“Hold your tongue! you are a wretch!  Ah! now I can see why you did not wish to write and inquire about poor Sabine.  You well knew the effect that your message would have on her.”

M. de Breulh smiled as he turned to Andre and said,—­

“You see that I was right in what I told you.”

This remark for the first time attracted Madame de Bois Arden’s attention to the fact that a stranger was present, and she trembled lest she had committed some grave indiscretion.

“Gracious heavens!” exclaimed she, with a start, “why, I thought that we were alone!”

“This gentleman has all my confidence,” replied M. de Breulh seriously; and as he spoke he laid his hand upon Andre’s shoulder.  “Permit me to introduce M. Andre to you, my dear Clotilde; he may not be known to-day, but in a short time his reputation will be European.”

Andre bowed, but for once in her life the Viscountess felt embarrassed, for she was surprised at the extremely shabby attire of this confidential friend, and then there seemed something wanting to the name.

“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.  Her large black eyes were staring wildly, and the only sign of life she exhibited was when the great tears coursed down her cheeks.”

Andre had determined to restrain every token of emotion in the presence of the Viscountess, but her recital was too much for him.