As Andre uttered these words De Breulh’s mind was busy with similar reflections, for Modeste had given him some hint of the approaching marriage, and had begged him to be most careful how he communicated the facts to Andre.

“You must have noticed,” continued the young painter, “the strange coincidence between Sabine’s illness and this note.  You left her happy and full of hope, and an hour afterward she falls senseless, as though struck by lightning; as soon as she recovers a little she sends me this terrible letter.  Do you remember that Madame de Bois Arden told us that during Sabine’s illness her father and mother never left her bedside?  Was not this for fear lest some guilty secret of theirs might escape her lips in a crisis of delirium?”

“Yes, I remember that, and I have long had reason to imagine that there is some terrible family secret in the Mussidans’ family, such as we too often find among the descendants of noble houses.”

“What can it be?”

“That I have no means of ascertaining, but that there is one I am sure.”

Andre turned away and paced rapidly up and down the room.  “Yes,” said he, suddenly, “there is a mystery; but you and I will leave no stone unturned until we penetrate it.”  He drew a chair close to the side of his friend, who was reclining on a couch.  “Listen,” said he, “and correct me if you fancy that I am not right in what I am saying.  Do you believe that the most terrible necessity alone has compelled Sabine to write this letter?”

“Most certainly.”

“Both the Count and Countess were willing to accept you as their son-in-law?”

“Exactly so.”

“Could M. de Mussidan have found a more brilliant match for his daughter, one who could unite so many advantages of experience and education to so enormous a fortune?”

De Breulh could hardly repress a smile.

“I am not wishing to pay you a compliment,” said Andre impatiently.  “Reply to my question.”

“Very well then, I admit that according to the opinion of the world, I was a most eligible suitor, and that M. de Mussidan would find it hard to replace me.”

“Then tell me how it comes about that neither the Count nor the Countess has made any effort to prevent this rupture?”

“Their pride, perhaps, has been wounded.”

“Not so, for Modeste tells us that on the very day you sent the letter the Count was going to call on you to break off the engagement.”

“Yes, that is so, if we are to believe Modeste.”

As if to give more emphasis to his words, Andre started to his feet.  “This,” cried he, “this man, who has so suddenly appeared upon the scene, will marry Sabine, not only against her own will, but against that of her parents, and for what reason?  Who is this man, and what is the mysterious power that he possesses?  His power is too great to spring from an honorable source.  Sabine is sacrificing herself to this man for some reason or other, and he, like a dastardly cur, is ready to take advantage of the nobleness of her heart.”