“I am yours!” cried he; “and will work with you heart and soul!”

Before the artist could reply a loud blow was struck upon the library door, and a woman’s voice exclaimed,—­

“Let me in, Gontran, at once.”

“It is Madame de Bois Arden,” remarked De Breulh, drawing the bolt back; and the Viscountess rushed hastily into the room and threw herself into a low chair.

Her beautiful face was bedewed with tears, and she was in a terrible state of excitement.

“What is the matter, Clotilde?” asked De Breulh kindly, as he took her hand.

“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.

“A thousand thanks!” said the Viscountess; “but money is not all that I require, I want your advice.”

Andre was about to leave the cousins together, but the lady stopped him.

“Pray remain, M. Andre,” said she; “you are not at all in the way; besides, I shall have to speak of some one in whom you take a very deep interest—­of Mademoiselle de Mussidan, in short.

“I never knew such a strange occurrence,” continued the Viscountess, recovering her spirits rapidly, “as that to which, my dear Gontran, you owe my visit.  Well, I was just going up to dress, for I had been detained by visitor after visitor, when at two o’clock another came before I could give my order, ‘Not at home.’  This was the Marquis de Croisenois, the brother of the man who twenty years ago disappeared in so mysterious a manner.  I hardly knew him at all, though of course we have met in society, and he bows to me in the Bois, but that is all.”

“And yet he called on you to-day?” remarked De Breulh.

“Don’t interrupt me,” said the Viscountess.  “Yes, he called, and that is enough.  He is good-looking, faultlessly dressed, and talks well.  He brought a letter from an old friend of my grandmother’s, the Marchioness d’Arlanges.  She is a dear old thing, she uses awful language, and some of her stories are quite too—­you know what I mean.  In the letter the old lady said that the Marquis was one of her friends, and begged me for her sake to do him the service he required.  Of course I asked him to be seated, and assured him that I would do anything that lay in my power.  Then he began talking about M. de Clinchain, and told me a funny story about that eccentric man and a little actress, when I heard a great noise in the anteroom.  I was about to ring and inquire the cause, when the door flew open and in came Van Klopen, the ladies’ tailor, with a very inflamed countenance.  I thought that he had come in a hurry because he had hit on something extremely fetching and wished me to be the first to see it.  But do you know what the impudent fellow wanted?”