“Am I not too happy?” he would say to himself.  “I fear this cannot last.”  And he was right.  Anxious to justify his remaining at Mussidan after his task was completed, Andre determined to add to what he had already done a masterpiece of modern art, by carving a garland of fruit and flowers over the old balcony, and every morning he rose with the sun to proceed with his task.

One morning the valet came to him, saying that the old lady was desirous of seeing him, and begged him to lose no time, as the business was urgent.  A presentiment of evil came like a chilly blast upon the young man’s heart.  He felt that his brief dream of happiness was at an end, and he followed the valet as a criminal follows his executioner to the scaffold.

As he opened the door in which Sabine’s aunt was awaiting him, the old man whispered,—­

“Have a care, sir, have a care.  Madame is in a terrible state; I have not seen her like this since her husband died.”

The old lady was in a terrible state of excitement, and in spite of rheumatic pains was walking up and down the room, gesticulating wildly, and striking her crutch-handled stick on the floor.

“And so,” cried she in that haughty tone adopted by women of aristocratic lineage when addressing a supposed inferior, “you have, I hear, had the impudence to make love to my niece?”

Andre’s pale face grew crimson as he stammered out,—­

“Madame—­”

“Gracious powers, fellow!” cried the angry woman, “do you dare to deny this when your very face betrays you?  Do you know that you are an insolent rogue even to venture to look on Sabine de Mussidan?  How dare you!  Perhaps you thought that if you compromised her, we should be forced to submit to this ignoble alliance.”

“On my honor, madame, I assure you—­”

“On your honor!  To hear you speak, one would suppose that you were a gentleman.  If my poor husband were alive, he would break every bone in your body; but I am satisfied with ordering you out of the house.  Pick up your tools, and be off at once.”

Andre stood as though petrified into stone.  He took no notice of her imperious manner, but only realized the fact that he should never see Sabine again, and, turning deadly pale, staggered to a chair.  The old lady was so surprised at the manner in which Andre received her communication, that for a time she too was bewildered, and could not utter a word.

“I am unfortunately of a violent temper,” said she, speaking in more gentle accents, “and perhaps I have spoken too severely, for I am much to blame in this matter, as the priest of Berron said when he came to inform me of what was going on.  I am so old that I forgot what happens when young people are thrown together, and I was the only one who did not know what was going on when you were affording subject of gossip for the whole countryside; my niece—­”

But here Andre started to his feet with a threatening look upon his face.