“Because this visit will be my last, Andre.”

“The last?” stammered the painter.  “In what way have I so offended you, that you should inflict so terrible a punishment on me?”

“I do not wish to punish you.  You asked for my portrait, and I yielded to your request; but let us talk reasonably.  Do you not know that I am risking my reputation by coming here day after day?”

Andre made no reply, for this unexpected blow had almost stunned him.

“Besides,” continued Mademoiselle de Mussidan, “what is to be done with the portrait?  It must be hidden away, as if it were something we were ashamed of.  Remember, on your success hangs our marriage.”

“I do not forget that.”

“Hasten then to gain all honor and distinction, for the world must agree with me in saying that my choice has been a wise one.”

“I will do so.”

“I fully believe you, dear Andre, and remember what I said to you a year ago.  Achieve a name, then go to my father and ask for my hand.  If he refuses, if my supplications do not move him, I will quit his roof forever.”

“You are right,” answered Andre.  “I should indeed by a fool if I sacrificed a future happy life for a few hours of present enjoyment, and I will implicitly—­”

“And now,” said Sabine, “that we have agreed on this point, let us discuss our mutual interests, of which it seems that we have been a little negligent up till now.”

Andre at once began to tell her of all that had befallen him since they had last met, his defeats and successes.

“I am in an awkward plight,” said he.  “Yesterday, that well known collector, Prince Crescenzi, came to my studio.  One of my pictures took his fancy, and he ordered another from me, for which he would pay six thousand francs.”

“That was quite a stroke of luck.”

“Just so, but unfortunately he wants it directly.  Then Jean Lamou, who has more in his hand than he can manage, has offered me the decoration of a palatial edifice that he is building for a great speculator, M. Gandelu.  I am to engage all the workmen, and shall receive some seven or eight hundred francs a month.”

“But how does this trouble you?”

“I will tell you.  I have twice seen M. Gandelu, and he wants me to begin work at once; but I cannot accept both, and must choose between them.”

Sabine reflected.

“I should execute the Prince’s commission,” said she.

“So should I, only——­”

The girl easily found the cause of his hesitation.

“Will you never forget that I am wealthy?” replied she.

“The one would bring in the most money,” he returned, “and the other most credit.”

“Then accept the offer of M. Gandelu.”

The old cuckoo-clock in the corner struck five.

“Before we part, dear Andre,” resumed she, “I must tell you of a fresh trouble which threatens us; there is a project for marrying me to M. de Breulh-Faverlay.”