Fearing that M. de Breulh might not understand her reason for speaking thus, she threw a shade of haughtiness into her manner as she resumed,—­

“My reason, sir, for seeing you to-day is to ask,—­nay, to entreat you, to release me from my engagement to you, and to take the whole responsibility of the rupture on yourself.”

Man of the world as he was, M. de Breulh could not conceal his surprise, in which a certain amount of wounded self-love was mingled.

“Mademoiselle!” commenced he—­

Sabine interrupted him.

“I am asking a great favor, and your granting it will spare me many hours of grief and sadness, and,” she added, as a faint smile flickered across her pallid features, “I am aware that I am asking but a trifling sacrifice on your part.  You know scarcely anything of me, and therefore you can only feel indifference toward me.”

“You are mistaken,” replied the young man gravely; “and you do not judge me rightly.  I am not a mere boy, and always consider a step before I take it; and if I asked for your hand, it was because I had learned to appreciate the greatness both of your heart and intellect; and I believe that if you would condescend to accept me, we could be very happy together.”

The girl seemed about to speak, but De Breulh continued,—­

“It seems, however, that I have in some way displeased you,—­I do not know how; but, believe me, it will be a source of sorrow to me for the rest of my life.”

De Breulh’s sincerity was so evident, that Mademoiselle de Mussidan was deeply affected.

“You have not displeased me in any way,” answered she softly, “and are far too good for me.  To have become your wife would have made me a proud and happy woman.”

Here she stopped, almost choked by her tears, but M. de Breulh wished to fathom this mystery.

“Why then this resolve?” asked he.

“Because,” replied Sabine faintly, as she hid her face,—­“because I have given all my love to another.”

The young man uttered an exclamation so full of angry surprise, that Sabine turned upon him at once.

“Yes, sir,” answered she, “to another; one utterly unknown to my parents, yet one who is inexpressibly dear to me.  This ought not to irritate you, for I gave him my love long before I met you.  Besides, you have every advantage over him.  He is at the foot, while you are at the summit, of the social ladder.  You are of aristocratic lineage,—­he is one of the people.  You have a noble name,—­he does not even know his own.  Your wealth is enormous,—­while he works hard for his daily bread.  He has all the fire of genius, but the cruel cares of life drag and fetter him to the earth.  He carries on a workman’s trade to supply funds to study his beloved art.”

Incautiously, Sabine had chosen the very means to wound this noble gentleman most cruelly, for her whole beauty blazed out as, inflamed by her passion, she spoke so eloquently of Andre and drew such a parallel between the two young men.