Sabine heaved a deep sigh, for Andre had foreseen the same result.

“Then,” continued De Breulh, “your situation will become even a more trying one; for if your noble qualities are not enough to excite admiration in the bosoms of the other sex, your immense wealth will arouse the cupidity of the fortune-hunters.”

When De Breulh referred to fortune-hunters, was this a side blow at Andre?  With this thought rushing through her brain, she gazed upon him eagerly, but read no meaning in his eyes.

“Yes,” answered she dreamily, “it is true that I am very wealthy.”

“And what will be your reply to the next suitor, and to the one after that?” asked De Breulh.

“I know not; but I shall find some loophole of escape when the time comes; for if I act in obedience to the dictates of my heart and conscience, I cannot do wrong, for Heaven will come to my aid.”

The phrase sounded like a dismissal; but De Breulh, man of the world as he was, did not accept it.

“May I permit myself to offer you a word of advice?”

“Do so, sir.”

“Very well, then; why not permit matters to remain as they now are?  So long as our rupture is not public property, so long will you be left in peace.  It would be the simplest thing in the world to postpone all decisive steps for a twelvemonth, and I would withdraw as soon as you notified me that it was time.”

Sabine put every confidence in this proposal, believing that everything was in good faith.  “But,” said she, “such a subterfuge would be unworthy of us all.”

M. de Breulh did not urge this point; a feeling of deep sympathy had succeeded to his wounded pride; and, with all the chivalrous instinct of his race, he determined to do his best to assist these lovers.

“Might I be permitted,” asked he, “now that you have placed so much confidence in me, to make the acquaintance of the man whom you have honored with your love?”

Sabine colored deeply.  “I have no reason to conceal anything from you:  his name is Andre, he is a painter, and lives in the Rue de la Tour d’Auvergne.”

De Breulh made a mental note of the name, and continued,—­

“Do not think that I ask this question from mere idle curiosity; my only desire is to aid you.  I should be glad to be a something in your life.  I have influential friends and connections——­”

Sabine was deeply wounded.  Did this man propose patronizing Andre, and thus place his position and wealth in contrast with that of the obscure painter?  In his eagerness de Breulh had made a false move.

“I thank you,” answered she coldly; “but Andre is very proud, and any offer of assistance would wound him deeply.  Forgive my scruples, which are perhaps exaggerated and absurd.  All he has of his own are his self-respect and his natural pride.”

As she spoke, Sabine rang the bell, to show her visitor that the conversation was at an end.