ance, which had won for
him a place on the ladder that leads to future eminence. She saw in
him the realization of all her girlish dreams, and finally confessed
to herself that she loved him. Both her father and mother had their own
pleasures and pursuits, and Sabine was as much alone in the world as
Andre.

The days now fled rapidly by. Buried in this secluded country house,
they were as free as the breeze that played through the trees of the
forest, for the old lady rarely disturbed them. After the morning meal,
she would beg Andre to read the newspaper to her, and fell into a doze
before he had been five minutes at the task. Then the young people
would slip quietly away, as merry as truants from school. They wandered
beneath the shade of the giant oaks, or climbed the rocks that stood
by the river bank. Sometimes, seated in a dilapidated boat, they would
drift down the stream with its flower-bedecked banks. The water was
often almost covered with rushes and water lilies. Two months of
enchantment thus fled past, two months of the intoxications of love,
though the mention of the tender passion never rose to their lips
from their hearts, where it was deeply imbedded. Andre had cast all
reflections regarding the perils of the future to the winds, and only
thanked heaven for the happiness that he was experiencing.

"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-handle