Sabine, "that man is worthy of some good and true woman's
affection."

As she was about to leave the room, she heard some one insisting upon
seeing the Count de Mussidan. Not being desirous of meeting strangers,
she remained where she was. The servant persisted in saying that his
master could receive no one.

"What do I care for your orders?" cried the visitor; "your master would
never refuse to see his friend the Baron de Clinchain;" and, thrusting
the lackey on one side, he entered the drawing-room; and his agitation
was so great that he hardly noticed the presence of the young girl.

M. de Clinchain was a thoroughly commonplace looking personage in face,
figure, and dress, neither tall nor short, handsome nor ill-looking. The
only noticeable point in his attire was that he wore a coral hand on his
watch chain; for the Baron was a firm believer in the evil eye. When a
young man, he was most methodical in his habits; and, as he grew older,
this became an absolute mania with him. When he was twenty, he recorded
in his diary the pulsations of his heart, and at forty he added remarks
regarding his digestion and general health.

"What a fearful blow!" murmured he; "and to fall at such a moment when I
had indulged in a more hearty dinner than usual. I shall feel it for the
next six months, even if it does not kill me outright."

Just then M. de Mussidan entered the room, and the excited man ran up to
him, exclaiming,--

"For Heaven's sake, Octave, save us both, by cancelling your daughter's
engagement with M. de--"

The Count laid his hand upon his friend's lips.

"Are you mad?" said he; "my daughter is here."

In obedience to a warning gesture, Sabine left the room; but she
had heard enough to fill her heart with agitation and terror. What
engagement was to be cancelled, and how could such a rupture affect her
father or his friend? That there was some mystery, was proved by the
question with which the Count had prevented his friend from saying any
more. She was sure that it was the name of M. de Breulh-Faverlay with
which the Baron was about to close his sentence, and felt that the
destiny of her life was to be decided in the conversation about to take
place between her father and his visitor. It was deep anxiety that she
felt, not mere curiosity; and while these thoughts passed through her
brain, she remembered that she could hear all from the card-room, the
doorway of which was only separated from the drawing-