more than a quarter of an hour in reaching my house."

"I will follow you almost immediately. I only ask five minutes' grace to
go up to the scaffold again."

"Have you any orders to give?"

"No, I have none."

"Why should you go, then?"

"To make myself a little more presentable."

"Is it an annoyance or inconvenience for you to go out in that dress?"

"Not a bit, I am thoroughly used to it; but it was for your sake."

"If that is all, come along."

"But people will stare at seeing you in company with a common workman."

"Let them stare." And drawing Andre's arm through his, M. de Breulh set
off.

Andre was right; many persons did turn round to look at the fashionably
dressed gentleman walking arm in arm with a mason in his working attire,
but De Breulh took but little heed, and to all Andre's questions simply
said, "Wait till we reach my house."

At length they arrived, without having exchanged twenty words, and
entering the library closed the door. M. de Breulh did not inflict
the torture of suspense upon his young friend a moment longer than was
necessary.

"This morning, about twelve o'clock, as I was crossing the Avenue de
Matignon, I saw Modeste, who had been waiting for you more than an
hour."

"I could not help it."

"I know that. As soon as she saw me, she ran up to me at once. She was
terribly disappointed at not having seen you; but knowing our intimacy,
she intrusted me with a letter for you from Mademoiselle de Mussidan."

Andre shuddered; he felt that the note contained evil tidings, with
which De Breulh was already acquainted. "Give it to me," said he, and
with trembling hands he tore open the letter and perused its contents.

"DEAREST ANDRE,--

"I love you, and shall ever continue to do so, but I have duties--most
holy ones--which I must fulfil; duties which my name and position demand
of me, even should the act cost me my life. We shall never meet again in
this world, and this letter is the last one you will ever receive from
me. Before long you will see the announcement of my marriage. Pity me,
for great as your wretchedness will be, it will be as nothing compared
to mine. Heaven have mercy upon us both! Andre, try and tear me out
of your heart. I have not even the right to die, and oh, my darling,
this--this is the last word you will ever receive from your poor unhappy

"SABINE."

If M. de Breulh had insisted upon taking Andre home with him before he
handed him the lette