o his wife, "this is our daughter's future husband."
He then took Sabine's hand, which he laid in Andre's.

The young artist hardly dared raise his eyes to Sabine's face; when he
did so, his heart grew very sad, for the poor girl was but a shadow of
her former self.

"You have suffered terribly," said he tenderly.

"Yes," answered she, "and I should have died had it lasted much longer."

Andre had the greatest difficulty in refraining from telling his secret
to his beloved, and it was with even more difficulty that he tore
himself away at half-past three.

He had not been five minutes in his studio when there was a knock at
the door, and Lecoq entered, followed by an elderly gentleman of
aristocratic and haughty appearance. It was the Duke of Champdoce.

"This gentleman," said the Duke, with a gesture of his hand towards
Lecoq, "will have told you that certain circumstances rendered it
expedient, according to my ideas, that I should not acknowledge you as
my heir, but my son. The fault that I then committed has been cruelly
expiated. I am not forty-eight; look at me."

The Duke looked at least sixty.

"My sins," continued the Duke, "still pursue me. To-day, in spite of all
my desires, I cannot claim you as my legitimate son, for the law only
permits me to give you my name and fortune by exercising the right of
adoption."

Andre made no reply, and the Duke went on with evident hesitation,--

"You can certainly institute proceedings against me for the recovery of
your rights, but--"

"Ah!" interrupted the young man, "really, what sort of person do you
think I am? Do you believe me capable of dishonoring your name before I
assumed it?"

The Duke drew a deep breath of relief. Andre's manner had checked
and restrained him, for it was frigid and glacial to a degree. What a
difference there was between the haughty mien of Andre and the gushing
effusiveness of Paul!

"Will you permit me," asked Andre, "to address a few words to you?"

"A few words?"

"Yes. I do not like to use the word 'conditions,' but I think that you
will understand what I mean. My daily toil for bread gave me neither the
means nor the leisure which I required to cultivate my art, for that is
a profession that I could never give up."

"You will be certainly your own master."

Andre paused, as if to reflect.

"This is not all I had to say," he continued at last. "I love and am
loved by a pure and beautiful girl; our marriage is arranged