"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.