CHAPTER XIX.
A FRIENDLY RIVAL.
On leaving the Hotel de Mussidan, M.de Breulh-Faverlay dismissed his carriage, for he felt as a man often does after experiencing some violent emotion, the absolute necessity for exercise, and to be alone with his thoughts, and by so doing recover his self-possession.

His friends would have been surprised if they had seen him pacing hurriedly along the Champs Elysees.

The usual calm of his manner had vanished, and the generally calm expression of his features was entirely absent.

As he walked, he talked to himself, and gesticulated.
"And this is what we call being a man of the world.

We think ourselves true philosophers, and a look from a pair of beautiful, pleading eyes scatters all our theories to the winds." He had loved Sabine upon the day on which he had asked for her hand, but not so fondly as upon this day when he had learned that she could no longer be his wife, for, from the moment he had made this discovery, she seemed to him more gifted and fascinating than ever.