He walked to the gate of the house, hoping to gain some information even from the exterior aspect of the house; for it seemed to him that if Sabine were dying, the very stones in the street would utter sounds of woe and lamentation; but the fog had closely enwrapped the house, and he could hardly see which of the windows were lighted.

His reasoning faculties told him that there was no use in waiting, but an inner voice warned him to stay.

Would Modeste, who had written to him, divine, by some means that he was there, in an agony of suspense, and come out to give him information and solace?
All at once a thought darted across his mind, vivid as a flash of lightning.
"M.

de Breulh will help me," cried he; "for though I cannot go to the house, he will have no difficulty in doing so." By good luck, he had M.de Breulh's card in his pocket, and hurried off to his address.

M.de Breulh had a fine house in the Avenue de l'Imperatrice, which he had taken more for the commodiousness of the stables than for his own convenience.
"I wish to see M.de Breulh," said Andre, as he stopped breathless at the door, where a couple of footmen were chatting.
The men looked at him with supreme contempt.