With a mechanical gesture he extended the paper to M.de Breulh, uttering the one word, "Read." His friend obeyed him, more alarmed by Andre's laconism than he could have been by some sudden explosion of passion.
"Do not lose heart," exclaimed he.
But Andre interrupted him.

"Lose heart!" said he; "you do not know me.
When Sabine was ill, perhaps dying, far away from me, I did feel cast down; but now that she tells me that she loves me, my feelings are of an entirely different nature." M.de Breulh was about to speak, but Andre went on.
"What is this marriage contract which my poor Sabine announces to me, as if it was her death-warrant?
Her parents must all along have intended to break with you, but you were beforehand with them.

Can they have received a more advantageous offer of marriage already?
It is scarcely likely.

When she confided the secret of her life to you, she certainly knew nothing of this.

What terrible event has happened since then?
My brave Sabine would never have submitted unless some coercion had been used that she could not struggle against; she would rather have quitted her father's house for ever." As Andre uttered these words De Breulh's mind was busy with similar reflections, for Modeste had given him some hint of the approaching marriage, and had begged him to be most careful how he communicated the facts to Andre.
"You must have noticed," continued the young painter, "the strange coincidence between Sabine's illness and this note.