"
Sabine put every confidence in this proposal, believing that everything
was in good faith. "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.
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