CHAPTER XXX.
THE VEILED PORTRAIT.
The danger with which Andre was menaced was most terrible, and theimportance of the game he was playing made him feel that he hadeverything to fear from the boldness and audacity of his enemies. Heknew this, and he also knew that spies dogged all his movements. Whatcould be wanted but a favorable opportunity to assassinate him. But eventhis knowledge did not make him hesitate for an instant, and all hiscaution was fully exercised, for he felt that should he perish, Sabinewould be inevitably lost. On her account he acted with a prudence whichwas certainly not one of his general characteristics. He was quite awarethat he might put himself under the protection of the police, but thishe knew would be to imperil the honor of the Mussidan family. He wassure that with time and patience he should be able to unravel theplots of the villains who were at work. But he had not time to do so bydegrees. No, he must make a bold dash at once. The hideous sacrifice ofwhich Sabine was to be the victim was being hurried on, and it seemed tohim as if his very existence was being carried away by the hours asthey flitted by. He went over recent events carefully one by one, andhe strove to piece them together as a child does the portions of adissected map. He wanted to find out the one common interest that boundall these plotters together--Verminet, Van Klopen, Mascarin, Hortebise,and Martin Rigal. As he submitted all this strange combination ofpersons to the test, the thought of Gaston de Gandelu came across hismind.
"Is it not curious," thought he, "that this unhappy boy should be thevictim of the cruel band of miscreants who are trying to destroy us? Itis strange, very strange."
Suddenly he started to his feet, for a fresh idea had flashed acrosshis brain--a thought that was as yet but crude and undefined, but whichseemed to bear the promise of hope and deliverance. It seemed to himthat the affair of young Gandelu was closely connected with his own,that they were part and parcel of the same dark plot, and that thesebills with their forged acceptance had more to do with him than he hadever imagined. How it was that he and Gaston could be connected he couldnot for a moment guess; yet now he would have cheerfully sworn thatsuch was the case. Who was it that had informed the father of the son'sconduct? Why, Catenac. Who had advised that proceedings should be takenagainst Rose, _alias_ Zora? Why, Catenac again; and this same man, inaddition to acting for Gandelu, it seems, was also the confidentialsolicitor of the Marquis de Croisenois and Verminet. Perhaps he had onlyobeyed their instructions. All this was very vague and unsatisfactory,but it might be something to go upon, and who could say what conclusioncareful inquiry might not lead him to? and Andre determined to carry onhis investigations, and endeavor to find the hidden links that connectedthis chain of rascality together. He had taken up a pencil with the viewof making a few notes, when he heard a knock at his door. He glanced atthe clock; it was not yet nine.
"Come in," cried he as he rose.
The door was thrown open, and the young artist started as he recognizedin his early visitor the father of Sabine. It was after a sleeplessnight that the Count had decided to take the present step. He wasterribly agitated, but had had time to prepare himself for thisall-important interview.
"You will, I trust, pardon me, sir," said he, "for making such an earlycall upon you, but I thought that I should be sure to find you at thishour, and much wanted to see you."
Andre bowed.
In the space of one brief instant a thousand suppositions, each one moreunlikely than the other, coursed through his brain. Why had the Countcalled? Who could have given him his address? And was the visit friendlyor hostile?
"I am a great admirer of paintings," began the Count, "and one of myfriends upon whose taste I can rely has spoken to me in the warmestterms of your talent. This I trust will explain the liberty I havetaken. Curiosity drove me to----"
He paused for a moment, and then added,--
"My name is the Marquis de Bevron."
The concealment of the Count's real name showed Andre that the visit wasnot entirely a friendly one, and Andre replied,--
"I am only too pleased to receive your visit. Unfortunately just now Ihave nothing ready, only a few rough sketches in short. Would you liketo see them?"
The Count replied eagerly in the affirmative. He was terriblyembarrassed under his fictitious name, and shrank before the honest,open gaze of the young artist, and his mental disturbance was completedby seeing in one corner of the room the picture covered with a greencloth, which Tantaine had alluded to. It was evident that the oldvillain had told the truth, and that his daughter's portrait wasconcealed behind this wrapper. She had evidently been here--had spenthours here, and whose fault was it? She had but listened to the voice ofher heart, and had sought that affection abroad which she was unable toobtain at home. As the Count gazed upon the young man before him, he wasforced to admit that Mademoiselle Sabine had not fixed her affections onan unworthy object, for at the very first glance he had been struck withthe manly beauty of the young artist, and the clear intelligence of hisface.
"Ah," thought Andre, "you come to me under a name that is not yourown, and I will respect your wish to remain unknown, but I will takeadvantage of it by letting you know things which I should not dare sayto your face."
Great as was Andre's preoccupation, he could not fail to notice that hisvisitor's eyes sought the veiled picture with strange persistency. WhileM. de Mussidan was looking at the various sketches on the walls, Andrehad time to recover all his self-command.
"Let me congratulate you, sir," remarked the Count, as he returned tothe spot where the painter was standing. "My friend's admiration waswell founded. I am sorry, however, that you have nothing finished toshow me. You say that you have nothing, I believe?"
"Nothing, Marquis."
"Not even that picture whose frame I can distinguish through the sergecurtain that covers it?"
Andre blushed, though he had been expecting the question from thecommencement.
"Excuse me," answered he; "that picture is certainly finished, but it isnot on view."
The Count was now sure that Tantaine's statement was correct.
"I suppose that it is some woman's portrait," remarked the falseMarquis.
"You are quite correct."
Both men were much agitated at this moment, and avoided meeting eachother's eyes.
The Count, however, had made up his mind that he would go on to the end.
"Ah, you are in love, I see!" remarked he with a forced laugh. "Allgreat artists have depicted the charms of their mistresses on canvas."
"Stop," cried Andre with an angry glance in his eyes. "The picture yourefer to is the portrait of the purest and most innocent girl in theworld. I shall love her all my life; but, if possible, my respect forher is greater than my love. I should consider myself a most degradedwretch, had I ever whispered in her ear a word that her mother might nothave listened to."
A feeling of the most instantaneous relief thrilled through M. deMussidan's heart.
"You will pardon me," suggested he blandly, "but when one sees aportrait in a studio, the inference is that a sitting or two has takenplace?"
"You are right. She came here secretly, and without the knowledge of herfamily, at the risk of her honor and reputation, thus affording me thestrongest proof of her love. It was cruel of me," continued the youngartist, "to accept this proof of her entire devotion, and yet not onlydid I accept it, but I pleaded for it on my bended knee, for how elsewas I to hear the music of her voice, or gladden my eyes with herbeauty? We love each other, but a gulf wider than the stormy sea dividesus. She is an heiress, come of a proud and haughty line of nobles, whileI----"
Andre paused, waiting for some words wither of encouragement or censure;but the Count remained silent, and the young man continued,--
"Do you know who I am? A poor foundling, placed in the Hospital ofVendome, the illicit offspring of some poor betrayed girl. I started inthe world with twenty francs in my pocket, and found my way to Paris;since then I have earned my bread by my daily work. You only
see herethe more brilliant side of my life; for an artist here--I am a commonwork-man elsewhere."
If M. de Mussidan remained silent, it was from extreme admiration of thenoble character, which was so unexpectedly revealed to him, and he wasendeavoring to conceal it.
"She knows all this," pursued Andre, "and yet she loves me. It was here,in this very room, that she vowed that she could never be the wifeof another. Not a month ago, a gentleman, well born, wealthy, andfascinating, with every characteristic that a woman could love, was asuitor for her hand. She went boldly to him, told him the story of ourlove, and, like a noble-hearted gentleman, he withdrew at once, andto-day is my best and kindest friend. Now, Marquis, would you like tosee this young girl's picture?"
"Yes," answered the Count, "and I shall feel deeply grateful to you forsuch a mark of confidence."
Andre went to the picture, but as he touched the curtain he turnedquickly towards his visitor.
"No," said he, "I can no longer continue this farce; it is unworthy ofme."
M. de Mussidan turned pale.
"I am about to see Sabine de Mussidan's portrait. Draw the curtain."
Andre obeyed, and for a moment the Count stood entranced before the workof genius that met his eyes.
"It is she!" said the father. "Her very smile; the same soft light inher eyes. It is exquisite!"
Misfortune is a harsh teacher; some weeks ago he would have smiledsuperciliously at the mere idea of granting his daughter's hand to astruggling artist, for then he thought only of M. de Breulh, but nowhe would have esteemed it a precious boon had he been allowed to chooseAndre as Sabine's husband. But Henri de Croisenois stood in the way,and as this idea flashed across the Count's mind he gave a perceptiblestart. He was sure from the excessive calmness of the young man that hemust be well acquainted with all recent events. He asked the question,and Andre, in the most open manner, told him all he knew. The generosityof M. de Breulh, the kindness of Madame Bois Arden, his suspicions, hisinquiries, his projects, and his hopes. M. de Mussidan gazed once moreupon his daughter's portrait, and then taking the hand of the youngpainter, said,--
"M. Andre, if ever we can free ourselves from those miscreants, whosedaggers are pointed at our hearts, Sabine shall be your wife."