M. de Breulh was delighted at finding that he could have some occupation which would fill up the dreary monotony of his life.
“I am yours!” cried he; “and will work with you heart and soul!”
Before the artist could reply a loud blow was struck upon the library door, and a woman’s voice exclaimed,—
“Let me in, Gontran, at once.”
“It is Madame de Bois Arden,” remarked De Breulh, drawing the bolt back; and the Viscountess rushed hastily into the room and threw herself into a low chair.
Her beautiful face was bedewed with tears, and she was in a terrible state of excitement.
“What is the matter, Clotilde?” asked De Breulh kindly, as he took her hand.
“Something terrible,” answered she with a sob; “but you may be able to help me. Can you lend me twenty thousand francs?”
De Breulh smiled; a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart.
“If that is all you require, do not shed any more tears.”