As they went up stairs, Fink said to Anton, "To-day, my boy, you are not to pass me by. I have found it a great bore to be so long without you;" and the reconciled friends sat together far into the night.
Sabine went to her own room, where her maid gave her a note in an unknown handwriting. The smell of musk and the delicate characters showed that it came from a lady.
"Who brought it?" inquired she.
"A stranger," replied the maid; "he said that there was no answer, and would not give his name."
Sabine read, "Do not triumph too soon, fair lady. You have by your coquetry allured a gentleman who is accustomed to mislead, to forget, and shamefully to use those who trust him. A short time ago he said to another all he now says to you. He will but betray and forsake you also."
The note was not signed: it came from Rosalie.
Sabine knew well who had written it. She held it to the taper, and then flinging it on the hearth, silently watched spark by spark die out. Long did she stand there, her head against the mantel-piece, her eyes fixed upon the little heap of ashes.
Tearless, voiceless, she held her hand pressed firmly on her heart.