“You hold me as in a vice, and I admit myself vanquished.  Stringent as your conditions are, I accept them.”

“That is the right style of way to talk in,” remarked Tantaine cheerfully.

“Then,” continued the Count, with a ray of hope gleaming in his face, “why should I give my daughter to De Croisenois at all?—­surely this is utterly unnecessary.  What you want is simply six hundred thousand francs; well, you can have them, and leave me Sabine.”

He paused and waited for the reply, believing that the day was his; but he was wrong.

“That would not be the same thing at all,” answered Tantaine.  “We should not gain our ends by such means.”

“I can do more,” said the Count.  “Give me six months, and I will add a million to the sum I have already offered.”

Tantaine did not appear impressed by the magnitude of this offer.  “I think,” remarked he, “that it will be better to close this interview, which, I confess, is becoming a little annoying.  You agreed to accept the conditions.  Are you still in that mind?”

The Count bowed.  He could not trust himself to speak.

“Then,” went on Tantaine, “I will take my leave.  Remember, that as you fulfil your engagement, so we will keep to ours.”

He had laid his hand on the handle of the door, when the Count said,—­

“Another word, if you please.  I can answer for myself and Madame de Mussidan, but how about my daughter?”

Tantaine’s face changed.  “What do you mean?” asked he.

“My daughter may refuse to accept M. de Croisenois.”

“Why should she?  He is good-looking, pleasant, and agreeable.”

“Still she may refuse him.”

“If mademoiselle makes any objection,” said the old man in peremptory accents, “you must let me see her for a few minutes, and after that you will have no further difficulty with her.”

“Why, what could you have to say to my daughter?”

“I should say——­”

“Well, what would you say?”

“I should say that if she loves any one, it is not M. de Breulh.”  He endeavored to pass through the half-opened door, but the Count closed it violently.

“You shall not leave this room,” cried he, “until you have explained this insulting remark.”

“I had no intention of offending you,” answered Tantaine humbly.  “I only——­” He paused, and then, with an air of sarcasm which sat strangely upon a person of his appearance, went on, “I am aware that the heiress of a noble family may do many things without having her reputation compromised, when girls in a lower social grade would be forever lost by the commission of any one of them; and I am sure if the family of M. de Breulh knew that the young lady to whom he was engaged had been in the habit of passing her afternoons alone with a young man in his studio——­”

He paused, and hastily drew a revolver, for it seemed to him as if the Count were about to throw himself upon him.  “Softly, softly, if you please,” cried he.  “Blows and insults are fatal mistakes.  I have better information than yourself, that is all.  I have more than ten times seen your daughter enter a house in the Rue Tour d’Auvergne, and asking for M. Andre, creep silently up the staircase.”