"Gabrielle, you are a mystery to me. Four years out of convent, and
not a lover; I mean one upon whom you might bestow love. And that
handsome Vicomte d'Halluys?"
"Pouf! I would not throw him yesterday's rose."
"And Monsieur de Saumaise?"
"Well, yes; he is a gallant fellow. And I fear that I have brought
trouble into his household. But love him? As we love our brothers.
The pulse never bounds, the color never comes and goes, the tongue is
never motionless nor the voice silenced in the presence of a brother.
My love for Victor is friendship without envy, distrust, or
self-interest. He came upon my sadness and shadow as a rainbow comes
on the heels of a storm. But love him with the heart's love, the love
which a woman gives to one man and only once?"
"Poor Victor!" said Anne.
"Oh, do not worry about Victor. He is a poet. One of their
prerogatives is to fall in love every third moon. But the poor boy!
Anne, I have endangered his head, and quite innocently, too. I knew
not what was going on till too late."
"And you put your name to that paper!"
"What would you? Monsieur le Comte would have broken my wrist, and
there are black and blue spots on my arm yet."
"Tell me about that grey cloak."
"There is nothing to tell, save that Victor did not wear it. And
something told me from the beginning that he was innocent."
"And the Chevalier du Cévennes could not have worn it because he was in
Fontainebleau that dreadful night."
"The Chevalier du Cévennes is living in Rochelle?" asked Gabrielle.
"Yes. Was it not gallant of him to accept punishment in Victor's
stead?"
"What else could he do, being a gentleman?"
"Why does your voice grow cold at the mention of his name?" asked Anne.
"It is your imagination, dear. My philosophy has healed the wounded
vanity. Point out the Chevalier to me, I should like to see the man
who declined an alliance with the house of Montbazon."
"I thought that you possessed a miniature of him?"
"It contained only the face of a boy; I want to see the man. Besides,
I do not exactly know what has become of the picture, which was badly
painted."
"I will point him out. Was the Comte d'Hérouville among the
conspirators?"
"Yes. How I hate that man!"
"Keep out of his path, Gabrielle. He would stop at nothing. There is
madness in that man's veins."
"I do not fear him. Many a day will pass ere I see him again, or poor
Victor, for that matter. I wonder where he has gone?"
"I would I could fathom that heart of yours."