"Paul, is not that a woman to be loved?" he said; with a gaiety which
was not spontaneous.
"Which one?" asked the Chevalier, diplomatically.
"The one with hair like the haze in the morning."
"The simile is good," confessed the Chevalier. "But there is something
in the eye which should warn a man."
"Eye? Can you tell the color of an eye from this distance? It's more
than I can do."
The Chevalier's tan became a shade darker. "Perhaps it was the
reflection of the sun."
Victor swung his hat from his head gallantly. The Chevalier bowed
stiffly; the pain in his heart stopped the smile which would have
stirred his lips. The lad at his side had faith in women, and he
should never know that yonder beauty had played cup and ball with his,
the Chevalier's, heart. How nonchalant had been her cruelty the
preceding night! That letter! The Chevalier's eyes snapped with anger
and indignation as he replaced his hat. It was enough that the poet
knew why the marquis was in Quebec.
"You murmured a name in your sleep last night," said the Chevalier.
"What was it?"
"It sounded like 'Gabrielle'; I am not sure."
"They say that Monsieur le Marquis was a most handsome youth," Anne
remarked, when the men had disappeared round an angle.
"Then it is possible the son will make a handsome old man," was
madame's flippant rejoinder.
"Supposing, after all, you had married him?" suggested Anne, with a bit
of malice; for somehow the Chevalier's face appealed to her admiration.
"Heaven evidently had some pity for me, for that would have been a
catastrophe, indeed." Madame did not employ warm tones, and the lids
of her eyes narrowed. "Wedded to a fop, whose only thought was of
himself? That would have been even worse than Monsieur le Comte, who
was, with all his faults, a man of great courage."
"I have never heard that the Chevalier was a coward," warmly. "In
fact, in Rochelle he had the reputation of being one of the most daring
soldiers in France. And a coward would never have done what he did for
Monsieur de Saumaise."
"Good Heaven! let us talk of something else," cried madame. "The
Chevalier, the Chevalier! He has no part in my life, nor I in his; nor
will he have. I do not at present hate him, but if you keep trumpeting
his name into my ears I shall." Madame was growing visibly angry. "I
will leave you, Anne, with the Mother Superior's letters. I do not
want company; I want to be alone. I shall return before the noon meal."
"Gabrielle, you are not angry at me? I was only jesting."
"No, Anne; I am angry at myself. My vanity is still young and green,
and I can not yet separate Monsieur du Cévennes from the boot-heel
which ground upon my likeness. No woman with any pride would forgive
an affront like that; and I am both proud and unforgiving."