behaved in a disgraceful way, and you will be fully justified in considering him no more. Another woman occupies your place. Unless I am mistaken one so proud as you would not deign to thrust her thence by the moving of a finger. Clovis, by his own acts has placed himself beyond the pale. He is out of court. The nobles are leaving France in droves. Common prudence bids you follow."

"I never thought of leaving France," the marquise said, coldly.

"Does Clovis want to go? I have more than once contemplated asking him to permit me to retire to a convent. I know too well," she added, wearily, "that he would not be sorry to be relieved of my presence. But I have not the strength to bid farewell to the children. Though they have been alienated from me by base arts, they have all my single-minded love, and it is my duty to watch over their well-being."

A convent! Pshaw! How many babble of the cloistered life, chilled by dreariness and disappointment! The poor thing was very lonely--ripe for judicious comforting.

"Their governess is devoted to the little ones and loves them," mused Gabrielle, sadly sighing. "Were I not assured of that I should do something desperate. It would be too much--I could not bear it!"

"Excuse my disrespectful merriment," laughed Pharamond, "but your project is too funny. What! A convent! A mouse trap! My dear, you need rousing to revive your mental tone, which has dropped too low. A commingling of new pleasures and fresh interests is vastly beneficial. In your despondent state you would, within the living tomb of the cloister, become in a month a hysterical convulsionaire--fit subject for Mesmer's tub! No, no, The world shall not lose its fairest ornament, hidden away out of reach too long. I am here now as your true friend to administer timely counsel. Residence in France is, for the time being, fraught with peril. I propose to escort you to a place of security where you will be free from molestation. There will be no one to worry or torment you as those two have done. Your father learning that you have been induced to fly from an impossible existence, will doubtless join us, and I pledge my honour that the little ones shall follow."

Gabrielle had been listening drearily, her head supported on her hand, as one listens to a tale too often told. But at mention of the children she started, and the abbé flattered himself that he had hit the bull's-eye. How to secure the infants he had not considered, but if their presence was essential as a tempting bait, why, they could easily be kidnapped.

"You see, dear Gabrielle," the abbé whispered drawing his chair close and laying a persuasive hand upon her arm, "that I have thought of everything. We will make for Switzerland, where you and I and the angels will dwell in paradise. The maréchal is not strait-laced, heaven save the mark, how should he be? and seeing you quite happy, will be satisfied. You are too mopish to act for yourself. Say the delicious word and I will see it all settled in a twinkling."

He awaited a reply, but it came not. The marquise, engrossed in his word-picture, was gently smiling. She was out of sorts--too much depressed for decision. This was the instant for a tiny twist of the screw, like a microscopic prick from a spur.

"I see that you have reflected, and that you have made the best selection. That is well. You recall my words before I went away? I meant them then, and mean them still. My will is iron, Gabrielle. A resolve once taken hardens into adamant. Mine you are to be, and mine you will be; so further struggling is useless."

Still no answer; yet she had had time enough in all conscience to see that there was no escape. The abbé, quite certain of his prey, edged nearer yet till he could inhale the perfume on her hair.

"It is indeed I, and no other, who am to teach you love, my Gabrielle," he whispered tenderly. "It is written! Mine too shall be the privilege to return the children to your keeping. You bear me no malice in that I parted you from them for awhile? You know right well that what I have done I can undo. Ha! Your bosom heaves! You yield at last! Was ever woman so strangely wooed----and won!"

It was a favourite theory of the abbé's (which, like many plausible theories, had a crack in it) that in a tussle of two, the weaker must inevitably go under. A female heart, he argued, must perforce be flattered when it finds its citadel besieged with unflagging perseverance. The abbé was radiant, for he had no doubt that his sharp attack must tell on ramparts undermined by prolonged strategy, and that he would reap the reward of his efforts.

Gabrielle rose slowly from her seat, with flushed cheeks and eyes that sparkled; but not to fall into his outstretched and expectant arms.

"Abbé," she said, clasping her bosom with her hands, "you admit that it was you who parted us. What your ingenious cruelty will invent next I dread to think. You did well to name my dear ones. But for them you might have had your way, perhaps, since I care not what becomes of me. You would persuade me to fly with you, and hold them out as a lure? A grievous error, abbé; they are my buckler! They will grow up, a blooming youth and maiden, will learn by degrees to gauge this sordid world. What would their opinion be, think you, of a mother who abandoned her home and her honour to gratify a son of the Church?"

The beacon of green-gray light, which the chevalier knew so well, shone out for an instant and was gone. It began to strike the abbé, with a surge of impotent rage, that he might have been wrong in his calculations; that some long-suffering and apparently defenceless women possess an occult strength against which a will of tempered steel may beat in vain; and a suspicion of defeat at the moment of expected victory sent a fume of wrath into his brain that made him dizzy.

"Take care!" he muttered, hoarsely. "That I have already done is nothing! I have wooed you long, and in the end you shall give way--I swear it!"

"Wickedness and conceit disturb your reason," Gabrielle replied, with a calm which increased his fury. "The crafty and unscrupulous often over-reach themselves. Therein lies the salvation of those who have naught but innocence for armour."

She looked him in the face with such steady scorn, that his shifty eyes lowered before hers. It came upon Pharamond with a shock, that she whom he had thought to dominate by a skilful mixture of the bitter and the sweet was not the least afraid of him, although she realised too well that to gratify his passions he would stick at nothing. One by one he had cut off from her the joys of life, and the slow cruel process had turned his sword edge. He was nettled and humiliated by the conviction that his boasted knowledge of the feminine organism was moonshine, and that the error into which he had fallen--and which must lie at his own door--was possibly irremediable. To be baffled now, when he had deemed all secure; to be shown with withering contempt, that he would never have his way! It was too late to turn a new leaf and commence again at the beginning. And the immediate future so ominously dark! A resistance so cool and deliberate and unexpected, shivered his plans at a blow. Well. Baffled he might be, but she should rue the day. If in the duel, she was to prove victorious, with a bitterness as of gall would he execrate this woman! Is it possible to love and hate at the same time? As Pharamond glanced at the tall figure and defiant bearing of the marquise, his desire for her tingled along each nerve, and yet he hated her for that mien of stubborn scorn. She should rue that day--oh, yes, she should rue it! Some excruciatingly ingenious retaliation should be devised. The proud beauty should be whipped till each limb quivered. She