“There is nothing to forgive, dear,” answered Gabrielle sweetly. “You are right. I have two natures; and if the girl in me rebels sometimes, it is kinder to check than to encourage rebellion. To-day, somehow, it is harder than usual to check it. I shall be glad when M. de Cobalt comes. My uncle gives me good account of him, and speaks of him as brave and gallant.”
“Does M. de Proballe know him?”
“No, he has never seen him—at least not for many years; but he has heard much of him, and from what he says all should be well.”
“From what he says,” commented Lucette, with a little frown of disdain.
“You trouble me, Lucette, with these reflections on my uncle. You do not like him, and so would have me share your feeling. We’ll say no more;” and with a sigh she leant back to think.
Lucette, seeing her mood, resumed her work and set her wheel speeding busily on; but chancing to glance round a moment later she stopped abruptly with an exclamation of surprise which attracted Gabrielle’s attention.
A man was standing close behind Gabrielle’s chair in an attitude of excessive humility. He bowed low and spread out his hands as she turned to him, while an expressive curl of contempt drew down the corners of Lucette’s mouth.
“What is it? Why did you not say you were here?” asked Gabrielle sharply.
“I feared to interrupt miladi, and was awaiting your permission to speak my errand.” His voice was soft and his manner deferential.
“What is it? Speak.”