Words and glance were alike detestable to Gabrielle.
“Your lordship is pleased to flatter, but flattery does not please me,” she returned with a smile.
“It is no flattery, but the truth,” he protested, his hand on his heart. “Your beauty is the fairest thing the earth holds for me.”
“The good opinion of the husband of my dear friend, the Duchess de Rochelle, must of course be ever welcome, but I beg you to burden it with less wealth of language.”
At the reference to his wife the Duke frowned, as he took a seat near her.
“We see too little of you, mademoiselle,” he said next, “and rumour says you are often to be found in many of the humble houses in Morvaix.”
“Alas! my lord, there is much distress and poverty among the people, and Holy Church requires that those who can should minister to them.”
“Holy Church should do the work more thoroughly. I hold not with this constant tending and pampering of those whose chief employment seems to be to breed discontent.”
“They have unhappily but too much cause for discontent,” said Gabrielle firmly. “You have considered the petition which I ventured to send to you?”
He smiled indulgently.