“The sea was dark to-night,” he said, after a moment’s silence.
“If you could ride a horse, monseigneur,” said Beauvouloir, “I should tell you to fly with Gabrielle this very evening. I know you both, and I know that any other marriage would be fatal to you. The duke would certainly fling me into a dungeon and leave me there for the rest of my days when he heard of your flight; and I should die joyfully if my death secured your happiness. But alas! to mount a horse would risk your life and that of Gabrielle. We must face your father’s anger here.”
“Here!” repeated Etienne.
“We have been betrayed by some one in the chateau who has stirred your father’s wrath against us,” continued Beauvouloir.
“Let us throw ourselves together into the sea,” said Etienne to Gabrielle, leaning down to the ear of the young girl who was kneeling beside him.
She bowed her head, smiling. Beauvouloir divined all.
“Monseigneur,” he said, “your mind and your knowledge can make you eloquent, and the force of your love may be irresistible. Declare it to monseigneur the duke; you will thus confirm my letter. All is not lost, I think. I love my daughter as well as you love her, and I shall defend her.”
Etienne shook his head.
“The sea was very dark to-night,” he repeated.
“It was like a sheet of gold at our feet,” said Gabrielle in a voice of melody.