He placed both his hands on the fine figure of Gabrielle, and endeavoured to clasp her slender waist. The moment he touched her person, she drew herself up with loftiness and hauteur; her eye flashed and her cheek reddened, while a haughty indignation, which startled even Merodé, beamed on her beautiful brow.
"Der Teufel! but you are enchanting!" said Merodé, stepping back a space and surveying her with all the air of a profound connoisseur. "'Pon my soul, little one, I like you all the better for this display of temper; you shall see how friendly we shall be by and by. Believe me, I have not the least feeling of revenge for all the contempt with which you treated me at Vienna—not the least. Ah, by my life, what a charming pout!"
"I will leave this place, and go to my sister. Oh! Ernestine, where are you, and why are you not here to protect me?"
"She is in very good keeping by this time; and 'tis well, for she is a little bit of an Amazon," said Merodé, somewhat maliciously; for he knew right well that she was to become the prey of Bandolo.
"Count," said Gabrielle, clasping her poor little hands, and approaching with a trembling heart and imploring eyes; "by all the mercies of Heaven, I conjure you to tell me what you mean!"
"Delicious Gabrielle!" murmured the count, looking at her from side to side as one would do a fine horse; "why, I merely mean that she is safe among the Lutheran nuns of St. Kund at Kiel, where some of my fellows are very anxious to pay a visit."
"On your honour, count, you assure me of this?"
"On my soul I do!" replied Merodé, for that he considered of infinitely less importance.
Though thankful for the imaginary safety of her sister, Gabrielle, being overcome by the desolation and dangers of her position, sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Without touching her, Merodé hung over the chair, and gazed at the beautiful and harmonious outline of her young bust and curved shoulder; and thought, that although there was every chance of old Carlstein putting a bullet through his head, sans parley or ceremony, on the first opportunity, the pleasure he now experienced was well worth the risk to be run.
"Why so very sad?" said he, after a pause; "I don't comprehend it. Really I must have a rival, and that is the most troublesome animal a lover can have in his way. Now, pretty one, say—have I?"