"You have none here, at all events," sobbed Gabrielle, a little spitefully.
"Then I can have none any where else," replied the count, twirling his enormous Austrian mustache. "You charm me more and more! and has no man ever said that he loved you?"
Ian's stately figure seemed to rise at these words, and as the young maiden thought of her modest, her hopeless, and secret love, she could only weep.
Merodé uttered a deep sigh, which had its origin in art, rather than purity of passion; for that was a purity which the heart of Merodé never knew.
"Ah, Gabrielle, you do look seducing at this moment! Those dear white hands—and beautiful tears," he resumed, attempting to place an arm round her.
"For the love of Heaven, Count Merodé, do not touch me!" implored Gabrielle, in a voice so tender that he withdrew his arm, and stammered out—
"Der Teufel! Faith, I always thought that girls preferred a brisk and toying lover to a man who made long faces and long speeches. To-night I see that nothing can be achieved—not even the smallest caress. To-morrow we shall be better friends. 'Tis always thus with little ones like you. They make a devil of a fuss at first; and, from hating me alone, I have known twenty girls come at last to love the whole regiment, from right flank to left—positively! Pray, do not get into a passion with a poor Pickle like me, who fires off whatever ammunition comes first to hand; and so now I will leave you, and go to supper with my bon camarados in the hall. In these matter-of-fact days, my pretty one, love—however strong—cannot subsist without plenty to eat and drink," continued Merodé, rising and bowing, as he slowly retired towards the door. "We should grow sad if we did not drink; we should die if we did not eat. Now; were I a young damsel, I would always choose a lover who had a good appetite and loved his can of wine; for he that does so, is sure to be a strong and healthy fellow, with good sense, a good heart, and a good pair of sturdy legs; and what more would the most fastidious lady, even the Lady Margarethe of Skofgaard, or the Empress herself, require? What—you are still angry and perverse; and your father will have me broken alive upon the wheel, will he? No—no—I am sure he could never be such a hard-hearted old crocodile. But good-night, dearest Gabrielle; I will send you a companion—the best of many we have here in Fredricksort; but, until to-morrow, I will not trouble you again."
He retired, and closed the door.
For a time Gabrielle remained buried in the most tormenting thoughts, and shedding a torrent of tears.
Near the elegant couch already described, a door opened softly; but not so softly as to be unheard by Gabrielle. She turned with eyes expressive of alarm, and a lady stood before her.