It was the señora Prudentia—the Spanish dancer, whom Gabrielle had seen charming thousands in the theatre of Vienna; but whom, of course, she did not recognise in her Spanish costume, and with a face so pale—for excesses of many kinds had robbed the fair actress of many of her charms since she had made such a blockhead of me when in garrison at Glückstadt; but still she was beautiful, and her deep, dark, and magnificent eyes were fixed on Gabrielle, with a smile so lively and seducing that she was quite charmed. Rejoiced to see one of her own sex she sprang towards her, and said—
"Ah, madame, you will protect me, will you not?"
"Protect you from what—from whom? There is no danger here," said Prudentia, kissing the soft white cheek of Gabrielle, who threw herself into her arms. Her pretty foreign accent gave a girlish simplicity to all the señora said.
"Do not leave me, and I shall love you!" exclaimed Gabrielle.
"Upon my honour, child, you are beautiful!" said the dancer (who was her senior by a year or two), holding Gabrielle at arm's length, and surveying her timid face and fine figure;—"you are perfectly beautiful!"
"And so are you," said the poor little captive, with the most perfect innocence; "but you will be kind to me, will you not? Oh, yes I—for you have eyes just like my dear sister. And you will set me free?"
"Free—for what?" laughed the dancer; "is not one much better here?"
"In this frightful place! Are you the wife of Count Merodé? I hope you are not—I should be so sorry if one so pretty——"
"No, I am called the Señora Prudentia," replied the dancer with a loud laugh.
"Prudentia!" said Gabrielle, musing; "I have surely heard that name before. There was a dancer so called in Vienna—a Spaniard. Six months ago there was a brawl in her house, and an officer of Camargo's regiment was murdered. The woman had to fly."